Something to think about .

So we went through the countryside to do a bit of countrified shopping .

The saxophonist stood outside the girlie beauty shop while I went in and then we started to walk down to the stationers .He normally strides ahead but lagged behind . Stopped . Hit the deck . Had a heart attack . I asked the policewoman who arrived at the same time as the air ambulance " on a scale of one to ten how serious is this ? ". "Ten " she said .

So they put in a stent , took him to intensive care and I played a waiting game for two weeks . Seizures , pipes , wires , monitors , machines ,him trying to pull the wires out and then a conference with the consultants . "Your husband will never regain consciousness ". "He will spend the rest of his life in a specialised care home" he said .

He saw my face ."Your husband is brain dead " he said .

They transferred him to another hospital and it continued for another two weeks .

One day I went into the unit to sit by his bed as usual and sitting up in bed was the saxophonist . Personality , faculties , intelligence , memory all firing on all cylinders . I talked with him and held him . I left the ward . I sobbed and then I did a tap dance in the lift .

He has been home a week now . He is building strength through good food and increasing walks .

I don't know what you feel about this year . I don't know what you feel about Christmas BUT I can give you this . Miracles do happen , they are real and I know this for a fact . Happy Christmas .

Round objects and foolish birds .

The heat is making the fruit drop early .
Little green apples litter the lanes -  and lots of pigeons .
The birds have avian flu I think . They sit warm and snug in two's and three's in the road . Swerve to avoid them and they will often seem to make the effort to outsmart you and get under the wheels .
 So the lanes are dotted with smashed apples and pigeons .Little clouds of soft downy feathers tell you which it is .

I go to the fridge with the cool boxes and pack everything left from other picnics .
Out by the deserted picnic tables I throw down the cloth and get it all on the table . I have packed a couple of baguettes too. When it's all out it looks  a sumptuous spread . I am rather surprised .People strolling past look enviously at the brie , celery serrano , chorizo , spring onions etc .One or two even try to start up a conversation to get an invite to sit down ......

When we are done we sit a long while smoking , sipping good coffee and watching the waves .I pick up a radish from the table and sling it over the sea wall just to hear the plop as it hits the water .

Minutes pass and I spot a gull with a red clown's nose .The radish has drifted to where he is . He has speared it with his beak . Eventually he gets it off and edges it into his mouth . Suddenly he has a huge adam's apple and them he swallows it whole .

Serendipity

No snow could empty the roads , streets and lanes like this heat .Six weeks of being baked awake .

Bewildered people , dozy with the day , emerge , as the sun sinks , to shop . They buy what look like very random selections .

Late in the evening we wander in the relative cool to the  pub . In the dark people move stealthily like cats . All these dim figures - like ghosts .

We drive ,windows down,  and the Saxophonist takes a wrong turning .
I suggest we keep going . Half way through the next village is a green turning and my instinct says take it .
It is a green tunnel , dim and shadowy .There is a dead end and I climb out .I peer into the gloom and there's a pale chink further on .Is it sky or is it water ? I don't know but I grab the picnic from the boot and stride off ahead .
I am a small pale figure amongst the dark trees
.
Suddenly the small figure squeals and sprints .
There is a wide wide water , a strip of beach and a heady mix of salt and seaweed in the air .

A wrong turning and intuition . Don't these often make for the best discoveries .

Would Crusoe do so ?

This heat. You feel bleached to the bone .
I can't remember the last time I put the oven on . Never mind , there I am out on the shore line again .

There's the odd yacht , sometimes a seagull and me .
My hair has gone white blond , my skin is permanently salty and there is sand in every pair of shoes I own .
 I have given up on hair brushes . makeup and , come to that , underwear. Robinson Crusoe would disown me .

I'm sure it can't be right but it feels as if we live on cold crisp apples and cigarettes .
At night we drink cold cider and watch the pipistrelles swerve as the seagulls do in the day .

Identified flying objects.

High , high up there is a glider looking like a giant seagull in the lazy air .

