A winter sun

Sometimes I just have to nip out to the local shops, but, when I can, I will take a circumnavigatory route via a woodland next to the Willow Lee.

Although bitterly cold, the sun was shining and the number of birds singing was a true delight.

I was glad to see the water levels in the lee had subsided and weirs had returned. Fallen logs and branches slowed the passage of the water and small pools were forming. Areas of wooded scrub were gently flooded and become more like a water meadow.

What really pleased me was a series of signs which had gone up recently......Big brother is watching.....no fly tipping 

Delighted, I continued on my walk. I have never understood why a few selfish individuals should get away with ruining the pleasures for the majority.  

This walk is heavily used, by dog walkers, children to a from school, people cutting through from the Shipbourne Road to the Hadlow Road and people like me, just out to enjoy.

It's a true little oasis and connects playing fields to swings and climbing frames. Wonderful. 

I carried on walking, listening to robins, blackbirds and pigeons making their presence heard as well as the chatter of squirrels telling all about intruders.

Before I'd realised it I found myself on the other side of the walk and slowly meandered my way back via the roads to the shop.

On the away I saw my first tree in bloom; a wonderful respite for bumble bees.

I am blessed where I live and look forward to the lengthening days to be able to enjoy it once more.

Alma's orchid has sprouted a baby

Before Alma died, she passed over three very sick orchid plants.

She'd made the mistake of leaving them outside and they were scorched by the sun. They were in a sorry state and one was left with the tiniest of shoots. The other two were reduced to part leaves and an iffy growth point.

She gave them to me to, as she put it, "try and do something with them".

For nearly a year I've worked on them attempting to get them up and running but, poor things, they were a sorry state and it really was touch and go whether any would survive.

Sadly, after a short battle, one keeled over but the other two rallied and as they are a 'gift' from her, I've worked hard to bring them on.

Imagine my delight when I realised the old flower spike on one of them was now hosting a young offspring. 

The parent plant is, as you can see, really healthy again. In fact the large leaves are twice the size of the original ones in Alma's house, so I'm more than delighted.

Thanks Alma, you've given me two lovely orchids, which will soon be three once more.

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Happy Christmas

So, was today as wonderful as you'd hoped it would be? The meal go well? All presents gratefully received? Alcohol ok? Tree look good? Nibbles, everything else great?

Yes? I'm glad, it's always wonderful when everything goes right.

Mine was somewhat unconventional is so much as I woke early, stretched, made some tea, listened to the radio then returned to sleep. Such decadence, it was delicious. 

My day was not permiated with people arriving, meals to cook, nor was there any alcohol or nibbly bits. I haven't a tree festooned with baubles and apart from café music courtesy of BGMC, my house was silent. No guests, just me, my music, books and my garden.

Mine sounds lonely but far from it. I spent a very happy and contented few hours in my greenhouse checking up on pelagoniums and night scented stock, potting up my containers for outside the kitchen window and then sitting in the sun with a good book and some tea. 

The smile of inner peace and tranquility was only interrupted by laughter caused by the book I'm reading. Trashy but really funny.

The table outside my kitchen window groans with flowers, small shrubs and winter pansies and I couldn't be happier.

So, whatever you are doing today or are still doing, can I extend peace, pleasure and fun to you. 

May memories be made and all those memories be good ones.

Coffee and a wander; its Christmas Eve

As is my wont, I find simple but compelling reasons to walk. 

Today is no exception.

Today's excuse is a new set of pillows(mine have seriously reached end of life) and a really nice coffee.

Perfect.

It's an excuse to walk into town, look in Poundstretchers, pick up some of their hotel quality pillows and then head for Finches. They do serve excellent coffee and as I can't get to Costa (still flooded along River Walk),  I settled for Finches. 

Coming out of Pounstretchers I noticed McDonald's was closed, signs upon the doors.

"Wonder what that's about?" Grinning at the displacement of so many people in need of their burger and fries fix, I headed into Finches......half the lights off, no tills, bits of paper and Cash Only signs out.

I noticed the main lights were out and they were running on "window" lighting.

It was lovely, everywhere felt Christmassy, cozy and wintry. People appeared more friendly, laughing, happy, chatting to those in the queue waiting to be served by buoyant staff armed with paper, carbon and a calculator. There was a warmth in people, something more often than not missing in the modern, retail world.

