Grockle Bridge

Oh no its Grockle bridge time again. Approach with dread all ye who wish to enter the village - for cross the bridge you must. Fear not the troll that lurked under the bridge in times gone by. But shake with sheer dread as Grockle Bridge spreads its deadly tentacles in the warming sun . . . . once again.

The drive by Grockles in their glass, wheeled palaces have arrived. The bridge a magnet for their kind. Each delivery doomed for precisely twenty minutes to meander in their own true, glass eyed way on the strip that is Grockle Bridge. They fear not cars - these they know can cause them no harm . . . For they are The Grockles and well they stand their ground. Fierce is the scowl of a Grockle should, in a foolish moment you hoot, or mutter excuse me. The Grockles know who they are and you matter not a jot.

Drive with mute apology all locals who must cross Grockle bridge. Hit not the dog out on long slack lead. Ne'er disturb the flash of the camera bright, nor halt the hum of the cam corder – these be tasks of great importance and you and your daily life will be considered not.

But what is this that approaches the bridge – so close, so close, I am almost there. Almost clear to the other side. Aggghhhh no tis the Grockle Home on wheels. Forthrightly it barges onto the bridge scattering foot bound, lesser Grockles far and wide, superior in its path, and then before me it glides to a smug, sniggering halt. Back must I go, for a Grockle home in tow, must not, cannot be denied. Back through the scowling Grockles – twice have I bothered them now. Back, back all of us, all the cars gathered for the dreaded course, back we all must go.

Grockle home sails past. 4x4 in the lead, caravan bumping behind. Grockle hands remain clamped tightly on the steering wheel, eyes forthrightly front. No thank you wave expected, non given.

Back onto Grockle bridge, once more into the fray dear friends. Drive with gentle care. Berludy, berludy hell now a berludy lorry has driven onto the bridge. Berludy hell he's not getting away with that.

'OY you fek off. Yes you. No see, see, see me, I'm getting out of my car you burger. Engine off, look, and see these keys, yes take a good look . . over the bridge. Oh yes, yes in the river . . if you don't back up . . . you . . . you . . .you bar steward you. Yes in the drink . . now . . . .Oh yes I do mean it.'

Oppps, berludy hell I nearly did as well!

'An you 'n' all.' Phew and he's doing it, he's backing up. Quick, Quick eyes down over the berludy bridge quick, bright red face, sheepish eyes, no sympathy from the Grockles. Got to get tobacco, wine and mushrooms . . . . . . and yes more coffee . . lots of coffee this is only Easter and I have to brave Grockle Bridge several times a week from now on until November. . . . . . AND I still have to find somewhere to park . . . . .

City Slut

We've been on our one day holiday and son is now happily back at University. I got all drippy briefly and then discovered the car was tissueless – burger – couldn't indulge.

When the hell did Edinburgh get so grubby. I've always liked Edinburgh, but yesterday what a slut she was. Needed a good bath and groom. Clearly been out boozing and smoking and puking by the evidence in the park. And I had obviously forgotten that was it scowl ferociously at a stranger day? Must have been a helluva party, but I only seemed to have arrived in time for the colossal hangover. Maybe it was me. I was clearly not in happy fluffy mood. Sometimes I love a quick dip into buzzy town life – but oh not yesterday. Stick it I'm heading for the hills. Give me - exploding cesspools and shrieking gleefully with Lixtroll - over slutty cities any day.

Some people are asking how Lixtroll and Westerwitch know each other. She's a squatter and I can't get rid of her . . . oh no sorry that is a complete lie. Er . . . she is my long lost sister from Australia. Oh actually that may not be true either. She is a guest that refuses to leave. Oh no I remember . . I am the squatter and she can't get rid of me. Sorry lying in the sun again. The simple truth is we (husband and I) had a dreadful fire, lost money and had to sell off part of our dream. Luck was clearly having a good giggle last Spring and brought Lixtroll and Poo here to be our neighbours. If you have a strong constitution, nothing to do and a lot of coffee – go and read my three part fire blog.


