Firstly – belated thanks to Kelly for her nice comment. I don’t get too many of those. Now insults…

And the leprechaun is writing again - she’d already sent her first draft of chapter two to the Scary One. I’m just going to have a bit of a snigger here, if no one minds. Guess who sent the wrong copy of her story back to her beta? So that all the mistakes where the same as the first copy she sent? Of course, the Scary One noticed this. *Tut, tut.*

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And it’s May Day. The only thing I really remember about celebrating this was learning Maypole Dancing at school. And a right palaver that was. It always took us just seconds to tie knots in the ribbons and absolute ages for the teacher to get everything untied again. No one seemed to know their left from their right, no one listened to any of the teacher’s instructions and I remember that we all had to do it in vest and knickers in the gym. We even managed to pull the maypole over on a couple of occasions.

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I’ve had a stressful couple of days, hence no blog. Yesterday I had to finish the year end payroll which required some figures from the Accounts Department in order that I could reconcile. Pulling teeth would have been less painful than obtaining the information I needed. Hence when I did eventually get home I fell asleep on the sofa. I think I managed half an hour on the computer last night until I decided that I’d be better off in bed.

I manage that sometimes you know – making decisions on going to bed without Himself bawling from the bedroom that I’ll be tired and won’t get up in the morning. To which he always gets the same reply – name one time that I’ve never got up in the morning. He can’t – I’ve always got up on time, even when I’m ill I still get up. OK, I may go back to bed later, but that’s hardly the point. Apparently Himself thinks of that reply as being mouthy. Well he’s entitled to his opinions, the same as the rest of us.

Today was no better as it’s the first of the month; I had the pleasure of running the first of the new financial year’s payroll. Payday is quite stressful enough without the added bonus of the across the board cost of living rise. It’s not as if everyone is paid a set salary, oh no. We have part-time staff and sessional workers and to add to my headache there was two bank holidays in last month. Yes, you are quite correct, I’m moaning. We’ve been here before if you remember – I’m rather talented at it.

To prove that I do have a sense of humour:





Of course this is the one month that Mr Darby’s salary will be wrong, but it still made me laugh. I put the sign on the door yesterday when I got pissed off with people asking me stupid questions to do with the photocopier.

And I’ve been too busy to share the photos from the weekend today, but I will share this one. I was stood on the stepping stones in Shrawley Wood taking some pictures when Himself told me to look at the dog.


I can’t decide whether he's wondering what the hell I'm doing stood in the middle of a stream or he’d stood there waiting for me to take his picture.

I had to get up to sit with the dog last night – it was thundering and lightening. Poor old Bill is terrified of it. So we sat in the front room with the telly on for a while. Half an hour later and I’d fallen asleep on the sofa with my one arm bent over hugging him. Oh, the pain when I woke up. I couldn’t move my neck.

It seemed to have stopped at that point, but I decided to take him upstairs with me in case it started again. Didn’t we have some fun? As I’ve already said, he’s old. The stairs caused a bit of a problem and he just couldn’t get up them. And I can tell you now, he’s no light weight. Eventually, gasping for breath – I’m so unfit – we made it to the top. I then put my dressing grown on the floor by my side of the bed and he cuddled up into it.

I woke this morning to find him sat up staring at me. I can also confirm that it’s even harder getting down the stairs with a dog in your arms than it is getting up them.

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George the duck is one of life’s macho males. Well at least he is when he’s standing behind you. Any other time he’s a coward.

He’s absolutely scared stiff of Baby Duck, the other drake we have. They need their wing feathers cutting at the moment. They can’t fly very far; just enough to get over the fence. Himself keeps threatening to put all the ducks in together, but I won’t let him. Baby bullies George whenever he gets the chance and I honestly don’t care that farmyard ducks don’t have a problem and are all in the same pen. I keep telling him George is special – it’s not his fault he thinks he’s a dog.

Anyway all we heard last night was this very loud quacking, the next thing George waddles in though the back door shouting his head off with Baby in hot pursuit. Baby stopped just inside the back doorway and then turned around. George carried on in. Through the utility room, into the kitchen and then the living room. He came straight up to me quacking like mad.

Himself did a great impersonation of: ‘Mummy, mummy, Baby is picking on me’. I was in fits. George followed me outside and stood in the doorway watching until I put Baby back in his pen. He then waddled back up the garden and told Ozzy all about how brave he was. Ozzy will stick up for him if he gets picked on but unfortunately she can't fly, so she was no help what-so-ever stuck on the other side of the fence.

I've always used this as a place to put things to rest, and thinking about it today there will probably come a time when I stop writing it. It will have served its purpose. I hope that by helping myself I've also helped others.

For there are an awful lot of people out there that have had similar experiences to me, and many that have had a lot worse. The one thing that this has done is introduced me to people I would never have met, they've written to me and shared a part of their lives. Who’d have thought that by writing slash stories my life would have changed so much.

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It was seven years yesterday since my mum died. Strangely enough the anniversary of her passing doesn’t affect me. Yes, I shed a few tears last night when I look some flowers up to the grave, but nothing compared with what I’m like on Christmas Day.

For ages I actually felt guilty about that; it’s not as if I don’t miss her after all. It took a while for me to accept and understand the reason for it. She suffered an awful lot in her life and slowly as the illness took control she became more and more debilitated. I can’t feel sad that her pain ceased and I’ll even admit that a part of me was relieved that I didn’t have to watch her suffering anymore.

