And here we perch, right on the edge of the year..about to leap off into 2008 and not sure if there will be rocks or sweet, deep water. Probably a bit of both. Annie is shrilly whining the song, ‘Tomorrow’ on my TV with a little dog on her lap and the fake snow in her hair. ‘The sun will come out tomorrow!’ I am a cynical old cow but it still makes me well up and get all jazz hands.
The sign outside the butcher’s on the way to Cranfield read ‘English wild rabbits on sale here…’ and underneath had been added in big red letters, ‘Really, REALLY wild rabbits!’
What does that mean? This sign has been intriguing me since I got picked up on Christmas Eve. I have pictures of half crazed rabbit gangs smoking crack and waving flick knives.
Last night after several pints of ‘Steaming Ale’ (I kid you not) I staggered into my kitchen ravenous and bleary eyed as one is after a glass of ale. A piece of toast and some camembert went down so well I, slightly less woozily, headed back for another round only to realise that the bread I was about to scoff was completely covered in purpley-blue stuff. .. I had just stuffed my face with mouldy mucor encrusted bread….I knew it was mucor having previously grown it ON PURPOSE whilst an o’level biology student wanting to see if I would develop ergotism (St Antony’s Fire..or don’t you remember the 1039 outbreak in France? Oh for goodness sake…!) Luckily the twitching and hallucinatuions were purely down to the Steaming Ale and shock of eating deeply mouldy bread. Now let this incident be a Xmas warning to all of you out there who like a nip of sherry over the holidays! Prepare food with the lights on and always double check the bread!
I met a friend today from another life. I hadn’t seen her in over 15 years and there she was in the café with a new addition, her 4-year-old son, George. She looked exactly the same..well better actually then she had back then. Tall and willowy, she had the same humour and gentleness and it was quite wonderful to see her but with her she bought a slew of names and memories that quite overwhelmed me. All those people we were at university with…all the friends we knew together in the early 90’s…including my ex fiancé who is still a close friend to her and her husband. He is alive. He even learnt French. He got married…he got divorced. For some reason this all makes me feel a little anxious. I loved him very much and he hurt me very much and it was all a long, long time ago and buried …and now.. …he learnt French???? Holy shit…. Life is bananas.
Ahhh the schizophrenic email..the one that begins with sweet nothings and ends in death threats….yes, the chain letter.
There was a woman in the pub toilet with a moustache. It was a huge black hairy one and behind it she was apparently Australian and called Audrey. At the same pub bar were women with legwarmers and spandex and a lot of men in long curly black wigs. They were supposed to resemble something from the glam rock scene but incongruously looked more like they were a debauched entity of the court of King Charles 1.
Its very late and I can’t sleep and I can’t bloody read. So instead I write..thank goodness for enlarged fonts!
The sky is bright blue today and there is still frost on the grass. It is a lovely sparking winter’s day. Dennis the Squirrel just punched a wood pigeon off the bird table.
Firstly I apologise for misspelling ‘fairy’ in the previous post. Dyslexics rule KO..
Secondly, I apologise for the week of silence. I was hiding out in south Mombassa and didn’t want to bang on about the sea being bright turquoise-blue and the water so warm you could hardly feel it when you slipped into the pool; about the sand being silky and white and how there were, each glorious, sunlit morning, enormous plates of fresh mangos, paw paws and pineapples to go with your bacon and eggs. I didn’t want to upset you with stories of fantastical, multi-coloured fish and corals, gentle whispering palms and huge skies that made the Bounty adverts look like Cillet Bang ads…..nope, I didn’t think it would be very nice of me to whitter on about the smell of almond oils from the spa rooms, the hibiscus flowers arranged on the pillows each evening or the far off sweet smell of rain on the wind. I just thought it wouldn’t be kind.
I am watching a squirrel watching a very black cat watching a very oblivious blackbird in my garden. The squirrel, whom I shall call Dennis although it’s not his real name, is a bit of a yob. He nicks everything on my bird table and I am sure I have seen him trying to break into my back door when he thinks I can’t see him.