We have had showers, the ground is still dry of course but even seeing rain gladdens the heart. It means I can scatter Lucy's ashes over the rose bed in one of the showers. Selfishly I want another old spaniel to replace her, it will not be of course, my life will take a different turn in which animals will probably not figure.
Well pottering about in family history, and wondering why my grandfather and father do not have birth certificates is answered easily. Both were born in Antwerp, Belgium, but it leaves the puzzle of two of my siblings, Peter and Barry who were definitely brought up in this country and yet I can't find birth certificates for them.
Yesterday picking up the ashes, a prescription, and putting petrol in the car, almost forgotten how to do that! Then delivering a load of knitting plus craft books to the charity shop gave me a feeling of jobs well done.
Rod and his wife came to mow the lawns, they seem out of sync at the moment, turning up on odd days. They pointed out all the moss the crows are throwing off the roof, almost a frenzy of work. The young must be born and they are desperate for food.
Not one p******** word spoke so far ;) but in choosing the Police Commissioner for the area yesterday's voting paper, guess who I gave a miss to?
Memory from F/B, two hens and the brood. Whitby is the mecca of the North. sometimes I miss it, especially the little cottage tucked away so safely in a yard. The following photo is the entrance to Paul's favourite pub, it served beer from Tadcaster I think. It was a pub for the old regulars each day as they took their customary seats.
There was a charming old lady each time we went there, she would sip her glass of wine whilst pretending to read her magazine in the corner table. Always ready to talk.