Fresher , greener air streams through the windows as we scissor along the lanes half hoping to outrun the heat .
Then I can smell salt in the air . I have bare legs and sandals .A white egret wades and the breeze ruffles its feathers .Creamy elder flowers bob on the branches as the breeze reaches them .

Now a seagull skims the sky looking like a small white glider .
Seagulls and gliders , gliders and seagulls .......

Further to my last post ...........

The crows and rooks are spread out across a sunny field as if they are out for a days metal detecting.

The dark conifers stand out in the wood like tower blocks amongst the green green dwellings and   newly coming leaves of the oaks and horse chestnuts.

Everything is slowly being saturated in sunlight. If I had a bar of soap I could wash in it. It is plentifully generous.

Suddenly cherry blossom is not sagging and drab. It bounces on the branches - maribou and plume. Puffed up posies jumping and jostling in the sun streaked warm breeze.

There is nothing that isn't more cheerful in this sunshine.You could look in the backs of cupboards and in remote and obscure small zoo's. In both cases everything you found would be cheerful. Fact.

The sun shouts about how it will bring elderberry and blackberry to come to be. How it will grow and harden nut shells and make apples swell pregnant with promise.

You think I'm a bit tipsy on the warmth and the sunlight ?
Let me tell you ( quite sternly ) that today is perfect English spring time and I'm inebriated, paralytic, sozzled, intoxicated on it.
Excuse me while I wipe my mouth on my hand and take another swig.

Horses and silk slips.

You might have seen a small figure in a large grey duffel coat and a small grey bowler hat scurrying along or you might have missed her .She did not linger.
I would say no one lingers in this cold but there is no one about.
All is silent as Christmas day .

Even the seabirds and sparrows are missing .

In the chilly gloom wisteria blossoms hang like icicles.

Put something down and it's almost painful to pick up .The cold has drawn inside it .
The same with your clothes .Back in the car. In a fold of the fabric you are wearing lurks an icy slice of cold. As you move it does too. Lurking and lingering before surprising you with an extra small slap of sub zero as you start to relax .

Each horse in the field stands waiting.
The trouble is that we have all been waiting  so long we are not even clear on what we are wait for.

Amongst the post this morning was a brochure of jaunty summer skirts ,silk slips and sandals - give them to a horse I don't want them.

But I do and you do. We want to sit companionably bare legged, clinking the ice in our glasses.
The Egyptians worshipped (amongst others ) a sun god. I'm not saying they were right or wrong, I'm just saying.

Of weather and courage .

Wet
Bloated , saturated , water oozing from every orifice : eyes , arse and everywhere in between .The landscape is drunk on water .

Its Falstaff , its the fat boy of Dingley dell in the Pickwick papers .
Collar undone , belt undone , still it's fat with water . No sluish gate  , no lock and certainly no man with a broom will make a difference .

Wet
Two  young Canada geese , cocky and sarky come up from the estuary .They start  along the grass parallel to the path .
On the path trendy hikers and the determinedly middle class walk wet in the expensive attire that style forgot .
The two geese wink at me and start to strut mimicking the pretensions on the path .

Dry
Many years ago ,being reckless , I walked into the newly opened hairdressers .
There stood a tall , big boned Asian man . I sat down and told him I wanted "different " and "bold". He wanted to know how much courage I had got .
I told him.
He said he hoped I was as excited as he was. Then he cut my long , long hair . And then he cut some more and shaved some more .
I stood up again with just peach fuzz on my head .We were both excited and I walked away to turn heads .

Wet
The rain is never far away . Get half way down the hill and you are sodden before you start your day .
Tired of the relentless weather . Tired of being tired I sit at the table and remember livelier times . I reach over and put the phone on the table . I sit silent listening to the rain . I have the phone number but do I have the courage ?
I ring and he answers . So I summon what courage I can and and I and my long hair go out .
I remind him of that spectacular cut .We both smile broadly .
He cuts .

Dry
So I sit here ,  late at night , listening to fresh music and drinking sappy green wine .
He cut , we hugged and the saxophonist says I look like a confident woman .

And I am  - me and my short shock of fire cracker hair .

Sin in a tin .