And now I boldly go to muck out son's discarded bedroom! Oh, but wait I've had a great idea – take the jet washer up onto the decking (it is on the first floor – the berludy decking that is . . and the jet washer, once we haul it up there). Son's bedroom window is downstairs and close to the decking – we can open his window and schoosh all the muck from the decking through into his bedroom– improvement – massive – sorted!

Off to Edinburgh

Mixed feelings day today. No real time to Blog. Off to Edinburgh to take Son back to University . . . I know he has mixed feelings about returning because . . I talked to him. Yes I held a conversation with a teenager. He loves the freedom of living away from home. All the things you would expect really. Then he said 'but I am going to miss the wonderful smell of home when I open the front door, gawd I love that smell.' Sorry sorry, got something in my eye here, sniff sniff and oh dear hay fever already!

So I shall have mixed feelings too. Sad to see him go I shall worry about him and want to protect him from the World, but berludy hell I won't miss the mess, the washing up, the mess, the cooking, the mess, the washing, the mess and not helping with the dogs and the mess and oh yes the mess. To be fair most of the mess has stayed in his room, but it is pretty horrific. Even the dogs lay a trail when they enter his room to ensure their safe return to the hall way.

So off into the sunset we all go and return with just the two of us.

I am putting up the picture of the Girdley Bird again as a huge big thank you to Lixtroll. She asked for a copy of the poem a while back and then went away and drew the fabulous picture you see here of the bird. The original is quite big and utterly amazing – and would you believe it the daft bat actually GAVE it to me. I was and am knocked out. So although I have said thank you once or twice before . . .I am saying it again . . .THANK YOU. You are a lovely friend and the Angels were indeed smiling the day you came round to view and then later buy our house. You are still a daft bat though . . .thank gawd . . someone I can gibber at and be understood . . .




Aaaaaaaaaa . . aaaaaaaa we are rushing around outside and shouting aaaaaa cos the guests have gone. . . . . . Lixtroll, Lixtroll look look the cesspit has overflowed bleah. Right you dig through the poooo here and lift the drain there and rod just about there . . . so love to help but we are off to Edinburgh aaaaaaaaaaaa.

The Girdley Bird

Sorry guys - I am in a bit of a rush today - not because I am busy oh no, but there is apparently this mental stimulation going around and the voices are telling me I am mental enough as it is.

Bill, Bill you haven't checked my exam paper you rat you . . . all that hard work and where are you . . . out to lunch. Pah!

Checked my teeth in the mirror this morning - still covered in black dots, or was that the mirror. Ooops spots in front of my eyes. Ferlipping heck only seconds ahead of mental stimulation now . . . Quick quick here is a poem about a country bird, wot lives in the country. I did the picture tooo. OW OWWWWWW. Berludy hell that hurt . . . ok ok Lixtroll did the picture . . . but I'm the only one with spotty teeth.

Oh look there's a Girdley Bird
See it's flying glupside round
It must be from Blossie Land
Cos they do that all the time

Oh it'll turn and look at you
Should you hang around
It will peer at you from its frumble eyes
Which are part upper most the other side of brown

Watch it toes though dare you stay
An believe me should you see them quimber
Get tready to run as fast as you can
Cos it's going to dive at you quick and blimber

A Girdley bird will love you
But please remember they are sticky
From lofty plume down to whirly tails
and their beaks are ever so bernippy

Much better to admire from afar
than get stuck to this gwickle bird
Cos wearing a Girdly bird for the rest of your life
Is of the twurtest thing I've ever heard.

And tomorrow – I promise I will write a proper Counrtry Diary!

Exam Paper

EXAM PAPER


Name: Westerwitch

Date: 11th April 2007 (so far so good)

Examiner : Mentor Bill

Subject: Blogging

Grade: Unlikely to get one.


Question: Imagine, if you will, if this was the first CL blog you ever came across. (please see comment and exam question set by Mentor Bill on westerwitch's I did it my way – eventually.

Answearee . . Tum ti tum ti tum. La la la la la. Oooops sorry must concentrate. Not that I would ever buy concentrate, only the real thing for me. Toot toot toot. Not fair wanna be outside. Not sitting in this smelly ole exam room. Rootntootin . . Oh yuk just bit the rubber off my pencil. Gosh it's warm in here zzzzzzz

Lots of wavy lines and harp type music.

