Not quite the correct lyrics of I'll be there for you by the Rembrants that goes something along the lines of:- it's like you're always stuck in second gear, and it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year - well, you get the gist of it anyway.
The last few weeks have been so frustrating. Our house has been up for sale for just over a month now and we desperately need to sell it to rid ourselves of a mortgage we will soon be unable to pay and not one person has been to view the property so far. I know the housing market has slowed down through the summer and that August is the worst month to try and sell a house and that this, coupled with people waiting on the proposed change of government policy on house sales taxes has compounded our problems but at the moment we are in absolute limbo and I don't think I've slept properly for quite a few nights and it is now making me feel both restless and helpless.
This morning I was making coffee in the cafetiere when the glass broke and hot coffee shot all over the work surface, down the front of the washing machine, as well as under it and inside it, and down my front burning my stomach and the finger and thumb I was using to hold my hot, wet denim skirt away from my skin. Glass and coffee grounds went everywhere but luckily missed the airer full of ironing I'd just done. I ran up stairs and threw all my wet clothes in the bath whilst Paul moved the washing machine and took the top off and mopped up the hot coffee from the inside - who would have thought that one smallish container of coffee would cause so much mess?
Knowing that we will soon have to be moving I have been clearing out stuff and trying to get rid of things we no longer use but this has also given me the idea of writing about things that I know I can't get rid of, things that mean something to me, things I could never part with. I'm starting with books and so my next post will perhaps be about some of the books I want to keep and the reasons why. Also as this coming weekend is Heritage Open Days weekend we may be visiting a couple of buildings not normally open to the public, I think we have decided on The Leopard at Burslem and Bethesda Chapel in Hanley - I will report back later. In the meantime a lovely photo of dahlias - I always think of Bertie Wooster and his Aunt Dahlia when I see these - to cheer me up.
This morning as we set off for our usual walk around Trentham Lake we came across Monsieur Bibendum. He wasn't there last time we walked the same way but this time - there he was.
The 10ft high Michelin Man was carved with a chainsaw from a tree stump, taken from an ancient sequoia tree, by Wolverhampton based artist Fred Woods. It is one of several sculptures that are to be placed around the gardens depicting industries, both past and present, that have been important to the growth of Stoke-on-Trent. The Michelin factory has been a major employer in Stoke-on-Trent for about eighty years and still employs around one thousand two hundred people in the city.
Monsieur Bibendum,
the iconic logo of the Michelin company was designed in 1898 by French artist Marius Rossillon and was often depicted with a glass of beer and a cigar. The new Bibendum is slightly less rotund and an altogether more environmentally aware, abstemious character than his 20th century counterpart which was voted logo of the century in 2000.
Although I think that as a work of art this Monsieur Bibendum is very unusual I still prefer the three little blue and white ones that run around the roundabout near the factory in Stoke. It will be very interesting to see what different sculptures Mr Woods will design to depict the other major industries of Stoke-on-Trent.
We had to buy a new door mat yesterday because one of our cats,Tom, has decided - even though we have two litter trays in the house - that the doormat is infinitely preferable. As you can see from the photo, because it is clean and fresh and new Chloe has decided to lay claim to it before Tom can make his 'mark' on it. Cats, eh? ....... who'd have 'em?
Earlier this year I picked up a small brochure about local gardens. Inside there were several vouchers offering two entries for the price of one on several of the featured gardens, so, because we are watching the pennies at present and because I can't resist a decent 'bogof' we decided to take advantage of their very kind offer.
Last week we visited one of our favourite gardens at Wollerton Old Hall and I took this picture of the apple tree at the entrance. As well as their lovely 'garden rooms' they had trees full of apples, damsons, cherries and mullberries.