The buzz in the place was electric, and Christmas was truly in the air.

Is this something we are missing these days?

That cosiness we had the luxury of enjoying in that café? That dimming of the natural light and the harshness of the Christmas tree lights which shone out on that darkness.

Is this the magic we have lost perhaps? Is this what top end restaurants cash in on when they create an atmosphere of dim lights, candles and soft, festive decorations; that bright and beautiful tree with faux presents scattered beneath?

I thought back to Christmases past and pondered......what was it that made Christmas feel magical?

"They should ban Christmas, its too expensive!"

I went into Asda to pick up some tea and having made it to the Fast Checkout til, I paid and overheard a somewhat fraught woman bemoaning this time of year. 

She had obviously spent way beyond her budget and was now worrying about what this would mean. She carried on at her partner about how they'd have to "go easy" and perhaps not buy.......

She wasn't the only one, sadly, that joyous time called Christmas had been lost somewhere between the decorations and unwanted presents.

I smiled both with pleasure and with sadness.

I can still remember the time when Christmas did mean something special and not because we got presents, but because the magic of rebirthing the year was upon us. We celebrated the birth of Christ and in a way, through that, we also found a rush of excitement as we knew longer days meant more play.

We sat down with older people in our community and listened to stories, some scary, some adventure, some true, some made up. We didn't care, we were escorted into a land of fairytale and make believe. Our imaginations bounced from pirates on open seas to mermaids, villains and highwaymen. We imagined fairyland, gnomes, elves and trolls.

We knew what happened to naughty children of any age and we didn't want the trolls to eat us.

We had reached that time when we experienced the shortest day and now we knew the fresh shoots of Spring were on their way.

I remembered spraying cones and dried fruits, berries and leaves with silver and gold paint and setting them to dry as we were given hot chocolate and cinnamon cups with a single marshmallow melting on top.

I remember getting the wire and stringing our baubles together with bits of spruce, holly and anything else still in leaf, and making garlands, loops, hoops and bells of Nature's last flush and excitedly parading them around to relatives who "oooh'd" and "aaah'd " at our handiwork, displaying them prominently in windows, hallways and on doors.

It was a time of family, of community,  of laughter and fun.

Was there much money? Nope.

Were there many presents? Nope.

Did the tables groan under food? Nope.

Did we expect and petulantly stamp our feet if we didn't get what we wanted? Nope.

Did we sit around the Xbox, TV or a phone all day not interacting, playing, running about or going outside? Nope.

Did we have fun with money still in our pockets? Yep.

And most importantly we socialised.....with the community.....with the neighbours.......with our family.......

When did that get lost?

When did the Cathedrals of Retail take this period over?

BMW failed to ford the A26

Coming back the other day from a wet and soggy journey to Maidstone, I slowed in readiness for a possible hold up.

Coming out in the morning, I'd had to drive (ford) my way through water which completely covered the width of the road. 

I'd already encountered many minor floods on back roads and negotiated those, but the one on the A26, I knew would be a potential problem.

It was.

A BMW had decided the centre of the road was shallow enough.....it wasnt and by the looks of it, the car had died, right where traffic needed to be really.

The area was now enjoying the waterboard, the traffic police, the road maintenance crew, the RAC and a shed load of traffic tailing back in both directions. 

It would have been so much easier without the stranded car.

The waterboard looked worried; under all that standing water which was up to their knees, they valiantly prodded and hunted for the blocked drains we had reported some five weeks ago.

Shame it wasn't picked up then.

Medway 4..........Riverbank 1

21st December 

I decided I fancied a coffee. I'd had one at home, but that freshly brewed latte, extra hot was in the town with my name on it, so I walked in.

I'm lucky to have a bus pass so, walk in, bus back, makes perfect sense.

Once in the town I wandered past the castle and along the river walk. I didn't get far....

Mm, rain stopped walk.

I found another way round, now intrigued by the swimming pool, the Model Railway Clubhouse and, the pitches......

Fortunately for the Model Railway Clubhouse it's on rails and way above it all (just about) but the carpark is sitting under a couple of feet (40cms) of water.

Pitches then, ready for the wind surfers and canoists?

I was told the other side of the High Street was just as bad and people were discovering just how waterproof their footwear wasn't. 😊

I had my coffee and watched people as they scurried about, Christmas their only thought.

