The remembering

Today I am missing my dad TERRIBLY. The grief hits me at the weirdest times. Today it was in two waves, the first when I found an old photo of him, the second when I imagined him walking around the garden here at Coneysthorpe. He would have loved the garden far more than I ever could. I heard the conversation we would have had together. He would have not been able to help himself. He would have got into his old clothes and got to work. He was a man of the soil.

I was struck today how modest a man he was. He lived simply and modestly. He never boasted, was always hugging or laughing or giving. He couldn't stop giving. And I am ashamed that I didn't appreciate him more and recognise what a man of stature he was - a giant in every way.

Every time I arrived home from whatever part of the world I was working in, his first words were invariably "Eee lass, I have missed you."

Wherever you are tonight Dad, I do miss you. It tears me apart.

A walk to the Post Office

It takes around 40 minutes, but it is a glorious walk, so come along with me.

Nectar of the gods.

There are some events / things / smells from my youth that endure in my brain in a mega pixel, full throttle, hi-fidelity / 3D kind of way. One of them is the memory of eating a LOT of digestive biscuits during my finals at University. Essays on Pope, Dryden, Chinua Achebe and phonetics were usually adorned by the crumbs of the previous night's consumption. At least the addiction was legal.

I live in a country that doesn't make Digestive biscuits right. They are full of cheap and horrible ingredients and leave the alarming sensation in the mouth that I imagine would be left after eating horse oats.

Facebook provided me with a link to a blog which was advertising a recipe for chocolate digestives. Who could resist? I made them sans chocolate (I don't eat chocolate much these days), eh voila, the memories of thirty years ago came thundering back.

They look boring, but take my word for it, my tastebuds were translated.

A road trip

Sometimes, a half day wandering in the vicinity is as good as a holiday. Today we took a road trip to Feilding (yes I did spell that correctly), Marton (where our house originally stood) and Bulls (named after a person not a 2 tonne creature with a temper and horns).

Here are a few shots of the day, starting with Marton. It is a small farming town which appears to have fallen on hard times. The shops along the main high street are functional at best and of the second hand type at worst. However, if you lift your eyes from pavement level, some interesting history greets you.

Oh and if you are wondering who the statue is, that is Captain James Cook. The town is named after his home town in England, Marton-in-Cleveland.

Then on to Bulls. The town has adopted the corny approach to its name; as per the signpost. But there are some seriously good antique shops in the town, where I purchased the funky rolling pin (I'm guessing this is either to make pasta or to cut strips of pastry for decorating).

Vocational surnames

The local chimney sweep has a rather unfortunate name for his profession.....Bloxham

Paddock Diary 4

Yesterday a neighbour came and helped us with a tree that we needed to cut down.

We threw the branches into our paddock and caused a bit of a stir with our Highland ladies. They ran down from the top end of the field - the charge of the Hairy Ginger Lassies, with calves hot hoofing behind. I joked on the phone with the farmer who owns them that "The waste disposal unit arrived", as soon as the branches fell on the ground.

Here they are having morning tea!

Paddock Diary 3

an unusual sunrise this morning over the paddock. It was 22 degrees celcius at 6am and we are expecting the tail end of Cyclone Lusi today