I have narrowed it down to just three cookery books , the back catalogue in my head and one in the post . I have bought in the few herbs , spices and oddments that the books suggest and I don't have .

ME: I am the model of efficiency ! A role model to you all ! Aren't you jealous of my competence and the clarity of my vision of the year ?

YOU: Are you on something ?

ME: I don't know what you mean !

YOU: Well , for a start what is that lump on your head ?

ME: Nothing .

YOU: Just a minute there's bruising too .

ME: No there's not .

YOU: YES THERE IS ! Someone has lumped you one - probably for being such a know all . YES , somebody has definitely taken a swing at .....

ME: It was a tin , closely followed by a kilner jar - happy now ?

YOU: What ! You know people who routinely sling tins at you and don't mind lobbing a jar to follow ?

ME: Its a cupboard thing .

YOU: A what ?

Its a cupboard thing . New ingredients at the front in a little box , most likely staples behind .Any bulk buying is taken out and put elsewhere .
Anything I forgot I'd got and doubled up on comes out too . This happens several times what with having access to several good markets and having a wholesalers card  .
In the end there is literally no spare space in the kitchen cupboards and things are so stacked and shoved that things leap out at you if you open the cupboard doors too quickly.

YOU: Ah ! Now we are getting to the lump on the head . And what was that you said about competence and clarity of vision .

ME: Ease off or you will be sitting in the pub on your own tonight .

So there are also wicker baskets full of pasta , noodles , couscous and various flours . The cupboard in the dining room doesn't shut properly because

YOU: Dear God ! How much stuff do you have ? Are you expecting the apocalypse or do you just have a compulsive hoarder thing going on ?

ME: No . Neither .It's just keeping a good table and knowing a real bargain when you see it .

YOU: Oh well .

ME: God , I wish I was a catholic at the moment .

YOU: Why !!!

ME: Well , you get to go to confession and they say  you feel better then.

YOU: OK , we don't want all this coming out in the pub . So what do you want to confess about ?

ME: Tinned tomatoes .

YOU:  Pardon . 
NO !   NO !   I heard you alright .  I'm just boggling about your answer .
Let me get this straight if you had been born to a Roman Catholic family you would be in the confessional right now pestering some poor priest about tinned tomatoes ?

ME: Well yes .

YOU: This has got to stop. Right here , right now - you hear me ?
And just for the record how many tins of tomatoes do you currently own ?

ME: Sixteen .

YOU: IS that it ? Are we done ?

ME: Well we could talk about tinned mackerel , chickpeas , bean sprouts ....

YOU: I don't know what to say to you ! Can't you just donate your spares to a food bank and we talk about something else ?

ME: Yes but the guilt and the feeling that I must have knocked back a stupid pill .

Isn't there anybody else out there with illogical spare , a stash or  emergency supplies  ?
Come on make me feel better - there's a tin of tomatoes in it .

Defiant chameleon .

A couple of years back there was a death in the family . The sort that isn't just the end of an era but the end of something bigger .
 Some people close life down as they get older . They stop seeing and listening . So I guess in their eyes you are the you you were thirty years ago .
 All the stuff that built you and changed you didn't happen for them . There you are before the achievements , without experience and those scars .

So when it happened I needed a bit of space where I thought about something else . The funeral arrangements , paperwork and all the rest that comes at such a time .
We drove to a lively town we like and had a big fat lunch . Then went for a wander round the shops .

Heading round a corner I spotted a new shop . It was pure luxury. Warm , smelt delicious and had rows and rows of jewel like jars , bottles and tubes .
A fancy makeup shop .Seductive balm as I  thought about who I was now .
Now that no one could make me feel that callow girl anymore .

I don't always wear makeup . Think scandanavian minimalism , pared back , stark - you get the picture .
Now, though ,I took one of their little baskets and I bought all the people I wanted to try on .

I bought a lipstick so that I could be the scarlet harlot .
I bought liner and mascara so that I could be left bank .
I bought flame coloured eye shadow so that I could vamp my way into a party .
I bought brushes and rouge so that I could be haughty and aloof with high , high cheekbones .
In short I spent a lot of money and I loved it .

