She’s scored a Haptic!

Autumn in the cottage has to be seen to be believed. Johnathan’s Virginia Creeper is the colour of bergundy wine. The Beech trees are alternately brown and copper, the Michaelmass daisies are out and the smell of fungi pushing through the earth is so strong, when I drove through the lanes the loamy smell wafted into the car.
I think this time of year suits the cottage. The darkness drifts in making for a womby feel.
When I walked through the door into the kitchen Jackson jumped up, bit of an overstatement that, he struggled up, pushing on his front legs and finally balancing himself so that he could walk round me several times.
He always greets family with whatever gift he can find jams it firmly between his teeth then offers it up for a tug.
A leaf, a stone, Jim’s rogue sock, a pair of underpants, today it was a blue slipper, he then follows you around the cottage until he’s satisfied that you aint going nowhere.
Dear Old Jackson. His back legs are spindly, and if he isn’t careful he slips on the flagstones in the kitchen, he’s thirteen on October 22nd which makes him 91 in dog years, I know how he feels.
To be honest I really don’t know how old Emmy our cat is. She was given to us by a woman who bred kittens in the back of her sofa.
Emmy gets fed on demand, although she hates fish. So we buy assorted sachets of roasted meat, poultry meat, organic meat, all in jelly. Give her meat in gravy and she sniffily walks off.
Her purr is very quiet and her preferred sleeping arrangement is in between me and Jim on our bed.
When we’re not here she and Jackson sleep very close to each other. They touch noses when they meet and if Emmy is monopolising Jackson’s bed he waits patiently for her to vacate it.
She’s terrorised him ever since she was a kitten and Jackson is such an old blob he lets her do anything. He wouldn’t survive in the jungle, Emmy would!.

We’re not all present and correct yet.
Jim has three days left at the Globe. An end of season party on Sunday, then a short film he’s shooting the last two weekends of this month.
He starts rehearsing the baddy in ‘Mother Goose’ at the ‘Queen’s’ in Hornchurch the beginning of November.
He’ll come back to the country, and depending on my timetable I will either join him or not.
Hey diddly dee an actors life for me, if Mrs.Jones, the teacher, is reading this I’m not complaining ok! I’m merely telling you how it is. I do hope you don’t shout at your charges the way you shout at me, Mrs. J, some of us are sensitive flowers.
Today an articulated lorry, the size of a cricket pitch, failed to get under the bridge outside our flat. The Polish driver, for it was a Polish lorry, reversed back into the gate, he then drove forward, jammed the truck into the railings, then after an almighty effort, and a string of Polish expletives, he knackered the second gear so the poor Pole had to abandon his poor Polish pantechnican.
All buses were re-routed, cars, pedestrians, children, dogs, it was dead quiet all day. Nothing could get through. I managed to get out of the gate to come home because I have a little car, Jim managed to get out of the gate to go to the theatre because he has a motor bike. It’s now 11.15 when Jim calls me I shall be interested to see if they’ve moved it.
(he just did – they have)
All day three policemen hung over the railings,the driver walked anxiously round the lorry several times, whilst Jim and I crept onto the balcony for a sneeky peek.
I spent all day writing then left for home at 4.15. Stupid time really as I picked up the school traffic, then the rush hour.
On the way back I passed a sandwich board outside a pub. It read: ‘Our chef has four Michelin Stars’, Blimy! I thought that’s good. I managed to grab another look as I drove round the bend what it actually said was:
‘Our chef has four Michelin Starred tyres and a Dunlop.’
I laughed out loud.
I read my article to my German girlfriend. She lives in Hamburg which makes for enormous phone bills, but she gives me very good criticsm. Today she said my writing was HAPTIC. Her definition, probably from her German medical dictionary, she’s a Medic, was ‘writing that serves all the senses’. My dictionary defines it quite differently, whatever it is I like it so now when people ask me what I do I shall say I’m a Haptic writer.
Sound, smells, feels, looks good don’t you think?
Anyway that’s it for tonight I need to tickle the dog and have a cup of hot chocolate, I was going to watch the news but I’ve missed it, it’ll have to be some bad telly instead..
Have a good night
and
cusoon.
.