This week, for my birthday we visited Weston Park. I'd always wanted to visit and I wasn't disappointed. We spent about four hours wandering around and had lunch and afternoon tea there as a special treat. The photo above shows one of the wonderful hydrangea plants in the garden. It was very quiet with just a few visitors around first thing, there were marquees around and large lorries clearing aways loads of chairs. Maybe they were still clearing away the remains of the 'V' festival or it could have been the bank holiday weekend's offering of 'Noddy on Tour' - I'll let you decide.
As soon as I see the bindweed flowers engulfing the roadside hedgerows I know that summer is almost over.
The flowers are so pretty and delicate and somehow have an ethereal quality that makes me dwell on the passage of time and the changing of seasons.
Perhaps it is also because my birthday falls at this time of year - it was, in fact, yesterday - and with each passing year I'm conscious that I've already lived - if I'm lucky enough to reach the three score years and ten - just over two thirds of my life and I've no idea where most of it has gone. I always find the end of summer extremely sad almost like saying goodbye to someone dear to me and this year it seems worse as we really have had little in the way of summer to cheer us and to warm and strengthen us to face the winter months. The mornings now have that vaguely autumnal nip in the air and I'm aware that things around me are changing. Change of seasons this year means a change of lifestyle for Paul and I as our plans for selling up, downsizing and ridding ourselves of the mortgage are put into action it may take a while but it will happen and I know it will take time to get used to the idea and to let go of the many things I have found here. In the meantime I'm going to enjoy the last vestiges of summer and try to be positive about whatever the future may hold.
Every morning Mr Blackbird waits for his breakfast on the fence near the bird table. He watches whilst we put out the crumbs of bread from our breakfast table.
Usually he and his other bird friends have Paul's homemade bread to eat but this morning he had something new to tempt his appetite.
On Monday we had forgotten to take some bread out of the freezer to defrost in time for lunch so on our walk back from Longton we called at the Polish Delicatessen for a pack of their wheat and rye bread - and very nice it was too. This morning Mr. Blackbird had the remains of this to himself.
Mr. Blackbird, our name for him, has been calling for his breakfast for the last couple of years. He is very distinctive as he always looks a bit ruffled round the edges and has two grey patches on his back. I've no idea how long blackbirds live but I hope he makes it through another winter.
On 22nd August 1485 Richard III, much maligned King of England, lost his life and the battle for the English throne to Henry Tudor, Duke of Richmond at the Battle of Bosworth.
Loyaulté me Lie
The last few days have been quite hectic and I'm not sure what they have added to our carbon footprints as we have driven at least twice through seven different counties. I don't worry too much about it though, as we are quite thoughtful in other areas like recycling, saving water and energy, using environmentally friendly products and walking quite a lot. Also we have one small car and never use air transport. Anyway, I digress - back to the last few days.
We set out on Tuesday to drive over to Spalding, where we used to live, to collect a friend and bring her over to Stoke to stay with us for a few days. Our normal route is along the A50 from Stoke to Kegworth and through Zouch, Rempstone and Wymeswold. We normally stop for a break in Melton but on this journey we made a detour up to Long Clawson and Hose to do some 'family historying' and I've written about this on Family Matters.
Parish Church, Hose
After we'd had a look around and taken some photos we rejoined our normal route through Melton towards Colsterworth, Bourne and Spalding. We collected our friend from her home and then joined by another friend we had a superb lunch in the White Hart at Spalding before setting off back to Stoke.
The River Welland, Spalding
The next day we set out on the second leg of our journey travelling through Leek, across the Roaches to Buxton, Chapel-en-le-Frith and Glossop and then up towards Holmfirth. From here we were on unknown territory as we set off across Saddleworth Moor towards our destination, the village of Shaw, near Oldham. We left our friend at her friend's house, knowing that she would be brought back to us the following day, and drove back over the moor now bathed in the most glorious sunshine; the light effects on the hills were stunning. We were intrigued by a place called Uppermill so we stopped and had a look around, parking in the square in front of the Museum near the Saddleworth canal.
The Museum, Uppermill
On Saturday we made the return journey to Spalding this time stopping for lunch at the cafe at Wymondham Windmill.