Another day another visit .  Polish for turquoise toe nails .
Another visit for cherry lipped kissing at Christmas .

It was too cold to go where we intended today so we went back to that town again .
 After another big fat lunch , fugitives from the snow , we hit the shopping centre .

Of course I went to "my" shop . Of course I filled up a little basket  . Little boxes and phials to savour later .
I was the only one in the shop and the girls chatted as I browsed . "We are not supposed to say but this branch is shutting in a fortnight ".

I wished them well and left with my shiny stash . I felt sad that the happy habit would end .

Then I realised something .
I have moved on , imperceptibly , in these two years . I have grown - evolved if you like .
I am not a defiant chameleon .
I am happy in my own skin .
Of course I'll paint my eyes from time to time or put on a saucy red lipstick  some Saturday night . But I am glad to realise that is all it is now .

GRAND SALE ANNOUNCED !
lipsticks for sale . All colours available .

Uninhibited with the mustard .

Written Tuesday 13/2

There are seagulls in the white sky . In pairs and singly , their movement is what you see , stark against an opaque background. They look like  olympic ice dancers gliding , soaring , lost in the momentum and their own beauty .
Perhaps they are celebrating the year opening up a bit . I know how they feel .

Sunday found us walking on the beach . Down near the shore line , delighting in the light and the relative warmth .

Yesterday far out along the hythe . Hibernation halted , the estuary mud had the dull gleam of old pitted metal .

Today , the seagulls arrogance - they need no judge  , they already know they all have the perfect ten . And us ?
Heading to the harbour as I write this . Smug in the knowledge that there is a big fat pork pie in the boot to eat in greedy gulps when we get there . Pass the mustard .

Wednesday 14th 

Today I did it again . We did it again .
Its like being sated and rolling away from a much loved lover and rolling straight back and doing it again . 
The seductive landscape is indeed seductive . It's only February and , already , we are entranced .

That's not pretentious or precious .
 There are other people , all ages , both sexes . Away from the shops , away from  the crowds . 
A solitary individual will spot you and grin like a long lost friend .

 It's like we are all in the nightclub , a track comes on and we all get up with no thought , only compulsion , and dance . Uninhibited .

Lay the table .

A lot of stuff happened . Two deaths in the family and three  betrayals  plus the fallout which showed clear daylight on a lot of other people .

So we walked away . A lot of walking got done on solitary beaches . Sometimes together and sometimes alone .
Eventually, though you look up and realise you can now take your umberella down .

So it comes time to savour again the things that ,necessarily , got pushed to the margins .

So what of the kitchen ?  Well , gradually chutney bubbled again and marmalade perfumed the house but what else ?

I grew up on farm house and country house food . Then by observation , osmosis , and intuition cooked it . Not the painting by numbers that the sainted Delia prescribed (and thus knocked any confidence and creativity out of a potential cook ). No , this was more commonsense , resourcefulness ,a bit of skill and a lot of greed .

Now it's different .The postman's bored with hearing me belt down the back stairs to get the latest second hand cookery book . Mind you he often suppresses a grin as I emerge hair half up , half down looking like Bella from the bordello in the saxophonist's dressing gown .
The book's are various and so this week I'm making :

moussaka
a stir fry
dolmades
deep fried squid
and a pineapple crumble with clotted cream custard
and then having a sit down - obviously .

So what I want to know is what are  you cooking and if some of the inspiration comes from a couple of books , what are they ?
I'll show you mine if you show me yours .

Note to self : put less red meat in next week's menu .

Smug and sticky .

Today is the coldest day of the year so far . ( Around here at least .)

Last weekend I finally came upon a stall piled high with blood oranges and fat lemons too .
What better to do then than stay in the warm and make marmalade . I switched on the radio , put an apron on and set too . I'd forgotten how labour intensive it is .Especially paring off the peel and leaving the pith , them slicing the peel into thin , thin , tiny batons .