I caught the bus home and getting indoors heard the rain once more turn heavy. I'd missed it all. Pity about the shoppers.

Christmas is coming in the sub-tropics

Joys of Bird Watching in the sun

One thing I have loved, even above the species of geckos and their sunbathing on the sides of the footpaths, has been the variety of birds I've seen or heard this time.

The chickens, loose at the side of the road scratching away in the shrubbery, Canarian sparrows chattering in the yukkas, blackbirds serenading from the rubber trees and the raptor species flying overhead.

On this building there is a pair of sparrow hawks with a youngster. Watching them as they gracefully sweep past the building with their screeching offspring in hot pursuit, looking for tasty morsels to grab and deliver is a treat.

But there are also falcons skimming the open ground and the banana fields not far from my balcony and today I watch a species of buzzard riding the thermals on the slopes as the valley rises towards the three small volcanic plugs.

At night, when I've woken for a quick loo trip I've heard the cry of an owl. Sadly I have no idea which it is but a barn owl it most certainly is not as I would recognise that screech anywhere.

The almost eerie sound travels round the valley but as yet I have not heard a reply. I suspect its female (no 'wobble' in the twoo) but however I strain my ears, I've not his expected call.

I sometimes wonder if the warmth of the bed calls me to sleep before he does, that answer I will never know.

Roosting Chickens

Wandering out last night I was enjoying the serenade from a flock of blue tits when I saw something large, fluttering in one of the shrubs nearby. 

On looking more closely I was greeted by the sight of large, black chickens getting cooched down in the branches some six feet (two metres) up. 

Chickens flutter they don't fly as such, so I was both surprised and not surprised to see them there.

I had already watched a rat chase off a pigeon who had obviously got a bit to close to their nest area, so it made sense for these birds to either get themselves off the ground and be less vulnerable or return to their coop (if they had one) for the night.

I then thought about the little ones. I wonder if they hitched a lift on the backs of the adults? I'd seen adults with them riding on their back a couple of years ago, so putting two and possibly two together I wondered if I'd made four? 

No idea, but seeing these birds roosting was quite an honour.

A Common-Law Marriage in the Sea

I was privileged to watch two people, standing in the surf, oblivious of everything around them, swap rings and make vows. 

They were so in love and I could see they wanted this moment to last forever.

They took photographs of the rings, of their hands intertwined and selfies, holding each other tight.

Then they held each other close and looked out to sea.

It was so romantic and they were so loved-up; reluctantly they turned from the sea and the moment they had just shared.

As they collected their shoes I silently offered them my congratulations and wished them all the happiness.

Swimwear, my mother and a rapidly crawling daughter.

When I look at the images in a photo album of me, as a child, growing up, I really feel for my mother's sanity.

She had given birth to a water baby who really had no idea why she sank in water and ducks didn't. 

Honest! It lasted years, and got me into all sorts of trouble, well, deep waters actually. 

My mother had to employ reins on me because of this habitual addiction to the water. 

She had spare sets of clothes with her at all times and the parks where there was a duck pond necessitated a spare coat and full change of clothing to be stashed with the park keeper.

It was simple, I saw water, I aimed for water, I entered water, I swam away. Yes, I swam from a time way before I could walk, a real headache for any mother. 

Reins were essential,  they curbed the automatic responses of her errant daughter, but not on the beach.

So, let me tell you of her fun with me, the sea and her swimwear.

My mother's aunts and uncles lived in Barry, South Wales. During the war, this is where my mother was evacuated and Aunt Em became her real mum. So it was little surprise that my holidays were spent with Aunt Em too.

The beach there is both beautiful white sand and the highest tides with tide races to match. To me, that meant nothing, to my mother, it was a big worry.

Three small images exist which tickle me when I recall them. Let me describe them and I will fill in the details a photo could never portray. No doubt you'll be horrified as were most mother's on the beach but this was me,  honest.

The first image is of a baby, wearing daffodil yellow swimming bottoms in crawling position, lifting one arm forward and looking in that direction. She has curly, blonde hair and a tanned body. She isn't plump like most modern babies, this one is lean and, it appears, developing good muscles.

Image two is of this baby now high speed crawling as she scoots her way toward the sea with an ever watchful mother attempting to get into her swimwear. There is an air of speed around mother too as she is fighting the top half of herself into the cossie whilst watching and shouting to her daughter. I know what she's shouting,

"JOSEPHINE! Wait for me!"