We’d been away for the day; it was the Sunday before Easter. Youngest had won a silver medal for Vault in the regional gymnastic competition and we were all in good spirits. We called in on the way home to show off the medal and found out that she’d had sickness and diarrhoea, so I went over earlier that night to get her into bed.

When I went over the following morning I found she’d been ill all night, dad was shattered and whilst I was there he went back to bed for a bit. In the end I called the doctor, who came out straight away. By this time she was dehydrated and not really with it. He wanted her to go to hospital – she insisted that she wasn’t going.

Which to be honest is understandable; hospitals are useless at giving basic care. Especially to those with disabilities. The last time she had been in I’d visited after work to find her lunch and tablets on the table at the bottom of her bed. At that point in her life she could only just about feed herself. She couldn’t get in and out of bed, she couldn’t even sit up in bed by herself - we needed to lift her. And the nursing staff knew this. So I did what any daughter would do; I hit the roof. No, I wasn’t rude and I didn’t swear. But I can assure you I got my point across and she was looked after properly for the rest of her stay. She wasn’t one of life’s moaners, my mum. So she wouldn’t cause a fuss and hence she got forgotten by the staff. That was the worse part about her illness - she said it robbed her of her dignity. Her body was useless, but her mind unaffected.

The only way I could get her to agree to go into hospital was to promise that I wouldn’t leave her there by herself. I would stay with her the whole time; then if she needed the bedpan it wouldn’t be a problem. She was in hospital until the Easter Saturday. Several times during that stay we came close to losing her. I’ve boxed away those memories now and I’ll not revisit them again. I think I survived on a few hours sleep in a chair at night. My aunt stayed the one night with me - then when mum cried out she went to her. Knowing she was there I could relax and sleep for a few hours. I was living on adrenalin.

I wouldn’t go home - I’d made a promise and come hell and high water I was keeping it. That was mum’s fault I afraid. When I was growing up, she only made me a promise if she knew she could keep it. If she was unsure then she’d always said ‘I’ll try’. She taught me that a promise to someone meant something.

Eventually it was agreed she could come home and for a while I thought we’d got through it. She’d come close to death many times in her life and the doctors had warned us on more than one occasion; but she’d fought it off. My dad tried to tell me that she’d been sent home because the end was close. I just refused to believe it.

That Saturday morning when we got home she was like her old self. She could even hear properly again, arthritis had affected her hearing for years. We laughed and joked the whole morning. I went to do some shopping and found a picture frame that I knew she would like - so I brought it as an Easter present. She was over the moon with it and told me exactly which picture she wanted in it. One of me taken at Halech Castle; it was the first holiday that Himself and I had together. I’m stood in the turrets, the wind blowing my hair all over the place and I’m laughing. She told me that was how she liked to see me.

By late afternoon she said she was feeling tired and in pain again; so she asked me to put her to bed. She never got up again after that. Between the Saturday she came home from hospital and the Tuesday that she passed away, I went from praying for a miracle to save her, to begging that she be released from the pain. I won’t say I’m a religious person but at times like that you want to believe.

I even went into work on the Tuesday morning for an hour to sort things out, it’s stupid some of the things that you do. I spent the rest of the day sat with her. My dad had been wonderful with caring for her over the years, but he couldn’t cope with the end. He just popped in occasionally for a few minutes.

It was my friend Tracy that sat with me. And it wasn’t a sad time. We laughed, joked and talked to her as if she could hear us. Himself and the children popped in and out all day and several of my mum’s close friends visited as well. Her oldest friend hadn’t even arrived home before she died; it was as if she waited for everyone to say goodbye. A few minutes before she passed she opened her eyes - it gave us enough time for Tracy to fetch my dad. The end was quiet and after years of pain and suffering it was a release. She passed peaceful and with dignity, I could ask for no more than that.

After staying up to the wee small hours, working my fingers to the bone, the site update has gone ahead and the 1st chapter of the Leprechaun’s story is now available. Her e-mail address, just in case someone may have missed it, is on the bottom of her page.

Now, you could just pretend you hadn't noticed it or you could think to yourself: The Leprechaun and the Scary One are playing pass the parcel with chapter two, I’m sure that if I e-mailed her she’ll be encouraged to post again really quickly. And by doing that, Iris may start to feel a little bit guilty (only a little bit mind) that everyone else is writing whilst she’s soaking in the bath reading books.

And if it wasn’t bad enough Scally teasing me with snippets – Chris has started doing it too. They are both truly evil people. Although I would say that the bits Scally has teased me with are smuttier. I'm sure that will change, but then again, Scally isn't one to be outdone. *Looks hopeful*

Anyway, I’m now tired. After rolling into bed at nearly 1 a.m. that bloody cat brought another live mouse in at 4 this morning, this time I put a dressing grown on before attempting my heroic rescue. The cat got shoved in the living room, no, I didn’t feed her. She needn’t think I'm playing that game again. The mouse got encouraged to make its own way out of the door and across the road. I’m going to have to make sure the window isn’t open enough that the cat can get through it in the future.

(Update: It would appear that we’re experiencing a few techical difficulties – such as when you click on Pooks email address it brings up the site one instead – what can I say, you just can’t get the staff these days. I’ve also lost a few italics in her story, so I'm a very bad webmistress. I’ll be putting everything right later tonight. In the mean time the email address is: pookyverde@yahoo.co.uk.)


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And we all know what I'm like with photos - clouds that look like mice, fallen trees with faces of wood spirits. Well this time it's the dog. I was looking at the pictures I look on Saturday and Fern reminded me of Basil Brush, but without the tail.