The whole house is now scented with oranges and my hands sting from the citrusy juices . I am sitting , in solitary splendour , at the table with hot coffee and a cigarette writing this as the marmalade boils .

Cooking is continuity isn't it . Good ingredients , enough skill and there you have it . Simple but perfect in a homemade sort of way . A form of alchemy .

Two people can walk into a kitchen .
 One can have bread and water . The other a pot of tea and some hot buttered toast .
We can always choose which person we want to be .

I'm glad I made marmalade today .

Dormouse is as dormouse does .

Humankind is divided into larks and owls .

The lark is perceived , in many quarters , to be the better/more worthy person . Some of this comes from the Victorian " early to bed early to rise makes a man healthy ,  wealthy and wise ". Coupled with the Victorian factory owner who wants his factory on full production at maximum profit and minimal cost .
 Some of it also comes from people who make a virtue of what they want to do anyway or as a way of feeling superior/more disciplined than their neighbour (having , I'm guessing , little else to distinguish themselves) .

This winter I have heard so many people saying they are struggling much more than usual with the cold and dark for some reason .

I , myself , am an owl .

 This winter  it has been so convivial to sit by the fire , late at night ,drinking tea or wine deep in frivolous conversation or watching something cheerful on the television . So convivial . Equally how pleasant to go to the bathroom and then snuggle back in the soft warmth again .


The saxophonist used to sometimes play with a very good key board player . Daytime he was a teacher before he retired . Finding he needed more money ( chiefly for sheet music and gin I believe ) he took extra work at home marking exam papers in the evening . Gradually , on retirement , what with gigs and gin generating exam marking his hours slipped round . Eventually his regular time to get up each day was four in the afternoon . I don't think it bothered him in the least .

Whilst my time has been productive and as the blog shows we have been out and about , keeping regular hour has been harder this winter . A morning gone sometimes , a bed time that would have the Victorian factory owner reaching for the smelling salts .

So what I want to know is this . Am I the only one ? Does it matter ? Have you erred so to speak ? Is it as the saxophonist says "no big deal " ?

So doctor is this normal and if it is what hours do you keep ? I  refer to those of us who have unencumbered free time, be that in the week , at weekends or a mixture of both .
I'm curious .......

It's rough at the coast today .

We have just got back from the coast . It was rough and it was dark . The sea was liquid jet as it rushed up the harbour walls .

It winked it's inky eye at me as it played hand ball with a small fishing boat in the harbour . Slapping it this way, slapping it that way.

The wind flew round and through the metal struts of the old pier .

Slowly , then , a very small container ship came along . It sat low in the water with a single line of lights along its side and a bundle of them at the back .
In the dark it looked like a viking long boat being rowed in and the mournful sound from the pier sounded like the men singing to keep the rhythm of the rowing .

A dress for the slightly less tall ............

I'm six foot and super slim.

Actually I'm not. I'm thin ish but only five foot two and three quarters. That's a full foot shorter than the saxophonist .
This is a regular opportunity for him to make what I like to call "height ist " remarks he imagines to be funny .
 In an attempt to avoid these  he has ,  variously , caught me climbing up supermarket shelves to get a tin , taking a  running jump to grab something from a high shelf and almost tumbling into a supermarket chest freezer that was particularly deep .

I do , though ,  have pale blue eyes ( thanks Dad ). We went to London earlier this week and into a dress shop that is that bit too expensive.
I  indulged .
Six dresses in all but they will last . Think Margaret Howell .
When we got home I put on the pale one . It was a perfect match for my eyes . That's not arrogance , it's gratitude ..........also pay back for the deep freeze .

Earth , Wind and Fire .

It has snowed and it has laid . The icy rain is not moving it very much at the moment . Someone has been out and built a small snowman . The thing stands conical and pristine on a small patch of grass  . I am trying to think of spring and there it stands mocking me . A jolly snowman . It was all I could do not to go over and kick the little bastard over .