Oh hello, who are you? Gosh you look familiar. Shaking a bit I see. Clean nails, nicely combed hair. What's that you're saying. . you've crossed your eyes and dotted your teeth. Oh my goodness you have haven't you. Did you use permanent marker on your teeth . . oh dear.

So you are a first time reader and want a trip round the CL blog site. Oh well take my hand and I'll see what I can do. Yuk what have you got in your hand . . .pooooo. No please don't throw it on the floor. Now look you have gone and trodden in it. No, no come back don't go and tread it everywhere!

Er no thank you I wouldn't like a bit of your sandwich . . .oh I see you made the bread and the cheese and grew the salad yourself. It's goats cheese you say Fascinating. Cor it don't half pong.

Where on earth did that Dove come from. Oh you keep doves and breed them and at the same time you do tricks at children's parties. Oh yes. Hahahaha I've got a joke vomit too and a whoopy cushion – did you know that if you squeeze a whooppeee cushion under water . . oh you did.

You like horses you say – ah well plenty on this site, even got our own Dark Horse and we drink at the False Start Public Bar. Oh so yours is a double and you like quality not quantity . . . unless it is chocolate, or wine.

No no please don't play with that digger. Gosh you handle it very well. Can you solder. Oh well can't have everything.

Yes I do like your lipstick – should it have all those bees swarming round it though . . . . and why are you pulling a cat out of a rabbit hole . . I'm getting all confused here . . .

You know you really do look familiar . . . no, oh no don't go all wavy like that you are making me feel sick . . .

Ooooops where am. Ohmigodde I have just met myself coming the other way and it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be . . . AHAH I've got it.



EXAM ANSWER . . . It very much depends on whose reading the Blog and if it isn't to their taste then there is such a huge variety on the CL site and all from a truly wonderful bunch of people that no-one is likely to go away disappointed. After all Bill you are still with us.xxx

Chickenix Blog

Well berludy hell – I think yesterday might have got to me. Cos this morning I put on my politicly correct purple Hunter wellies and stomped out to feed the sheep, chickens blah blah blah, normally a job I enjoy – but kept getting this image of a certain lady nodding in approval at my country ways. . . . . . if not the purple of my wellies.

Well it stops right here. Keep an eye on your digger Lixtroll I am going to urbanise it with a good dollop of lipstick. I have shredded my beloved wellies and am now hobbling around painfully in mud caked high heels. The dogs are dressed in fluffy little pink numbers and I am murderously shopping at Tesco-on-line. I have flattened my greenhouse with Lixtroll's digger and my welding and glazing kits are up for sale on ebay. I am feverishly bidding for a gun and fishing tackle on line so that I can sell those toooo. Mind you I am having a bit of trouble here as my wine soaked keyboard keeps exploding and the keys are all glued together with melted easter eggs.

Coffee wasn't mentioned in yesterday's tirade, but I'm drinking gallons of it just in case. Kids . . kids . . no kids around so will have to work on that one. And why all this feverish activity you may ask . . . .how the hell should I know – somewhere a wine free brain cell is protesting that whatever happens I don't want to be like a certain lady . . . oh b****r I wish I hadn't shredded my wellies though. And how the hell do people manage with these heels. Whoops safari has just unexpectedly quite for the ninth time – Tesco you can stick it . . .oh no apparently I can stick it. According to them I live too far into the countryside for them to deliver to me . . . .Ah the dogs have eaten their fluffy pink numbers (expect an ExmoorJane soon) and I have come too damn close to letting a certain lady blob all over my confidence.

So quick re-wind and back to my happy ditzy version of country living normal . . which will include wine and chocolate and children when they are home – the children - wine and chocolate are always at home. It will also include the way I live MY life in the countryside and not someone else's version of how I should do it. And very much on the top of my happy country living list is blogging and 'hanging out' with you lot – cos in the words of Wild&Green you rock! OK?

One word of warning though – Lixtroll I am still coming after your digger with lipstick and glitter and streamers and pink fluffy feathers . . . . . .