This, I suspect would have fallen on deaf ears.

The third a final image is of my mother running into the surf and reaching down to grab the back of the daffodil yellow trunks as her daughter is engulfed by the waves.

A mother's nightmare and greatest fear, the thought of her daughter drowning. 

My mother didn't exactly fear for my safety, she knew she'd grab me even if her top half was still overflowing the cossie. What her real worry was, she knew this only excited me more and my desire to tumble in the surf was growing stronger as I grew older.

She told me afterwards how other mothers would tut and shake their heads; that child should be kept safe in a pram, they'd say at my mother......I'd already worked out how to tip that up and crawl off, so no hope there.

My mother was considered a dreadful woman and an even worse mother. What they didn't understand was, I was a difficult child in so much as when I made up my mind to get into the water, it happened one way or another, and where water was concerned, it was easier just to go with it.

It seems she would stay in the water with me and let me be rolled around by the waves as they broke on shore watching me all the time. Somewhere I remember seeing a picture of my mother standing over me as I rolled around is the sea.

If it looked as though I wasn't able to come up to breathe, she'd pull me up, and I would be giggling and kicking, itching to do it again.

Even at that age, I held my breath very well it appears.

My obsession with water grew and by eight I was competing for my school and a swimming club I'd joined. 

By ten, I was winning big races and being picked for county level.

My love and fascination for the water has never died, and even now I can't think of anything more exciting than being tossed around like a rag doll in the surf. 

My sense of self preservation has developed however, and I know my mother's arm will no longer lift me out when the going gets tough. 

These days I prefer what's under the waves, snorkel and flippers adorn me now.

Funnily enough, I still wear a brilliant daffodil yellow T-shirt over my cossie if I snorkel; it means my position will be seen by surfers and pedillos which might be around.

This Sugar Addiction

I worry. I'm sitting in a hotel surrounded by various nationalities and the predominance of grossly overweight is clear to see. 

We are eating ourselves to the doctors.

Where I am sitting at the moment, dad is sitting with two young adults, probably sons.

I know the father runs, I saw him returning several times. He is grey haired, lean and isn't snacking. The two young men have just tucked into ice cream and a toasted cheese sandwich. Both are a good two possibly three stone over the weight their father would indicate they should be, genetically, but the diet I have watched these young men consume, is a modern one of predominantly carbohydrates and sodas.

I cannot say my generation is much better. I look around and watch both women and men so grossly overweight they can hardly walk. The sun loungers are invariably snapped underneath, and with the weights these plastic beds are being exposed to, it really isn't surprising.

I watched one man so grossly obese, he couldn't get up from the lounger without holding something to lever himself up.

Ok,so they maybe quite content to be the sizes they are, but what are the consequences for the various health departments? 

And, selfishly, what about my needs? I am not overweight but I am nearer seventy than sixty, what happens when I require medical support? Will there be any? Or will it all have been swallowed up by the varying obesity related illnesses leaving no money or time allocation for people like me?

I really do dislike drunks

Have you ever been in a situation where one drunk can ruin pretty much everything for those who are not?

I can't say I'm whiter that white, and yes, I've been drunk in my youth, on many occasions, and yes, I will have disturbed those I went past as we all climbed the hill to the squat, but in an hotel? Me? No.

Have I been so drunk my mouth has opened and things unguarded have poured out? Ironically no, I was never that drunk, just too pissed  to walk the line without giggling.

Last night was a classic. Twenty rooms, each with one or two guests inside, settling for sleep and a very drunk woman in a skimpy night dress prostrate on the floor, screaming her head off and banging the door as loudly as she could. 

This went on and on for ages and interestingly no-one opened a door to find out what was going on.

Out of concern for her and, let's be honest, the desire for sleep, I eventually went out. 

I really do hate drunks. Their head space is so uncontrolled and quick to turn; their unpredictability can be frightening. My aim was to get it resolved as no-one else seemed willing.

But, what interested me was, why no one came out to see? 

Is this the insularity of a multi- national hotel? 

Is this a continuum of, nobody speaks in lifts, or says thank you if you hold a door open? 

Or is this rooted in a fear of getting involved, not my business, it'll go away in the end?