I've looked at the BBC weather site . It's going to get a lot warmer and we will have actual sunshine on Friday . Oh hurrah , hurrah , hurrah . I'm off the wall with Michael Jackson , I'm hearing it through the grape vine with Marvin Gaye , Kool and the Gang have turned up and brought Earth , Wind and Fire with them . Kid Creole and the Coconuts are warming up .......I imagine you get the picture . In short , I am in celebratory mood .

So we are putting a down payment on summer . Trusting that those lyrical lovely days will come again , that the seductive landscape may sweep us into it's arms again . Now . obviously , I can't put my sandals on and bare legged begin my stroll through summer . But I can, as they say , make a down payment . A deposit . Stake my claim as it were .

So duffel coats , stout boots , woolly hats , thick socks .

We eat hot salty chips and drink fizzy pop . We watch the ferry , looking like a show boat from the American south , blazing with lights as it comes in . There are tiny pinpricks of coloured light all along the far shores . Enclaves of warm cosiness dotted in the darkness.

I climb out of the car hair blowing like a Medusa . It feels as if the wind could easily slice the features off my face like a knife cutting through a lemon . I peer down the cliff , through the stinging rain to the beach . Far out a line of white foam froths and bubbles . The tide is out . But we know , don't we , that as the tide will turn and come gushing in , the year is beginning to turn too .
A gleeful thought if ever there was one .

January day .

I am writing this in the car as we wind our way through country lanes on route to Bury St Edmunds . It is a pleasant occupation especially as its a cold , rainy landscape . Being warm and dry counts for something at this time of the year.

The idea is to go to the market . It is a particularly good one for local produce and what is not local is very good quality . Now we are staying put it feels right to continue with the annual rhythm of cooking good seasonal food and squirreling some things away . So its time to make some marmalade . This year I have a mind to make it with  blood oranges.  Yes , I know that some people / shops have taken to calling them something else . I'm assuming this is for the pedantic or the over sensitive . I am not susceptible to this sort of twaddle.

Oh , there's a scarecrow in a boiler suit . Several rooks practice vertical takeoffs  and ignore him . Sorry , got distracted .

So blood orange marmalade . It should be ruby hued with just enough peel in it for tang . Right for a thick slice of soda bread hacked off the side of a homemade loaf , well toasted and treated to an unjustifiable amount of butter . It's good , as well , to give out the odd jar to cheer somebody up in this bleak weather .

Four fat geese on a green field looking like washing blown from a line . Concentrate  Angela .

More geese marching round a pen this time . I think geese like rain . I know that deer do . The saxophonist is driving cautiously along this stretch of road, as we often see them hereabouts . They will surely be running today . Rain seems to compel them nearer the roads - don't know why .

Sugar. I must buy extra sugar too . Sometimes I use brown to subtly alter the taste or the colour . White feels right here though . It will keep clarity on the jewel like colour of the blood oranges . It will also bind it to this ride reminding me of how white the rain filled sky was as we dodged the deer on the way to the market.

Commonplace book.

I keep a commonplace book , I have done for years . It's full of quotes from books, plays and films , things I've been told or overheard.
I've been collecting up all the scraps of paper from the last two years to add them to the book . Some of these , on reflection , will not make it to the cut . Some are still striking and they go in . Others I have no memory of where they came from or why I wrote them down .
Below are four that I came across whilst sorting through .  Which do you think will be making it into the book ?

"Take no notice of anybody you don't respect."

"Have two projects on the go , then its not a choice between doing it and doing nothing ."

"Do not mistake kindness to yourself for weakness ."

"At one point you broke wind so loudly it set off two car alarms ."

A bit of a find.

I had a bit of a find a couple of days ago.

In summer we have a couple of huge cotton quilts on the bed. When the temperature dropped like a stone the saxophonist got the duvets down and put them in the mix.
We lay like mummies hoping the heat would build - useless .We clung together and listened to the sound of two sets of teeth chattering   (  definitely not sexy ) . Having the window shut just kept us awake longer to consider how cold we were.

The saxophonist admitted he thought he might have got the thinner ones down . I gave him what I like to think of my withering look.We hauled out the other set . "Oh joy "I said, "toasty warm , totally tropical , we shall sizzle like sausages". He gave me what he likes to think of as his withering look.
Marital harmony and warmth was restored.