Before anyone says anything – it’s not my fault that the update hasn’t happened. The Leprechaun and the Scary One are ironing the creases out. That first chapter has a better social life than me. And whilst we’re on the subject I better make it clear that it’s only the Leprechaun’s story that will appear in the update – I’m still working on mine. I needed a bit of motivation, which Scally has supplied. Although there could be a bit of a stand off between us I’m afraid, because she told me I wasn’t getting anymore of her story until I’ve finished the next chapter of mine. And I know Scally; if I’m not careful I'll end up doing a load of work and receiving two lines back in return.

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This weekend’s walk was around Clent. The bluebells are now out, the floor is just a carpet of blue.

And walking down the lane I couldn't believe the bright green of the trees. And today’s history lesson is all about Saint Kenelm. And we'll have no moaning, thank you. If I have to walk miles to discover a bit of history, the least you can do is listen, there will be a test later.
This is the spot that legend has it that Kenelm, Prince of Mercia was murdered in the ninth century and buried. Near by is also the spring that marks the source of the River Stour, although I must admit all I saw was mud.

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Sunday was of course spent working on the website and also JJ6. Well some of Sunday at any rate. There was a part of it spent in WH Smiths. I had to go into town to get youngest some trainers, he’s most inconsiderate and keeps growing out of them. This time he needed a size 11.

Whilst in town, the St Georges Day parade went past – led, I might add by a piper in a kilt. Himself decided to stand and watch and I wandered into Smiths, just to have a mooch of course.

During my mooching I found a book I quite fancied reading, Penguins Stopped Play by Harry Thompson, it was right by another book, Bermondsey Boy by Tommy Steele. And they were on offer, buy one get one half price, which was a bargain. So was The interpretation of Murder by Jed Rubenfeld and I spent ages trying to decide which two to buy. I just couldn't make my mind up, so I brought all three.

At which Point Himself joined me and suggested that we have a look for a book on walks in Worcestershire. We print all our walks of the internet and I'm afraid it's a bit hit and miss. I swear we walk at least an extra mile because we've gone wrong somewhere and had to double back on ourselves.

So upstairs we went in search of the travel section. Himself finds two books, the AA 50 walks in Herefordshire and Worcestershire and Roger Noyce’s Pub strolls in Worcestershire. Look, he found them not me. I was way to busy three isles away where I’d come across Anne Bradford’s The Haunted Midlands, which wasn’t far from The Folklore of Worcestershire by Roy Palmer. When Himself eventually found me I was sat on a chair engrossed in a book.

I was going to put them back, honestly I was – I’d spent enough already. But Himself insisted, he hadn’t brought me an actual birthday present, he said. I agrued that we had a day out in Telford, which I'd enjoyed much more than a present, but he insisted that it wasn't the same. Money had been so tight at the time with him being off work with a broken shoulder that the only thing I was bothered about was making sure the bills were paid. The Mortgage was more important to me than a present, especially one that I would have had to have brought myself. Himself doesn't do presents. And it’s surprising how quickly the savings disappear when you’ve only one wage coming in, so I just couldn't justify the expense.

So I ended up buying all of the books. I’ve decided that I’m not going to think what I should have spent the £50.00 on (£50.00 on books, I need my head looking at), not books that’s a fact. But I do take his point, I work hard and very rarely spend any money on myself – it was a one off, and I shouldn’t feel guilty.

Heaven alone knows what mistakes you'll find in todays blog - you'll just have to read it as best you can. And feel sorry for me.

I’ve been poorly, of course I don’t expect any sympathy – I know better than that. And I did soldier on – I’m a woman after all. It started on Monday night with a headache. No, not a hang over, I was driving. I don’t drink and drive – not even one glass. Mainly because alcohol goes straight to my head, even the one glass affects me.

Unfortunately, when I got home I had a run in with Parent; who’d been in and out all night asking Himself when I was going to be home, Himself had told him whenever I was ready and to basically mind his own business. If I wanted him, I’d ring, he said. That didn’t go down well.

Cut to the chase, I had one hell of an argument when I returned home and Parent got verbally abusive. Parent was put very firmly in his place – and didn’t like it. He tried the ‘you should tell someone what time you’re going to be home when you go out’, for someone read father. I think not. I won’t go into the ins and outs of it but Parent has been on a sharp learning curve over the last six months. Partly it’s my fault – the depression meant that for years I only really left the house to go to work and shopping, I was at his beck and call all of the time.

I’m now well on the way to enjoying life again, and I’m afraid it’s come as a bit of a shock to his system. He could write a book on emotional blackmail. That makes him out to be horrible and he isn’t. It’s a generation thing and he doesn’t mean it that way; he’d give me his last penny and I know that he loves me and wants what is best for me. He’s just taking a while to adapt to the new me that’s all.

But unfortunately, it upsets me every time. I can’t help it - it’s just the way I am. I’ll stand up for myself now but it comes at a cost. So I shut the door between house and flat. Himself goes potty when this happens and I have to keep him away from parent – it wouldn’t help matters, but that puts added pressure on me. So I wandered upstairs to the computer (satisfied now? – Gods, once a beta, always a beta) and went looking for Scally . I then cried on her shoulder and made her soggy. Soaked to the skin, she was.

I thought the headache was part of the upset. Scally allowed me the following morning of pity and then gave me a swift kick – I was just getting into the maudlin and hard done by bit as well. She can be a right spoil sport. Father apologised when I got home after work and I thought the headache would go. It didn’t – it carried on regardless and sickness decided to join in yesterday afternoon. So I went home, went to bed and got up this morning feeling better.