The windmill at Wymondham
We made good time back to Spalding where, after dropping our friend at her home, we delivered some of my books to the Tourist Information Centre at Fenscape, before popping to Ayscoughfee Hall to see my friend who was on duty in the Museum. I worked at this Museum for over ten years and love to go back to see what has been changed.
Ayscoughfee Hall, Spalding
We finally got home about 7 o'clock on Saturday evening exhausted but happy. I think we may have a restful few days next week.
I just love the delicate colour of these roses in our garden; they have a lovely fragrance too. I thought I would just take an hour out of today to have a look around the garden to see what is happening. The plum tree is laden with fruit but unfortunately the apricot tree that we planted at the top of the garden has turned brown and looks very unhealthy. I think it has been affected by the heavy rains of the last few weeks and I fear its roots may have got too wet. It is a shame because the tree has moved twice with us and was grown from the stone of an apricot that came from a tree in the garden next door to us when we lived in Spalding. We took it with us in a pot when we moved to near Market Drayton where it lived on a balcony until we moved here. The tree the original fruit came from was planted by our then neighbour on her little boy's first birthday; when we left there over ten years ago he was twenty one. I was pleased to see that the Japanese Anemones and the Agapanthus are flowering and hadn't been affected by the weather.
This week is going to be very busy as we are driving over to Spalding to collect a friend to stay with us for a few days and then we are taking her to Oldham to stay overnight with a friend who lives there. So whilst I am busy cleaning, washing and planning meals Paul is busy cleaning the car, tidying the garden and plotting routes. I may not get back here for a few days - hence the hour of peace in which to smell the roses.
What a lovely surprise to find out this morning that I had been chosen to receive this Nice Matters award by Tea at Tea & Margaritas in My Garden.
I've never had anything like this before so am not sure of what I have to do but I think perhaps I'm supposed to nominate someone else to receive one in which case I will choose Robert over at Park Views-Lenton Recreation Ground because of his enthusiasm for his subject - the Park and Recreation Ground opposite his home. I've also chosen him because of his dedication to both the park and his local community and because the words and photos he uses to convey his great affection for the area in which he lives are inspirational.
On a recent visit to Chesterfield we decided to pay a visit to Revolution House. It stands just off the roadside in Old Whittington which is on the north-east side of Chesterfield about three miles from the centre of the town. 
The little cottage is called Revolution House because of it's part in what is now known as the 'Glorious Revolution' of 1688,
when the unpopular King James II was overthrown and William of Orange was invited to take the throne jointly with his wife Mary, daughter of the unfortunate James. At the time of the uprising the building, previously a small farm stead, had become an ale house called 'The Cock and Pynot' and was considered the ideal place for three local noblemen, the 4th Earl of Devonshire (later the first Duke), the Earl of Danby and Mr. John D'Arcy to meet to plot the downfall of their King. Under the guise of being a hunting party they met in the small parlour to discuss their plans.
Open everyday, except Tuesday, Revolution House makes for a very interesting visit. We watched a ten minute film in the little parlour where the plotters were said to have met. The larger parlour is furnished with period furniture and the upstairs houses changing exhibitions, the one for this year being a fascinating history of the Chesterfield Canal.
Just in case you were wondering, pynot, is a local word for a magpie. Just the one? Oh, no. 'Good Day, my lord.' - tugs forelock, crosses fingers and touches wood! Not that I'm superstitious, of course.
This morning, as I was walking back from the local shop, milk and newspaper in hand, I passed a young boy of about eight or nine years old. He was with his little sister, who was probably about three or four years old. Like most little girls today she was dressed from head to toe in differing shades of pink but what struck me most was that she was attached to her brother by a silky pink cord which lead from her wrist to his. The boy had obviously been commissioned with the guarding of his sister as he was holding on tight and watching where she was going and making sure that they crossed the road properly. I passed them near the Limo man's house. Since I first blogged about him last year he has acquired not only the Barbie pink limo but a gold one too. The gold one was parked outside his house this morning and as they passed it the little girl said to her brother 'Look at that car' and her brother replied in the manner of a child who has learned his lines well for the school play, 'Oh, I do wish we could ride in it.' It reminded me of the advert about Disneyland where the children are over excited about their visit and one of them says in wide eyed wonderment 'mmmMum, says it's mmmMagic'. I had to smile.
