I’m on holiday today and tomorrow and looking forward to finding the time, if I’m lucky, to do some writing. I’ve not had chance lately – too much going on at home and on top of that I’ve been bringing work home to finish in the evenings. Not enough hours in the day.

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Yesterday we visited the castle and walked around the county museum. They’ve renovated it but a lot of the displays are the same. The little horse shoe is still there for a start.



The biggest change was the picnic area; they had cut a lot of the trees down. The little copse we played in was no longer there.

As a child, we kids would visit the museum on a Sunday afternoon. The picnic area brought back memories; we used to jump over the stream. I remember once that Hayley misjudged the distance and landed smack bang in the middle of it. She made me walk all the way home to get her a change of clothes.

Looking back I think that was probably the one thing that I noticed about her even then; she was always concerned with how others viewed her. Personally, being wet and muddy wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest; which was a good job really because I had my fair share of accidents. Falling out of trees was my speciality although I only ever hurt myself once - I broke my toe - with hind sight climbing trees bare foot wasn't that good an idea.

Hayley was very conscious of other peoples opinions and even at that age took pride in her apperance, as proud as a peacock would have been an apt description. Hence the two mile round walk I endured to get her some clean clothes. She in the mean time locked herself in one of the ladies toilets and awaited my return.

During the renovation they have installed a lift – it look like something out of a Roald Dalh story. It’s made of glass. I’m sure that some people will be impressed with the structure but personally I hate it. It doesn’t fit in with rest of the building. Why is it that architecture now days has to be so bloody clinical?

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I’m not really much of a cake person – that is I don’t eat a lot of cake; it has nothing what so ever to do with my feelings towards Mr Kipling. Although I’m sure he’s a very nice man and he does make exceedingly good cakes or so the advert says. Whilst shopping on Saturday I walked passed a bakers and spied in the window a Lemon Drizzle Cake. Mmmmm…I could eat a piece of that. So inside I go and purchased said item.

Come Saturday evening I was engrossed in the paperwork I’d brought home from work and thought – 'I just fancy a piece of that cake'. Into the kitchen I wander and look in the cupboard – no cake. Bloody typical, I buy myself a cake and some bugger has eaten it. I now know how the three bears felt when Gollilocks gate crashed.

I accused Himself of this atrocious crime against humanity – namely me. I berated him about the injustices in my life – how I rarely buy myself anything and when I do it gets taken from me. OK, I was having a tissy fit. Himself assured me he hadn’t touched it – must be youngest son he said. Lucky for youngest son or me, depending on your point of view, he was stopping at a friends house so integration was out of the question.

I went to the fridge on Sunday morning to get some butter and what did I find – the bloody cake. God in only knows why I put it there. At least I only had to apologise to Himself.