Easter Blog

This is just a quick Blog – cos I can give it up anytime . . .

Wow I got a bit of jolt this morning. Remembering that in a previous blog I had stated that I was not the mother sobbing at the school gates on the first day of school, nor was I the mother miserable with her empty nest etc. . . Ok so Easter Morning lying in bed with cup of coffee – flowers and chockies from husband – excellent – all going really well and no urge to blog.

Enter son who is home from University for Easter. We give him his Easter egg, he gives us ours . . . yum. Then son sits on the bed and it all hits me. This year there has been no mad, Saturday midnight preparation of Easter Egg hunt – to be followed by equally mad far too early in the morning Easter day Easter egg hunt This year we are not as a family all sitting on our bed and giggling and arguing and guzzling chocolate. This afternoon we will not be looking forward to Easter Lunch together. In fact as a family we will not be together at all today. And I confess I am really missing it. Even a bit tearfully . . .hopefully a quick blog will help .Daughter is working today so she and boyfriend can't come and visit us. I have rehearsals tonight – so we can't go and visit them. Busy lives. I don't mind, or begrudge my kids their lives in the slightest – I am delighted and really proud that they are spreading their wings and doing so well. There is a small niggling doubt though – did I enjoy my time enough with the kids when they were growing up – did I treasure every second as fully as I could. Hah of course not – as much as we were a 'happy family' – my wonderful kids drove me nuts on an hourly basis and many was the time I wish they would hurry up and grow up. Well they did and although I am enjoying my new found freedom . . . . I miss them. But wait – one day I will be a grandmother . . . . .possibly not for many years . . . oh but the pranks I can plan . . . . did you know that whoopy cushions make a truly disgusting noise when squashed under water - go on try it, let me know what you think. Plus I have bought a fart machine – which I have tested out on the drama club . . . . oh that was sooooo funny . . . . .there is the laughter machine that reacts to light and laughs hysterically, works best hidden in the fridge and the over sensitive key whistler you can tape under the table . . . and I can feed my grandkids e numbers and send them home hyper, I can teach them to buy joke shop poo and vomit on line . . . . oh so much to look forward to and I will enjoy every last second . . . . . . . .

Phone fun

Thank you so much for all your comments yesterday.

I thought I was mostly over the fire by now, but having finally written it all down it left me shaking and in an odd mood for the rest of the day. I feel I have now exorcised any remaining ghosts and thank you very much for allowing me to do this.

As husband and son are still away climbing the three peaks (one to go today - two under their belts)and as Poo was watching cricket, Lixtroll came over for a visit last night. Big glasses of wine, lots of very small badly rolled fags dahling and plenty of blog reading and commenting – especially BlossomCottage. Hoots of laughter.

So after yesterday's manic typing here's a little gem from the chronicles of daughters revenge.

At the time this took place she was four.

Phone rings . . .not being in a position to answer it . . .I sit and listen in growing horror.

The question put to daughter I presume was 'can I speak to your mummy?'

Pause then daughter answers . . .

'No she's in the loo having a poo!' Arrrgggghhhhhh.

Ok that's enough for today – off to fine tune my hoovering. The dogs and I of course levitate across the floor at all times, but all the bits we bring in from the garden don't seem to have mastered the art yet.

And then we had the fire - part 1

And then we had the fire . . . it is over two years ago now in time, but still short in memory.

January 15th 2005 and I was at the Panto after show party. The shows had gone well and the party was in full swing. Son was there. He had been doing the sound for the Panto. Daughter had been given a lift home. She had been in the audience with friends and friends Dad.

Without any warning the nightmare began. Daughter was there running screaming through the hall 'you've got to come home, you've got to come home.' I kept asking why and she kept saying you've got to come home. WHY? Because the house is on fire. Godawful moment. One I won't forget, followed by a night full of them. Somehow I drove the three miles home – shaking off offers of help – I needed help, but I had to get home and now.

I drove up our track shivering with dread – the night sky lit by an ominous orange glow. I arrived at the end of the track to find three fire engines, hoards of firemen, lights, police, hoses everywhere, people standing around . . organised chaos.