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And it’s a bloody good job too – because that sly, under-handed, devious, Leprechaun has been at it again! I turn my back for five minutes and find that it’s trying to win the readership over with cakes, buns and tray bakes. I wouldn’t mind, but she’s not left any for me.

I bet Scally got some or the ‘Scary One’, as she refers to her. I just hope that Scally knows what she’s up to, that's all. For those that don’t know, Scally writes stories too – she doesn’t post them openly on the web, just certain places. Which is a crying shame because she’s a bloody good writer and her stories rock. Yes, I’m a fully paid up member of her fan club. The world is missing out. So the Leprechaun is creeping; she thinks that she can endear herself to the Scary One and get sent another of her stories.

And I warned you all yesterday about the cakes, didn’t I? I’m sure that I don’t need to go to such levels for you to recognise the truth and that I’m the injured party in all of this. What? Well I’ve a packet of mints in the back of the drawer; they’re still edible if you give them a quick rub over with a tissue.


And the Leprechaun had better get her finger out and do her corrections, never mind cooking, because this weekend I’m updating. The web page address will be the same, I can’t be arsed to try and change it with tripod, but we needed a joint name. Once again the Leprechaun sat there, stuffing her face with sweeties, and let me do all the work. The lazy toad. We’ve decided on Ad Fundum. I thought it was funny, it appealed to my sense of humour for a start and for once the Leprechaun agreed with me.

I’m in hiding – the Leprechaun’s gone mad. Sweet, loveable, creature my…er…foot. I can’t possibly show my face around here at the moment, so I’ve found a secure place to hide until it calms down. I did think of asking Scally to hide me, but then thought better of it. Never mind selling me for 30 pieces of silver, she’d settle for a Malteser bar. And to be honest I’m hiding from her as well. I’ve not finished the story yet and she’s started to chase me for it. No, I’m safer well away from the pair of them for the time being.


So, back to the Leprechaun, typical Irish temper it’s got - goes up in the air like a bottle of pop. Fizz, bang! That’s obviously where the phrase ‘having / throwing a paddy’ comes from. I’ll just have to wait for the hot air to disperse and it calms down again. Funny the affect mentioning Cobweb’s name has on people, and I only told it to go and stick it's head around their door and say hello to her and the Gnome.


I found the Leprechaun at the bottom of my rainbow by the way; I swear to the Gods that it was up to no good, but I can’t prove it. You should have heard the language; it made be blush, so it did. It’s hardly my fault I trod on it.


Never mind, I’ve got my sandwiches, some cans of Pepsi and my note book. I can’t go near a computer for too long, they’ll track me down. It will give me a bit of time to continue writing without interruptions. Oh and I can tell you a bit more about 'Herself' whilst I’m here.


Pooky Verde. Cantankerous, Devious, Irish Leprechaun (elf). One of Ireland's fairy folk. Often takes the form of an apparently aged, diminutive man, but can be female - whatever form takes it's fancy. I think this one prefers to be female - it's always wearing a sparkly hairclip at any rate. They are frequently to be found in an intoxicated state (you're telling me), and are tricky fellows who like to play pranks on unsuspecting people. Legend has it that each has it's own crock of gold (this one swears - and I do mean swears - blind that it's broke and on Jobseekers Allowance).


And they have a temper - an Irish temper. In other words, if it starts ranting and raving, take cover as quickly as you can and don’t come out no matter what threats it utters. Be especially wary if it offers you a piece of home made cake. Oh, yes 'she' can cook, that’s not the problem – it’s just that it’s the devious side kicking in. She’ll offer you the cake with one hand and go for your knees with a baseball bat with the other.


Anyway, I better log off now - I’ve been on too long as it is. It's not safe.

I’ve decided that I’m not very well today, I’ve headache floating around. Too much time spent writing, no doubt. And I received an email from Scally last night enquiring on my update. Bloody slave driver.


Right, first things first, Monday night was spent with friends from college.

Yes, frightening aren’t they, and we hadn't even had a drink. They thought it would be great to appear on my blog, but then decided that they needed to disguise themselves because of the sort of stories I write. *Waves at the pair of ntcases* Other than Himself, those two fools are the only ones that know about my alter ego. And believe me, I’m a total innocent compared to them. Yes, Diane I am, you two are by far the worse.

I don’t think I should tell you about Maddie’s list. Oh, alright then, if you insist - just to prove my point about who is innocent and you is not. The list she made up after her divorce on places she wants to have sex. She got herself a new man, been with him a year now (Go Maddie!). They are working their way down the list; I notice that she’s crossed off the garden centre.

I wonder why, out of a class full of HR students we three became friends? Probably because I went to school with Di and I sat next to Maddie on the first day. I’m sure that I’m a nutter magnet. I’m always the responsible one after all and nutters are drawn to that. Those two for a start.

It was a lovely evening, we laughed that much that it started to hurt. We’ve also made arrangements for a sleep over, with a couple of bottle of wine and pizza in May. Di is going to give us facials, before she touches a glass of wine that is, and the snail is not invited this time. In return Maddie and I are going to work our magic on her hair. Yeah, more fool her, I know.

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And *fanfair please*……

That’s it? I paid all that money for that? We’ll it’s not my fault she kept everyone waiting dithering around a name. Oh, forget it. Right, now where was I? Oh yes…..

The Flaming-Iris website is delighted to announce that I have a writing partner. I would give you some more details but she’s not decided on her name yet. She’s too busy moaning and issuing orders. Yes, she the bossy sort.

