Happy New Year.

The apples on my trees are so big that the branches are almost touching the ground. God Forbid you hit your head on a Bramley you could be taken out for days. HAPPY NEW YEAR, to my Jewish Framily. Happy Vernal Equinox to my green gang. This is the first year for years that we … Read more

No 80.

So the rain rains, the sun shines and Amy, our new land girl, is attacking the mint which has taken over the garden like a Triffid.
She is bonny and quick, youthful and tattooed. No dragons that I know of, but she certainly has the feist that Stig Larsson would be proud of.
I cannot wait to get out there myself but right now life is seeping under the door and through the cracks in the walls.
The last few days have been so emotionally charged that Downton Abbey wont be the first for a clutch of Emmies. I’m up for most hysterical wife, Gods Gift is up for most understated husband and B’s up for the most hyperbolic musician.

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Three Cocks a Crowing

Stress does funny things. For me it twists my spine makes my toes fizz, gives me a headache, lower back ache and a right royal pain in the derrier.
So I went to the wonderful James Bibby at Stuart Korth’s – the best osteopaths in my world – and the big Bibby laid his hands on my lower back and head I could feel myself unwind.
Th dawter had been one hour before and had her poorly back returned to normal. The old git is coughing and spluttering and all the people what knows keep saying its stuck phlegm from 150 years of smoking.lf they put Gods Gift on the box ( of fags and the telly box ) the sales of snouts would decrease in a heartbeat.

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Raindrops on Roses

And so I can feel my energy returning.
From not being able to put one foot in front of the other I have managed to start seeing, smelling and feeling again.
Yesterday two women I haven’t had in my kitchen for nearly 20 years, came for tea, they took home baskets of apples from my trees and two chutney recipes. Battersea felt like a continent away..
I then met with a new woman from the Bunny Lane Farm Shop; red lipstick, red coat, life well lived, sense of humour, wit, we met for a cuppa in ‘Juliets’ in TWells.
‘Juliets’ – Ah! a perfect replacement for Battersea Square.
Tea-cups and saucers that dont necessarily match, large fresh hand-made salads, waitresses that call you darling, real tea, fancy tea-pots and the biggest, bestest Victoria sponge this side of Balmoral.
Getting a table at lunchtime means having to fight your way through mothers, babies called Digby, handbags, women whose husbands manouver their chairs under the table and really well turned out ladees who lunch, this is Tunbridge Wells after all..
I had a pot of camomile tea and a very good chin-wag with the red-lipped female who is destined to make life in Twells as enjoyable as I could never have imagined.

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Sleeping on the Line….

Today I had a bath at lunchtime. Haven’t done that for years.
Lay in the foamy water and forgave myself for my inability to do anything, anything at all. Not even look for the book that gives instructions for my DAB radio. At the moment I can listen to Danny Baker, Ken Bruce or Schuman’s Piano Concerto in A minor on Radio 3. I had the square cube of digital wirelessness next to my bed in the flat, now it sits on the dresser next to the marzipan figurine of me – complete with beauty spot on my left bosom- made by Andrew Nutter when GFL came to an end.
I didn’t collect the dry cleaning. I didn’t go shopping. I didn’t go to the gym, didn’t call people back. The fact is that I am now totally knackered. The move is over so the recovery begins.

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