Thursday 6th July 2017


So here we are again, another month gone by, another deluge of dreadful, heartrending tragedies in the news. I won’t comment. What can I say that makes any sense of things that have no sense? I dwell too much on such things and I’m powerless to change them.

I dipped into my mailbox this morning and found a mail that made me feel a bit sad, not least because there were elements of truth in it. The writer said they reckoned if I didn’t pub Revs by the end of the year then I probably never would. They also predicted I would cease writing the diary by my next birthday. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s run its course as they say. I haven’t been as attentive to it as I once was, but hey, it’s been going a long time and maybe you reach a point where you do have to bow out or at least step back a bit. They also asked that I post at least one chapter of Revs, as I left readers hanging after CaL’s. That’s something I may well do in future. Thank you for that email by the way and thanks to all others who have graced my inbox with titbits and stuff.

On a personal note I think it’s fair to say I’ve been suffering from mild depression for a while now. It was compounded when my favourite Lit Lady friend announced she had cancer. It sent me into a spiral of anger against God, fate and anyone who crossed me in the supermarket. Shane finally persuaded (ordered) me to consult a doctor. I didn’t want to, but he insisted. He also insisted on accompanying (escorting) me. The doctor recommended antidepressants. I refused. I take enough chemicals, ta very frigging much! Shane wasn’t pleased. I could tell by the way he was moving his hands, as if he was mentally wringing my neck. In the end I did agree to talk therapy. I’ve had it before and it does help to talk to someone who listens but doesn’t judge and also someone who takes tears and snotty burbling in their stride. Dick is pretty good at handling tears and snot, but to be honest sometimes it’s better to impose messy emotion on a professional who offers a controlled and detached kind of sympathy. It is helping, but maybe offloading to a professional is another nail in the coffin of the diary? We shall see.

Being British I’m obliged by law to comment on the weather at least once a day. Some parts of the UK are allegedly basking in a heat wave. Not in my part of Blighty. We’re floundering in Noah conditions. It’s thundering, lightening and has generally been cold and pissing down for days now. It does nothing to improve my temper, as I can’t get out into the garden, not without a snorkel and wetsuit. My plants are a sorry and bedraggled sight.

Life hasn’t been without its lighter moments; such as last Sunday night when shortly after filling my gob with a handful of M & M’S I was hijacked by a stealth sneeze. It took me completely by surprise. I had no time to prepare the sandbags or even put up my hand. It was a mega sneeze, the daddy of all expulsions. Both the men folk and much of the room were blasted with masticated M & M’S. Of course the men folk were horrified and disgusted, and so was I, or at least I tried to be. They both looked like they’d been smitten with a multi colour pox, and the expression on their mugs was priceless. All attempts at apology came out as hysterical laughter. I nearly peed myself with mirth. They saw the funny side in the end. They had to, because I couldn’t stop laughing, not even when Dick got me in a headlock and did that thing with my hair while Shane smacked a paw across my arse. Chewed up M & M’S are a swine to clean up, a bit like trying to clean up bits of gritty eggshell. There was also a feline incident a few weeks ago that rattled Shane’s cage. I’ll divvy up details later. I’ve got to go now. Eileen and I planned a trip to a lavender farm in deepest Yorkshire today and we’re going ahead with it despite the rain. The lavender will soon be past its best so it’s now or never. Here I go - Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; and with a brolly over our English head.



Friday 7th July 2017

Two consecutive entries, what is the world coming to? Giddy Gilli.

Eileen and I had a smashing day out yesterday. By the time we got to our destination the rain had stopped and the sun was out. Because of all the rain the heat produced by the sun was of the muggy swamp variety, but I’m not complaining, because it actually enhanced the scent wafting from the lavender fields. It was beautiful, scent and sight. We had a nice lunch in the coffee shop. It served a variety of lavender themed desserts. I quite liked the lavender and lemon drizzle cake, but wasn’t so keen on the lavender ice cream because the flower buds in it made it look like it was studded with insects. There was a gift shop of course, no matter where you go there’s always a gift shop. I bought some lavender chocolates for Dick, lavender shortbread for Shane and a little bottle of lavender gin for Leo. I also bought lavender soaps and sachets to give out as gifts. I treated myself to some lavender plants from the farm nursery. They had so many varieties to choose from in different colours. I bought a white one, a pink one and a dwarf variety as well as some rosemary and lemon thyme. Eileen also splashed cash on an assortment of goodies. The car smelled heavenly as we wended our way home. We had to keep the windows open in case the lavender lulled us both into a state of relaxed unconsciousness. It was a wicked day out in a genteel sort of way. I’m going to drag the men folk there for a visit before the lavender gets harvested later this month.

Ta dah! As promised, and for once sooner rather than later, I have divvied the details on the feline incident that rattled Shane’s cage. See, miracles DO happen.

Click below for
The Curious Incident of the Cat on the Duvet

That’s probably me done until August now, but you never know. I might be on a roll in the gobshite stakes and then you’ll be sorry, you’ll be begging me to stop posting.


 
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