Thank the Gods that she still appears to be scared of Scally, so with a bit of luck at least she’ll be able to keep her in some sort of order, the Gods help all of us if she can’t. I’m sure that Scally would also like to point out that I’m still waiting for the finished chapter of her first story. It’s been Scally-ed and returned for a bit of a wash and brush up, so I could arrange for an update - if she just shut up for five minutes and sent it to me that is.

I’m sure that you’ll make her feel welcome and send her the odd email of encouragement (when we decide on the name, we can sort out the e-mail address). It’s a big step releasing your first story out into the world, so please be nice and make the effort to say hello.

We’ve already had to send her a box of tissues. They’ve had a leaving party, promised her faithfully that they’ll ring every week and then borrowed some money. Should be just fine.

And before anyone say’s anything – someone like the Leprechaun. This update will have the site revamp on it, so JJ will be in the next update. The spotlight on this one is fully on the boys. They've waited long enough, they deserve full credit.

Now for the Gods sakes get on with it woman. The world is waiting.

UPDATE: I do beg the Leprechaun's pardon. Apparently the hold up is down to the Beta. Yes, we can all blame Scally and moan at her. Seems fair, don't you agree? And she had the flaming cheek to chase me!

There isn’t any blog today – that's because I spent last night writing. OK, I hope everyone is now satisfied? And you’ve started Scally off with the nagging, they’ll be trouble and tears before bedtime, you mark my words. She'll throw a tantrum if she doesn't get her own way.

Three chapters? How the hell am I meant to find the time to write three chapters? Who’s going to do the housework if I settle down to write? Oh, was that you offering to do my ironing for me, you being the helpful sort? Thank you Scally, you're so kind. I won't hear word said against you in the future.

And Kelly, thank you for taking the time to comment – and I do appreciate you checking my site everyday, but before you get taken in by the Mad Irish Woman ask yourself this:

Just what sort of person would be so cruel as to abuse a tiny little leprechaun like that? And don’t think it stops there. Oh no, she makes the poor thing do all the washing, ironing and cooking too. She issues orders right, left and centre; ‘get me a cup of tea, Leprechaun’, ‘run me a bath, Leprechaun’, mow the grass, Leprechaun’. Honestly, she’s a right slave driver. The poor thing is worn to a frazzle, half the time it doesn’t know if it’s coming or going. And it tries so hard to please her.

I’m surprised that the Leprechaun Independent Education Society or LIES as it’s know, hasn’t already contacted her. They try to educate Leprechaun owners on the correct care and nip cruelty in the bud. They’ll have their work cut out with her, I can tell you.

So if everyone is now happy, I’ll get back to work because I’m off out tonight for an evening with the girls from college. No, I won’t be writing later on, it’s going to take a few days to finish the story anyway and then you've got to wait for it to be Scally-ed & Chris-ed, so you’re going to have to show a little bit more patience. After all you’ve waited this long, another week isn’t going to hurt.

Right I’m back. Absolutely glorious weather we’re having, too nice to waste sitting inside.

And this time the walk didn’t centre around a pub – I’ve a feeling you may be getting the wrong idea about me. So I had an ice cream instead.

Yes, it is a double cone with two chocolate flakes - your eyes don’t deceive you. No point in settling for anything less, now is there? If you going to do it, you may as well do it right, that’s my motto.

We walked around Kinver Edge, part of which is owned by the National Trust.

Can you spot the nest?

In the roots of the tree of all places.

We had a quick nosy around the caves, hard to believe that people lived in them. We didn’t explore the caves that the NT had restored, mainly because we couldn’t find them. We got lost.

We eventually picked up the trail again and found the sign that allows you to stand with one foot in Worcestershire and one foot in Staffordshire.

And last Picture.

Briar couldn’t quite believe that squirrels climb trees. Most put out she was.

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I have also received an email trying to lay the blame at my door (me!) that a complaint couldn’t be made because my Comment Box was faulty. Can you believe it? No, I couldn’t either. The cheek of the woman. Did I delete it, she asked? You just can’t get a decent standard of readership these days.

So Elaine, I’ve tested it out. Works fine for me. Obviously you’ve been hitting those Maltesers Bars a little too often and you’re on a chocolate high. And don’t for one minute get any ideas about offering those as a bribe to Chris or Scally to start them off nagging. It won’t work. Neither like chocolate. No honestly, they don’t. Much better to give them all to me.

I just knew that I could reply on you lot not to say anything. Not one complaint at the lack of updates. OK, you could say this was because no one has read the blog, but according to the stats counter there has been 57 hits since I wrote that.

So obvious no one minds that I’m not updating, including all those people that have emailed me to ask when I’m going to upload the next part in James and Jay. Well you have had your chance, the lines as they say, are now closed.

What? You didn’t think I was going to keep the complaints line open did you? I'm not the BBC and I’m not that stupid. It would only take one person plunking up enough courage to do it and everyone would start. No, I think not. And Scally will be pleased - she can stop nagging now and I won’t get earache.

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Right, I'm now off for a walk - yes, that does mean more pictures. And no, you can't complain about that either. Not that you would have course. I may update later.

Aspersions have been cast, so it seemed necessary to update my blog to take this in to account.

SW. has left a new comment on your post "Before I start writing I better warn you that the ...": I've seen little evidence lately of you being a writer........... and yes, that does constitute as nagging.

I feel that I can’t possible let this comment pass by without a reply and that I need to set the record straight, so to speak.

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It’s hardly my fault, now is it, that my betas have let me get away with it up until now. No motivation or encouragement from either of them and they’re usually a right pair of bossy sods. Yes, OK, I’ll admit – at a push - that I may have received one or two, or even five e-mails from readers, but that’s not the point in question here.

