Thank you so much, to all of you that sent me messages.
Not a crisis, not a teaser, but I just needed an acknowledgment that life does still exist outside my little cottage.
This morning there was no donkey, the yellow primroses are giving way to tiny purple wild violets, bluebells, cuckoo flowers and little white mouse ears. Pink, white and blue everywhere.
I think the cold, wet winter has done all the plants good.
I timed myself – 24 bars of track five – running past a little copse of wood anemones, The trees are surrounded by little faces of white petals all pushing their way to the sun. Which was out until I got to Frog Spawn Bend.
Marched up the hill past centurion rows of Dan-De-Lion. ‘Wet the beds’ as we called them when I was growing up.
Talking of which, I always have to stop off in the outdoor pursuit centre to use their public loo. I’m drinking three litres of greens everyday. Finally I’m back on my old regime. Which is a massive relief.
Part of my absence has been dealing with GLICLAZIDE. The diabetic drug I resorted to. My doctor’s known me for twenty odd years – and I do mean odd – but he is a Western Medical practitioner, so drugs are always the first port of call. I had got so stressed and out of whack that I had to do something to regulate my body. I trust him, but I hated taking the drug.
Apart from the weight gain my two big toes ( slap, bang on the Liver meridian) had developed fungus, my skin had turned a sallow shade of mustard and my hair was as lank as damp vermicelli.
And then I interviewed a brilliant professor on my BBC show who noticed my bloated belly and said….
Jeni Barnett
Donkey work
Every time I run/walk I wonder whether to bother to write this blog anymore.
I go through a whole paranoid journey of not being wanted, being boring, being too old for this malarky. I run through why I should or shouldn’t blog, and everything that goes with blogging. Like wearing mini skirts when you 80.
And then I get an idea and I think
‘Oh! I’ll write that…’ because my lovely bloggers will be interested, and then I think
‘My lovely bloggers don’t exist anymore, because I have been so lax in writing regularly.’
And then I excuse myself because there are things I can’t write about, don’t know how to write about – and then I think if I write about my absent, commenting bloggers all my lovely bloggers will think I’m fishing for a reaction. Dying for comments. which in a way I am.
So, whether you are there or not, whether you care or not, whether I’m being read or not, whether I should just shut up, I’m writing this in the hope that just one little person will enjoy it.
Tools at the ready
Idiot alert.
Wind flowers ARE not WOOD SORREL . Wind flowers are WOOD ANEMONES.
From now on my days as a botanist are numbered!.
Update on the puppy: Gods Gift has gone and got himself a job. Nine months of being a Thespian in London and Bath.
His dog whispering skills were needed to train the little pup. And given my insane work timetable I wouldn’t be around enough to tickle it, feed it, walk it and sleep with it. SO we’ve had to let this one go.
Sods law, every time we walk we come across another little brown blob.
There is next year, and I’m not giving up.
Thank you for your comments about Watch Wiv Muvver. I’m starting on number 12.
Just come back from the orchard but not before the excitement with the police.
Wind flowers
So I realised that when a blogger blogs they need to be accurate. I have been merrily running past the little white flowers believing them to be aconite. They are crowding the verges and filling the hedgerows. They are NOT ACONITE. They are WIND FLOWERS aka WOOD SORREL. So there. Just in case you thought … Read more
Boston.
The Boston Bombing had me turning away from the television screen ‘Some of you may find the images disturbing’ said Sophie the newsreader. It wasn’t so much the images I found disturbing as the incredulity of fifteen seconds of devastation that has ruined the lives of hundreds of people. Domestic, Foreign, Al Quaeda, or Right … Read more
Death at the Ritz
I have finally mowed the lawn.
Cleared the woodshed.
My mothers three plants have just about survived the coldest of times. although I’m not too happy about the Rosemary.
I have taught the old man how to make soup, and by gum he’s good at it, we’ve been dining off Squash soup with turmeric and chili.
Last night I bought up a whole Italian meal from Camisa in Soho. The dawter and I drove home and five of us dug into – artichokes,zucchini, aubergine and freshly made pastas.
Not to mention the best Italian Jammy Dodgers ever.
Easter Sunday
I have written all my thank you letters, thank you. My birthday was simply lovely. Brighton lunch, and flowers all over the kitchen. This morning I am a week older than last Sunday. Being 64 is really rather good. My gift to myself is that I really don’t give a toss now. About what you … Read more
When I’m 64
I was shamed into writing this by the delicious Jamie kelsey Fry, who graced my show this morning.
Megan and Louise wrote a book about teenagers, and equipped themselves so well as did my last guest Robbie Hance, who sung himself on and off the X factor. He came into the BBC London studio with his new manager, mother of three who had never done anything of the like in her life. Her heart led him to the man without a home .
She and two others have given him a dream to hold onto.
We were lucky enough to be part of his journey. I wish him every bit of luck that is coming his way.
It was a wonderful way to spend a birthday morning.
I decided to drive in, the snow blobbing down with the arrogance of the untouchable. It doesn’t matter how much the cold and chill is whistling around the hard times there ain’t nothing I can do about it so I wrapped up in a very old blue and yellow anorak, wrapped a scarf around my neck, put on two pairs of socks and whizzed past Sevenoaks.
Nibbled on peanuts I had in my pocket. I felt like a blue tit.
The radio – without Aled Jones – is dull. So I station hopped and ended up with a Bach Cantata that made my hairs stand on end.
The divine Miss Esther drove the show like a demon. I had a bowl of porridge. You take the lift to -1 and enter the world of the BBC canteen. The smell of baked beans wafts up the ramp as BBC staff sit round tables noshing toast and talking scart plugs,
watch wiv muvver 10
Miss de Mina goes to bed. Please share her views. Mak her viral. enjoy Watch wiv muvver 10 yawn……
St. Patricks Day
What a show we have for you on St. Patricks Day. Great music and the sharp as you like Amanda Ramsay, from Labour Uncut who is my paper reviewer. Anna and Andrew Wallas ‘have written a book entitled Call off the Search’ . It is incredibly wise and insightful. Together they have dissected their relationship. … Read more