I don't think words are needed for this one.
I think the greatest impression I have of the journey along the Manchester Ship Canal is that of the contrast of the old and the new, the commerce and leisure and the urban and rural landscapes along its 35 miles. The journey itself took almost 6 hours during which time we passed from the glossy, modern buildings at the start of the journey to the impressive older buildings at the end. The first bridge lifted to let us pass from the quay into the canal and we moved sedately by the Lowry. the Imperial War Museum, the Hovis grain silo and the huge building site which is to be the new BBC studios and on to our first lock. There were five locks in all, three in fairly quick succession at the beginning of the journey. The last took us from the canal into the tidal River Mersey and we had to wait here a while for the tide to be at the exact level to make that move.
Although I had my camera with me, and I took the photograph of the ferry in the last post, once on board I decided to let Paul take the photos as the boat was very busy and seats were at a premium so he dotted about whilst I remained seated using my trusty binoculars to take in some of the views. We cruised steadily past scrap metal heaps and new canal side apartments with little balconies where people waved from open windows. I think most of all I remember the open countryside, the place where the River Mersey joined and then left the canal, the soaring railway and road bridges, especially the beautiful road bridge at Runcorn and the cantilever bridge near Warrington, the wildlife - a heron flying alongside the ferry, a buzzard on a post giving us a lugubrious stare, plovers, geese and kingfishers.
Here are just some of the sights we captured along the way:-
I have one special photograph which I am going to put in a separate post because I think it is outstanding enough to warrant it and it was one of my favourite sights on the whole journey.
I was already awake when the alarm went off at 5 o'clock this morning, we were up, dressed, lunch packed and ready to leave the house by 6 o'clock to drive up to Crewe Station where we had a light breakfast before boarding the 7a.m. train to Manchester. The train was nearly empty as it went through Homes Chapel and Goostrey (where we passed by Jodrell Bank). A few people joined us at Alderley Edge and Wilmslow and quite a few more at Stockport. We arrived at Manchester just before 8a.m. and followed the signs to the Metro Link where, on the platform, we had fun with the ticket machine - it kept spitting out our 50 pence pieces. We got there in the end and then stood on a packed platform waiting for the link to Eccles. When it arrived everyone crammed tightly into the carriages and as we sped through the city towards Salford Quays more and more people seemed to be getting on at the stops but not many were getting off. By 9a.m. we had managed to fight our way off the metro and were walking down towards the Lowry and along the avenue of trees to find what we were looking for. There was already a queue waiting to board so we tagged on the end, pleased with ourselves that we had got there in time to take our cruise on the Mersey Ferry along the Manchester Ship Canal.
I will write more of the actual voyage later but suffice to say that we had a wonderful time, the weather was excellent, we saw some wonderful things and really enjoyed the commentary by the Blue Badge guide. The ferry arrived in Liverpool just before 4p.m. and we found the St James Station for the underground link to Lime Street; here we had tea and cake before catching the train back to Crewe to pick up our car from the station car park. We arrived home at 6p.m., exactly twelve hours after we had left the house that morning.
The second garden we visited was at Brodsworth Hall near Doncaster. Luckily the Hall was open as well as the gardens. Inside the Hall was really interesting; many of the upstairs rooms, like at Calke Abbey, had been left just as they had been found and not restored, so you could see what the old carpets, wallpaper, painted friezes and etc were like. There was one bedroom, complete with a huge French boat-style bed, that had wisteria painted all around the top of the walls; this would have been so pretty when originally done. It was, of course, a huge country estate, so animals including horses and dogs were venerated here, hence there were two of the dogs below at the bottom of every set of stone steps in the garden.