I’m sure that everyone can see that I’m the injured party in all of this and with that in mind – and now we’ll really see if there are readers that want updates – that all complaints should be addressed to Scally & Chris and left in the comment box.

As no one appears to even understand the concept of the comment box, let alone use it – I think it’s fair to say that I don’t need to worry too much about updating yet a while. And before some bright spark thinks of it – emailing me doesn’t count.

Right, I think I’ve just about covered everything.

Not my fault. Check.
Complaints in writing only. Check.
Feel smug. Check.

Yep, that will do nicely. *walks away whistling to herself*


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Don’t let anyone ever tell you that animals are stupid, especially cats. My cat is a down right, devious, sneaky, underhanded trickster. Last night was a good example of how her mind works.

It was just before 12.00 and for once everyone had gone to bed; youngest has clicked on fairly quickly for a teenager that if you have to get up to go to work in the morning, talking on the internet to your friends isn’t a good idea at 4.30 a.m.

As I’ve said in the past I sleep with the bedroom window open, you’d have thought that I’d have heard the fencing panels being nicked, but I didn’t. And you can tell what season it is by what I wear to bed. Winter is Pyjama weather, but as it gets warmer I wear less and less – by the Summer I’m starkers. I don’t sleep very well if I’m hot. At the moment I’m at the T-shirt and knickers stage – yes there is a reason you need to know this, just carry on reading.

So we’re all in bed and the cat comes in through the window. Jumps on to the bed and start pawing at my face and rubbing up against me. For those without a cat, this translates to 'get up and feed me'.

I pushed her off the bed; no way was I getting up again. Not one to take no for an answer she jumped back up and started again. No, it wasn’t going to work – she got pushed off again with a pssstt. All went quiet and I heard her jump back up to the window sill and go out again. Fine by me, I could now settle down and go to sleep.

Half an hour later I was drifting off to sleep when I heard her come back in. She then meowed. Now she has lots of different meows and over time, like any cat owner, I’ve come to know what they mean. This was a quite distinctive meow, a little bit muffled. The sort of meow that you’d get if the cat had something in its mouth. A mouse, for example. I shot up out of bed, half scaring Himself to death in the process and shouted at the cat. She in turn gave me a Look and shot off down the stairs with me in hot pursuit.

She stopped at the living room door and stared at me, so did the mouse hanging from her mouth. I wasn’t in the mood to play the hero and rescue it, so I unlocked and opened the front door. The cat sat still for a seconds; I swear to God she was thinking. She then dropped the mouse who sat at her feet for a while before wandering off towards the stairs. Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan that the two of them had cooked up, the mouse was a little lost at the turn of events. The cat then calmly walked out of the front door and sat on the step. There was a wealth of meaning in the look she gave me.

I gave in, I know when I’m beat. I opened the living room door and in she walked, straight to the kitchen. She then waited patiently whilst I opened a tin of tuna.

So I was then left with the mouse. Like all mice it did the jack in the box impression whenever I tried to catch it. In the end I went back upstairs and found a small cardboard box. I eventually, after fits and starts, got the mouse into the box. Of course I don’t know if I’d have been able to achieve this if Himself hadn't given me instructions from the top of the stairs (BTW, that was me trying out irony).

Now to get rid of the bloody mouse. Well it was pitch black outside, we've no street lamps and at that time no one is around – so I figured that I didn’t need to get dressed, no one was going to see me after all.

Sticking my head out of the door, I had a quick look up and down the road. No one in sight and no cars around. So out I ran, heading for the pavement across the road and the Parish Hall garden. I figured it was a safe place for the mouse and well away from our house. I was halfway across the road when I remember that after we had the fencing panels nicked Himself decided that we should change the outside light to one that reacts to movement of any sort. Movement such as a middle aged woman running across the road in her T-shirt and knickers. I was illuminated up more effectively than the Blackpool Tower; I just hope the neighbours didn’t see me. I can tell you now that the mouse left the box a lot quicker than I originally planned.

Before I start writing I better warn you that the errors are on the rise. Every time I read over something again lately I spot another one. Mind you, I bet everyone is used to it by now.

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I talk about almost anything here – I’m a fairly open person, definitely what you see is what you get. I like to think that by sharing my experiences in some way it helps others. From the e-mails I’ve received talking about depression most certainly did. There is a fear attached to that word – but not as much as there was. People are now more aware of it and the reasons for it. The old adage ‘there for the grace of God, go I’ is very apt. Obviously depression covers a wide range of things and most certainly some people are more prone to it than others. But it’s one of life’s levellers. It has no respect for age, race, sex, colour or creed. And sometimes just knowing that someone has experienced what you’re going through helps.

So being so open also makes me fairly trusting too. I welcome people into my home and treat them as family. This made the incident that happened this past weekend all the harder to accept, understand and most definitely share.

To cut a long story short, money went missing and the person who took it was a very close family friend. I’m not the first person this has happened to and I know I won’t be the last. I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever feel that I could mention it here – but I do use the blog to put my thoughts in order. Sometimes just writing something down means you can let it go, which I hope will be the case. Closure.

I’ve gone through so many emotions over the last few days; disbelief, sadness, guilt and anger to name but a few. It’s made me realise that trust is such a brittle thing and once it has been broken I don’t know if you can ever fully give it again. It's not that easy to turn the other cheek. This hasn’t just affected me; it’s affected my family and my friend’s family. At the moment I seem to be stuck at the angry stage, it’s not the fact the money was taken or even that the person who took it doesn’t seem that bothered. I’m angry because his actions could have destroyed a friendship that no amount of money would ever compensate for. I certainly hope that we can work through it and that it won’t change a friendship that means the world to me. Only time will tell with that one.