It wasn't our own house that was on fire, but our gorgeous 200 year old Steading. We rented it out as a holiday cottage. Our own cottage was in darkness, no electricity, no phone. Daughter with the help of her friends had got all the animals outside, not knowing how safe our own house was. I was allowed into our house. We got the electricity back on, one phone line still not working, but the other was ok. Together we calmed and got all the animals indoors. Daughter was oddly calm now. I left her sitting on the bonnet of the car her friends and friends dad there to comfort her. She was in a state of shock having found the fire and having had to deal with it and call the fire brigade, but I had to leave her and go and face what was waiting for me.

I walked the dreaded yards to The Steading. Up until the moment I walked around the corner it had been mostly hidden from view - maybe it wasn't happening, maybe it wasn't that bad! What met my eyes was pure horror. I can still remember standing there going 'oh my god', over and over. What had been the downstairs bathroom and sauna was a black hole full of flames, Where the roof had been flames leapt up. Sparks were raining down. The whole of the upstairs had either gone, or was going. The roof had collapsed, both front doors gone and yet incredulously the ground floor two foot thick walls were still standing. One gable end had collapsed and the other was dangerous. Then the fireman were there, running towards me, grabbing me. A lot of them I knew from the Village. 'Are you on your own' one said ? 'Er . . er . . er I'm separated' I blurted out. The fireman smiled kindly, . . .'yes I know that, but is there anyone with you?' And apart from my daughter and her friends there wasn't.

Then my dear friend from the village turned up – I shall call her Angel. She looked after daughter and later picked son up from the party. Oh yes the party was still going on . . . At some point her friends left - I don't remember when.

The fireman asked 'where are your guests?' Another heart stopping moment. The guests cars were there. I looked at The Steading . .if the guests had been in there . . . they were dead. I phoned my estranged husband he was in Dubai working. 'You might want to come back, The Steading is completely ablaze and we may have eight deaths I blurted out.' I can't really remember what he said – I thought he might be cross I had woken him.

Suddenly the guests were there – small stag party – they had been down the pub. My Angel stepped in and organised tea and coffee. She also sorted them out beds for the night. A couple of them got a bit nasty about having to wait to talk to the police. I had no time to worry about how they were feeling.

Later Son arrived back with Angel too upset to even look at The Steading. He said lots of people had offered him a lift home, but he had stayed at the party so that life could go on being normal for just a bit longer. Heart wringing.

Idea! Kids needed something to do. Joined onto our cottage was The Farm House. Very close to The Steading – but pronounced safe. We opened up The Farm House kitchen and I set the kids to work making tea and coffee for the firemen. We dug out biscuits and cakes and made sandwiches. The kids had a great time and it all turned into a bizarre picnic.

I spent the next few hours talking to firemen, the Fire Chief, police, Police chief ours was a big fire. And for all you holiday cottage owners out there, never had I been so glad that I had my landlords gas certificate, boiler certificate, had my chimneys swept and so on. Everything was in order, the fire was unlikely to have been caused by my negligence and this was proved later.

Joined onto The Steading was Jonna's Cottage – another cottage we let out. At one point I went over with the keys thinking the fire men might need it to get in to Jonna's . . .then things got even worse . . . .

PS Apologies for any typos, or any bits that don't make sense I can write this, but am finding it hard to read through.

The Fire Part 2

I walked towards Jonna's Cottage keys clutched foolishly in hand. 'You might need these' I smiled at the firemen. He looked at me and looked at Jonna's front door. It was all smashed in. The Hall way dark and ominous, part of the wall adjoining The Steading gone. Then I realised there were hoses in Jonna's. They were pumping water up from the lochan. Oh no my fish! What about my fish. What! I was worried that the pump would suck up my fish and throw them into the fire. . . .odd the things you think. I was told the fish would be fine the pump had a filter. At that point I thought it was only the hallway of Jonna's damaged . . . 'we can shut the door to the rest of the house and it will be fine', I told the firemen confidently. Later, when it was safe, (safe at that point it I didn't think my life would ever be safe again) they took me round Jonna's. The fire had got through into the loft and burnt along the entire length of the cottage. Part of the roof was gone. The upstairs double room was fire damaged. The rest of the house was wrecked, but not by fire. I could see even with torchlight that everything was blackened. Water was dripping through the ceiling. The whole house was sodden, I was wading ankle deep in murky water.. No wonder I had got such odd looks from the firemen when I was babbling on saying it would be ok in Jonna's Cottage.