After a very tasty lunch we wandered around the gardens. There were some interesting features including, below, the Summer House, on its grassy mound.
I particularly liked the target house, now used for an exhibition on the history and development of the gardens, it was built originally for storing archery equipment for the ladies of the house to use for target practice on the lawns outside. You can see the practice area through the window.
I had a dream last night that it rained and rained and rained non-stop for two or three years and that finally the sea took over. It came up the rivers and divided our country into small islands again. The water stretched from the Severn estuary to the Wash and there really was a north/south divide, a permanent, watery one. Beautiful buildings were lost, just church spires occasionally appearing above water and floating in the sea were books, teddy bears, cups, kettles and hair brushes. I was drifting up above it all powerless to stop it. I'm so glad I woke up but this morning I feel strangely detached from reality and am finding it really hard to get going.
There have been very few opportunities to get out and about just recently but last week we managed to find a couple of hours or so of dry, fairly sunny weather to visit a couple of gardens we'd been wanting to see for a long time. First up was Rennishaw Hall in Derbyshire. Family home of the Sitwell family. The Hall is still lived in by the family but the gardens are open for viewing, as are the family museums - mostly dedicated to the 'terrible trio' as they were known. Costume, books, photos and other mementos of Edith, Osbert and Sacheverell jostling for position with exotic costumes from opera and stage productions, ordinary but somehow spine chilling, everyday objects used by Hitler and Eva Braun and Mussolini and Clara Petacci, Gertrude Lawrence's letters and fur coat and Field Marshall Montgomery's pink pyjamas. The gardens were truly wonderful and outside I found this amazing sculpture. 
It depicts the British cellist Amaryllis Fleming (half sister the writer Ian Fleming and illegitimate daughter of the artist Augustus John.) The work is by sculptor (or should I say sculptress?) Fiore de Henriques. Below is one of the many lovely seats - unfortunately all too wet to sit on - dotted around the gardens. This one just caught my eye, I'm not sure why.
I was thinking about the beach hut I mentioned in my last post. It belonged to the owners of the Guest House we used to stay in most summers when I was young. We used to alternate between Teignmouth in Devon or St Ives in Cornwall. In St. Ives we used to stay with an elderly lady who would sit us all round the shiny, polished breakfast table and bring out a huge - and I mean huge - blue and white china plate or charger filled with everything for a cooked breakfast and we used to help ourselves from it onto smaller plates. I loved St Ives with its winding streets, painted fisherman's cottages and soft,warm beaches; to a small child it was like wonderland.
The beach hut though was at Teignmouth in Devon, an equally loved place. We always stayed with a couple called Mr and Mrs Lofty and Mum and Dad knew them so well that Christmas cards were exchanged each year. The Loftys had the beach hut, not on the main sea front but on the back beach near where the ferry used to cross over to Shaldon. One year my aunt, uncle and cousin joined us for a holiday and the photo below is of me and my cousin John, enjoying ourselves on that holiday. I'm not sure how old we would be but there was only two weeks between us in age. The hut was shabby but comfortable and had the added bonus of being next door to an ice cream vendor.
I
have absolutely no recollection of this photo being taken, where exactly it was or what we were doing. There is no one I can ask as I am the only one left to remember that happy holiday. It's strange, isn't it, the things you do remember from your childhood? Feelings and sensations rather than actual solid objects. The smell of breakfast, the sound of the gong to summon you all to an evening meal, the sound of the sea on an evening stroll, waking up to the sound of sea gulls, the wind in your face as you sailed into Brixham harbour, the hot warm sand between your toes. I don't think we ever feel these things quite so intensely as an adult.