Being an only child has always meant that friendship has been an integral part of my life, my friends fill a gap, a missing piece that only a single child would really understand. For most of my childhood I didn’t particularly mind, but there were times when I felt I was missing out. Christmas, family holidays.

Friendship becomes even more important as you grow older and realise it’s true worth. My internet friends, although I've never physically met them & possibly I never will, have also come to mean a tremendous amount to me and I think it's fair to say they’ve had a positive impact on my life.

Emails are shared nearly everyday between a small group and I was welcomed into that. I don't think I need to mention names, most of you will be able to work it out and one person is very private, which I also respect. They certainly didn't have to include me and I'm sure there have been times when they've wondered just what they'd taken on.

Looking back to when I joined LS, I didn't have a clue just how important a step I'd just taken or how much the people I met there would come to mean to me. I asked for help and Chris replied, quickly introducing me to Scally, the path then led me to the others. Each one of them accepting me for myself - the good and the bad bits. Scally joked yesterday that we were all nearly family – to which I suggested a kinky version of the Adams family - but as the saying goes, many a true word is spoken in jest. I know I would be deeply upset if I lost contact with any of them now. They earned my trust and in return gave me theirs. It took a while to see that, that they trusted me as much as I trusted them. It's not something that I'll ever take lightly and it's probably the greatest gift you can ever bestow on anyone. If I've learnt nothing else from this weekend, I've learnt that. Anyone who reads my blog will also know that I like to say thank you when someone helps me. Such a small word and not used nearly enough these day.

So, thank you Scally for constantly being there for me over the last few days at a time when I don't think I really knew myself how to deal with the situation. Part of me so badly wanted to just hide away and lick my wounds. I needed a shoulder to cry on, I’m so glad you were around. Thank you for putting up with me repeating everything over and over again and for making the time so that I could do just that. I needed to work through it. Lastly, thank you for the good advice and putting everything in to perspective. For being so level headed and helping me to find my smile again. Beyond all doubt I now know that some things are worth fighting for and that’s just what I’m going to do.

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A few more photos from the weekend out and about in Stourport.

Short blog today - lots of work to complete before hometime.

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I was just looking through some of the pictures I took this weekend whilst eating my sandwich. The good intentions of leaving my desk at lunchtime have gone south - but I do stop working long enough to eat my lunch now, instead of taking a bite every now and again and carrying on work.


These two made me smile - you're never really sure what you've captured until you look at it later.

Obviously why Spaniels are called Springers. And the Jumping Jack or Jackie in question cost us yet more money at the vets last night. Some where along the way she has managed to cut her tummy.

And I was going to ask if anyone saw anything unusual in this photograph. Then I remembered when I asked for comments regarding a cloud (Sunday, October 22, 2006) and thought better of it. That was much in par with pulling teeth. Honest to God the comment box doesn't bite and neither do I - the darlek incident was a one off and happened years ago, it's now a spent conviction and shouldn't be held against me.

So I thought it better if I just cut to the chase and told you that I can see a face in the end of the fallen tree trunk in the water. A fallen wood sprite? Evil looking little bugger, isn't he?

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Talking about my innocent nature, Scally – yes not someone you’d associate too closely with the word innocent I know – sent us a Good/Bad Girl test.

http://ynr.blogthings.com/areyouagoodgirlorabadgirlquiz/

Just look at my results. Proof, if proof is indeed needed, that I'm extremely good. Perfect Angel it says.

And you can just bloodly well forget any comments about me being a good liar.

You Are a Very Good Girl

You are 100% Good and 0% Bad You're a perfect angel - almost impossibly so Don't you ever feel like being a little bad?!?

I thought we'd do the before and after photo shoot today, after all if humans can have makeovers, why not dogs? It costs me enough money when all's said and done.









Actually this one's a bit blurred, I think it's because I'm trying to hold a smelly old teddy bear to get their attention and take the picture at the same time. I bet David Bailey doesn't have these sort of problems - he probably has an assistant to do all the dirty work.

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And that bloody cat’s at it again. I answered the door this morning to a lady telling me that my cat was stuck on the roof, meowing pitifully she was.

The little madam, I swear she waits for a gullible passerby; she doesn’t do it with everyone, she chooses her victims carefully. She had the one woman three times last year – mind you I blame the woman for that; she shouldn’t have encouraged her. It was obvious that I was the villain of the peace, refusing to go upstairs and open a window to let the cat in. The look I got suggested that some people shouldn’t own cats. Of course the cat in question out rightly refused to show the woman that she could get down very easily by herself.

So, when no one is around this is how the cat does it.

First, check for potential victims. If there are none in sight....

...check that owner can’t be persuaded into walking upstairs and opening a window.

If not, Jump from roof…..

…..to neighbours shed.


Down onto fence.

And in through the front door.

If no one is there to open the front door, sit on living room window sill and make evil faces at the person sat inside (similar to this). They'll soon give in, stop whatever they are doing and open the window.

It can’t possibly be work tomorrow, where did the Easter weekend go? And I haven’t as yet cracked winning the lottery so it looks like I’ll have to go back again.

Saturday and Sunday were spent walking. I found a website with some local walks - places that I didn’t know existed and are only a few miles away. We’re getting into this walking malarkey, not quite ready to join the Ramblers yet – I think we’re more Amblers if anything.