"What's in that other box" I said. He pulled it down and there were three boxes of crackers in there.
Now this may seem like small beer to you but not to me.

Everyone has that scrap of the childlike ( not to be confused with childish ) joy left in them.Yours may be carol singers on Christmas eve , a slice of chocolate log , the tree.
Mine is crackers.
I don't just like crackers I adore them . With pre Christmas offers and late December sales it is not unusual for me to get through six boxes.
The rustle of the paper .  The enticing weight of one cracker over another . The paper hat. I do like a good paper hat . Some years if we have been invited to lots of parties come new year,on my side of the bed,there is a small pile of hats. A few pierrot  and pirate hats but mostly the coloured tissue hats from crackers.

It is part of my Christmas to lay down in the dark in a hat . I drowsily turn over and the hat does not , it just makes a decadent rustle as I drift off .
Of course  the gift is not to be sniffed at . This year I have acquired two water pistols , two fortune telling fish and five Freddie frog novelty rubbers (erasers if you are American ). I have had through my hands and sometimes been able to swap black plastic moustaches that make your eyes water , mini yoyo's , tiny skittles etc etc.

Crackers are never banal to me . I never tire of them and I now have three more boxes to savour.

In a cold dark January , in the dormouse days ,  its no bad thing to put on a party hat and go back to a nice warm bed .
Try it .

Happily wrong.

So, six months on from my last post and a new year. Life got in the way ,  but here I am , back again.

The seductive landscape got so seductive that we decided to move into the landscape. Goodness, I had forgotten the realities of estate agents and property viewing. Without exception every estate agent I had dealings with I would , in other circumstances cross the street to avoid. I will spare you the detail of all the properties we looked at. I thought I was cynical enough to know when  "box room "meant cupboard and when  "garden " meant three plastic chairs on four paving slabs with an uninterrupted view of the bins .....

We wanted an older property of character and looked at all possibilities. In the end I got into the habit of saving the less dreadful and the new possibles on my chromebook. One evening we came home from more heartbreak, dog mess, broken fences, view of the back of pound land. I sat at the screen and idly clicked through what had arrived that day. I clicked on one - I promise this is true - and gave a whoop. I called the saxophonist "we can afford it , it has everything we wanted and it looks lovely " I bawled. "Oh hang on".
"What " said the saxophonist walking into the room and over to the screen. We both looked at this latest estate agents e mail and then at each other.
It was our house.

We went to the local pub a while ago.There was a mobile phone on the path.I picked it up. As we walked in I spotted a teenage girl frantically looking on the floor and under the tables. I checked the name on the phone and walked over to where she was talking into another mobile.I asked her for her name and handed it over. She said into the phone "oh I've got it back from a lovely little old lady". I said  " not so much of the old ". The saxophonist brought our drinks over and I told him. He roared with laughter. I told him it was not funny . He said of course it was as I was the least likely candidate for that description and that the girl was not much more than a child and anybody over twenty five was ancient to her. I calmed down. But I remembered it.  Oh I remembered it on those mornings when I looked tired or felt the passage of time.

Fast forward to another night. The saxophonist wanders through "fancy sharing a bottle of wine down the hill?" he says. I pull on my boots and coat and slap on my fedora against the drizzle. I have not put my hair up , I am not wearing makeup and I have not changed the clothes I have been wearing all day.  We go into the unusually crowded bar. There is a group of men in their early thirties standing and drinking together. They are well heeled , intelligent looking - not bad looking either. As I pass one of them looks me over and says , in a loud voice , "MILF" . I pretend I have not heard it and keep going.

Now , children what did we learn today then ?
Well , I think we acquired a fresh appreciation of what we have got and how lucky we are to own it .
I think we also learned about picking your audience and having faith in yourself .
I cherish our home again.

 Was I insulted to have a credible stranger call me a milf ?
  Hell,no ! I grin every time I think of it .

So ,children look afresh at what is commonplace to you , what you take for granted and what you doubt about your life and yourself.
You may find yourself happily wrong.