My parents used to have a saying something along the lines of 'I wish I had a penny for every time I've heard that'. I was thinking today that I wish I had a penny for every time we've said over the last few weeks 'That will have to wait until it stops raining' or 'We need two or three dry days together to do that'. There are so may jobs that need to be done; things like mending the conservatory roof, painting windows and fences, pruning bushes, washing curtains and getting them dry outside in one day so they can be put back up again in the evening. All these things are on hold for the moment. The little gazebo we bought in April lies unused. We can't even cut the grass as it is under water at the top of the garden and the pond has overflowed - again. The white flowered Hebe has collapsed under the weight of rain on it's branches. In all this waiting I count my blessings as so many people have been flooded and have far worse to cope with, many are still homeless; but wouldn't it be wonderful to have just a few warm days together so we can actually 'feel' that it really is summer. We need things to cheer us up and something that has really cheered me up recently is the photograph below.
Isn't it wonderful? I have this photo courtesy of mrsnesbitt'splace as I was lucky enough to win the competition there. Do visit and look at her wonderful photos. I love the simplicity of this scene, the cool looking sea against the brightly coloured paint of the huts - they look fresh and modern. I have wonderful childhood memories of beach huts, though never as smartly painted as these; in my mind they are cream or green and faded by the sun and salt air. Filled with damp towels, buckets and spades and sand - everywhere! I can also smell the egg and tomato sandwiches and taste the hot tea made in a pan on a camping stove.
My friend Robert, a great beach hut connoisseur, will undoubtedly love them too.
This week is National Archaeology Week. To celebrate it we visited Cresswell Crags to see one of Paul's heroes in action.
Above is the well known flint knapper John Lord demonstrating the skill and precision needed to manufacture a hand axe. Later he and his son, William, demonstrated how to throw spears and how to use a bow and arrow. Great fun was had by all and the children loved it.
Hurrah, today is National Siesta Day! I'm of the opinion that cats know how to do it best. 
Just to show willing I'm off for a little ........zzzzzzzz
Yesterday we went to visit friends in Nottingham. We set out in fairly dry and faintly sunny weather although we knew the forecast wasn't particularly good. We left home about 9.30a.m. and drove along the A50 as far as the turn off to Sawley and Long Eaton. We decided to have a 'comfort' break at the Trent Locks at Sawley and had a little walk along to where the River Trent meets with the canal. The air was fresh and the light slightly gloomy. The car park had evidence of flooding and the river was high and full. After a quick leg stretch we set off on the rest of our journey to Nottingham arriving in torrential rain. 
Our friends, Susan and Robert, took us to Attenborough Nature Reserve for lunch and what a wonderful lunch it was. The food was all homemade and tasted wonderful. The cafe in the centre was full of visitors tucking into dishes of pasta, wonderful platters of salads, bowls of hot, steaming soup and huge plates of sandwiches. Our little party devoured three plates of salad and a bowl of soup all served with huge chunks of brown bread and butter. As we left the geese were out in force to see what leftovers were on offer. As it was raining quite hard again by the time we left the centre Robert suggested a visit to Wollaton Hall.
I
t is the most glorious building, Tudor outside, later influences inside. The stuffed and mounted birds in cases, reminded Susan and I of the collection of similar items in the museum we used to work in, we had a little shudder or two. I found myself wandering round looking at the building inside rather than the exhibits. We also visited the coach house and the industrial museum. Paul was able to take some really excellent photos of the deer in the park.
Afternoon tea, homemade cake and good conversation rounded off our visit nicely and all too soon it was time to say our farewells and set off back towards home our journey taking us through both sunshine and heavy showers. Thanks, dear friends, for a wonderful day.
One of my favourite cookery books is Seasonal Pleasures by Rosamond Richardson and I was flicking through it's pages today seeking inspiration for something to do with all our gooseberries. We have made a few jars of jam but we wanted to try something else this year.
I think of all the summer berries gooseberries are my favourite - in fact there is nothing like a good gooseberry crumble served with either custard, greek youghurt or vanilla ice cream as a special pudding - so a few of those will be made and frozen and we have decided to try gooseberry chutney and gooseberry and elderflower preserve too.