I also have to admit that I lied. I said that the Bluebells weren't out yet. They are in Shrawley Wood.

Mind you, I'm not the only webpage stating untruths. When I printed off one of the walks from that website it stated that it was 3.5 miles. Bollocks, like heck it was. It was at least 5 miles and I think after we got back to the car I'd have sworn an oath stating it was more like10 miles.







Strangely enough, these walks centre around a pub too. Not that Fern cared very much, she wasn't even interested when the sandwiches arrived.


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The weekend also found me washing the covers off the sofas (riveting stuff this blog, isn’t it?). It seemed a really good idea at the time to buy sofas with removable covers – what with cat, dogs, kids and even the odd duck (very odd – ducks shouldn’t want to be inside houses, it’s not natural) it made sense to get something that I could clean on a fairly regular basis.

Of course that was before I knew what a fight I’d have on my hands getting the covers on and off. It’s even worse than putting a clean duvet cover on. It doesn’t help matters when after you’ve washed, dried and managed to replace the cover that Himself decides to throw a mug of tea back over it. He was very popular after that.


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It also seemed a good idea at the time to book the dogs in for a hair cut on Bank Holiday Monday. Bev was working and it’s a right palaver getting three dogs, all walking in opposite compass directions, from the Co-op car park and down the street all by yourself. They appear to be playing some sort of game. How many pedestrians can we trip up? Himself was going to be at home so he could help me for a change.

After spending three quarters of an hour sat in traffic travelling all of five miles, I’ve decided that it was a bloody stupid idea and God alone knows what the hell I was thinking at the time. Why anyone would what to spend the day in Sunniless Stourport beats me.

For today’s blog I thought we could all go for a walk. Why? Because I said so, that's why. No, don’t moan, I’m not going to listen. You all spend far too much time sat glued to your computer screens, it's not very healthy, now is it? A breath of fresh air will do you all the world of good.

Now has everyone been to the toilet? And you at the back, for God’s sake change your shoes – you can’t walk in those, you’ll twist your ankle and I’m not giving you a piggy back ride home. Right. Are we all ready? Off we go then.

We'll start off our walk by the village hall and cross the field behind it. You'll notice or you would if you stopped arguing and paid attention for a change that the whole field is covered in wild pansies or viola tricolor if you prefer. Yes, OK - I may not have noticed them either in the past but that's what a camera does for you.

We’ll carry on down the field then, please make sure that you stay on the grass verge. It’s called Setaside.

No, the farmer hasn’t left it so the rabbits will have something to eat. Yes OK – the rabbits could eat it if they wanted to. Look, why don’t you just click the link and you can read all about it. It may shut you up for a while and the rest of us will get a bit of peace.

Under the fir trees.


Pardon? It reminds you of a song you used to sing at Brownies? We're all going on a bear hunt?

Yes, that's very nice dear, I'm sure we'd all love to hear you sing it. You want us to join in too? You would, wouldn't you.





Across the next field, please try to stay together and you pair at the back stop lagging behind. Yes, I can see what you're doing and if you don't put them straight away I'm going to take them off you.

Yes dear, there are a lot of fields, aren't there? It's because we're in the countryside - you'll find that they're all over the place around here. No dear, there is not such a thing as field bears, everyone is perfectly safe.




Be careful climbing over the stile and no pushing or someone is going to get hurt.

Who’s trodden on your fingers? Say sorry please. No, I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose, it was an accident. No, it was an accident. It had nothing at all to do with the fact you wouldn’t join in with the bear hunting song.



Yes, it is another field, aren't you observant? I bet they just loved you at Brownies. No, this one doesn't have grass for the bunnies, the farmer is growing wheat in it instead.


Well no, it doesn't look much like Weetabix at the moment. Oh, and he told you he ate three Weetabix for breakfast did he? No I don't believe him either.



We’re now entering Blue Bell Wood. No, there aren’t any Blue Bells at the moment because it’s too early in the year. No, there are no bears either. It’s an English wood.

Well yes, you do have a point there. There are plenty of creatures that do frequent woods. Oh, him. Yes, he has been known to turn up when least expected but as long as you don’t put your backpack on the ground I’m sure your sandwiches and cake will be safe. Well, relatively sure.



Watch you head on that tree.

What? I thought I told everyone to go before we left. You’ll have to go behind that bush. No, no one will look. Just hurry up please it’s starting to get dark and I don’t want to be wandering the countryside with you lot when it’s pitch black.

Yes, I’ve heard the saying, thank you. I’m sure no one wants to discuss what bears get up to in woods. NO, they don’t.



Passed the field with the horses in.

You’ve got what on your shoe? Wonderful. Just wipe your foot across the grass and it will come off. Oh for Goodness sake stop snivelling and don’t make such a fuss it’s only hay and grass after all. Well, mainly hay and grass.

Yes, it is starting to get dark. That’s because of all of the stops we’ve had to make. No dear, the bears don't come out in the dark to eat you all up - we're not that lucky.

You’ll just have to walk faster. No, I don’t care if your legs are aching, my head is aching but you don’t hear me moaning about it.

Across this stream and we’re nearly home.

No dear, I’m sure he didn’t push you in at all, you fell in deliberately. Well you're just going to have to walk across the last field in wet shoes. Maybe next time you won’t act the fool. Water bears indeed. You can just think yourself lucky that you didn't get a smack.

And just what sort of question is that supposed to be? I can assure you that it was just a pure fluke that we ended up here.

Have they gone? You’re sure? Thank the Gods for that. Pass me that drink and if I ever suggest such a thing again you have my permission to thump me.