It was 10a.m. as we pulled into the parking area near Wetton Mill and there was only one other car standing there. As we were pulling on coats and checking that car doors were locked a man approached us to ask if we were from the Hanley Walking Club. We said we weren't and he seemed disappointed. Apparently they were supposed to meet at 10a.m. for a walk - I do hope they all turned up eventually. We wandered along the trail from Wetton Mill towards Thor's Cave. The air was damp with just the occasional spot of rain and it was so peaceful that the quiet seemed almost touchable; just the occasional squawk of a crow or coo of a pigeon to break the intense silence. Two squirrels ran out of the undergrowth and along the path in front of us before they veered off to the other side, up the nearest tree and disappeared. A redstart flitted across a small field where two calves and their mother peered at us from the shelter of their disintegrating barn.
The last time we'd walked this route was in autumn when the trees and hedgerows were russet red to pale yellow in colour and the wild rose hips and sloes were lingering on the bushes along the pathway. Today the hedgerows were fresh and green and the predominant colour on the path sides was a silvery white interspersed occasionally with the pale bright blue of the meadow cranesbill which grows in profusion in this area. The white, of course, from the Cow Parsley or Keck as it is sometimes called. There was a huge expanse of it just near the pathway up to Thor's cave. 
As we stood gazing up at the cave deciding that we couldn't make it up there today a voice said 'Does the bear still live in there?' We turned to see a man and his son who had been gazing at the information panel which had a picture of a bear in the mouth of the cave. He was smiling in fun but his son looked slightly worried. 'No', we said 'it's long gone' I think they were possibly Dutch or German but their spoken english was perfect. They set off to make their way up to the cave whilst we turned and made our way back to the mill arriving at the cafe just as the heavens opened. We sat with steaming hot mugs of coffee and pieces of homemade lemon cake, the tortoiseshell cat was in her usual place on one of the benches, used to all the fuss and attention she gets and taking it all in her stride, whilst outside the ducks gathered near the tables waiting for a crumb or two - unfortunately we were all inside with the cat.
We had a lovely walk on Cannock Chase this morning. It was warm and sunny after the last few rainy days so we tried to make the most of it as rain is expected again tomorrow. As soon as we got home I mowed the lawns, strimmed the edges and cleared the moss from under the garden seat whilst Paul made pizza for tea and enough bread to last us the rest of the week. All very ordinary stuff; I'm afraid I haven't many words at the moment - writer's block perhaps?
Last summer we forgot to prune back the Philadelphus or Mock Orange tree and this is the result. This variety is Philadelphus 'Virginal' and has lovely double bloomed flowers which have a sweet, gentle fragrance. Early this morning the boughs were drooping with the weight of both the flowers and the rain.
I thought this gateway was lovely; it drew me in I wanted to go through and seek out what was on the other side. The photo below shows what is beyond this gate - the tranquil, churchyard of St Katherine's church, Teversal, Nottinghamshire. 
There was a report tonight on the local evening news concerning the proposed closure of the main city post office which I mentioned in a post a few weeks ago. On Monday a group of about 100 pensioners, organised by North Staffs Grey Power, marched from the main post office into the Potteries Shopping Centre up the two flights of escalators to W.H.Smith and queued to buy books of second class stamps. They were making a point about the difficulties of gaining access to post offices services and also how difficult it would be for W H Smith staff to deal with the post office business as well as their own sales. There will be lots of business; I've queued in the main post office sometimes with 40+ other folks. The shopping centre manager escorted the protesters through the centre flanked by security guards and would only let a few people at a time into Smiths - as someone said in the newspaper afterwards - they wouldn't have done that if there had been a queue for a book signing at the store. The pensioners have the backing of Stoke Central MP Mark Fisher. It was great to see them all marching through the town just wish I'd known about it - I'd have gone and joined them; after all it's not just pensioners who need post office services is it?