In the early hours of Sunday morning, I walked round to the back of The Steading and burst out laughing. There was no upstairs, nothing, but jutting out into the middle of no-where was the first floor decking. It looked so gigglingly bizarre. The next day I climbed up onto the decking. It was burnt, but there was enough of it left to stand on and look down into the ruins.

The fire it was estimated had started around 8.30pm, but not found until 10.30pm – we live in an isolated spot at the end of the track By three in the morning the fireman started to pack up ready to leave. That was another low point. In an odd way I had felt safe with all the firemen around. For the duration of the night they were my protectors . . . .and yes Milla there was a compensation in having gorgeous firemen surrounding me. Trouble was I knew them all and their wives – cruel or what.

So they left. My Angel stayed the night and most of the next day. We all went to bed around 5.00am, but slept little.

Sunday 16th Jan was spent talking to more police, the fire chief who was so kind, more firemen checking that everything was damped down ok. Husband on his way back.

The phone didn't stop all day with friends ringing up to offer sympathy and support. It transpired the drama club had continued with the party and had decided not come and be with me because they thought they might be in the way. Oh so wrong. I really had needed their support. It took me a long time to get over the feeling of abandonment and resentment.

Then came another low spot. My Angel had gone. It was the evening. Yet another visit by the police. We checked through my insurance policies etc. Everything was so unreal. Then the Policeman – one I knew - asked me if the fire was an insurance job . . . Didn't see that one coming. I was told if there was any suspicion at all I would be taken to Stirling and grilled 'and I mean really grilled' he said. Berludy hell. Could it get any worse. Oh yes!

But it has been a gorgeous day today so I'll keep doom and gloom to a dull roar now.

The fire was investigated thoroughly. It was thought to have started upstairs in the back bedroom and most likely by something left on charge – mobile phone, lap top . . who knows. Our very own forensic expert investigator said that his feeling and that of the police and fire brigade was that the guests knew what had happened, but there was a wall of silence and we would probably never know for sure.

We lost a lot of money through the fire. We were well insured, but not quite in the way we had thought for loss of earnings – another story.

Jonna's was re-built by July 2005. People actually came to stay with us despite the mess. Love them all. The Steading was re-built by June last year. Husband and I now firmly back together had to make the decision that we had no option but to sell. We put our cottage and The Farm House on the market – horrible wrench. We had also decided that if it all went wrong and we got neighbours we couldn't live with we would up sticks and sell the lot. . . . . . .

I'll post the rest this evening . . . . unless you are all bored rigid by now.

The Fire Part three

Two things stick in my mind on the brighter side of the fire.

My daughter said to friend of mine, who very kindly reported it back to me 'My mum was really amazing the night of the fire.' Sniff, blubber blubber. Guess it isn't cool for teenagers to say things like this direct. In fact it took weeks before daughter would even talk to me about the fire at all and for a while I was really worried about her. Son let in all out one night in a flood of tears. Time heals. In many ways it brought us all closer together.

The second thing was the poor chap in the co-op who, a few days after the fire, turned to me whilst we were queuing and said . . 'cheer up luv it might never happen!' Poor man . . I froze, turned to him and then very quietly said, 'my husband has left me, two thirds of my business has just burned down and wiped out my entire income, I have recently had to have my cat put down and this morning I found my favourite wild/tame rabbit dead . . . so I think we can safely say it has happened, don't you?' He will never ever ever tell anyone to cheer up again. Snigger!

So back to whatever vague plot I ever manage to have in my life - we were going to have to sell up – not looking good. Husband and I by this time firmly back together – although not actually living together yet.

AND THEN . . .

HOORAY . . . enter Lixtroll with Logical Bob – her Dad. They fell totally in love with cottages and the whole magical area. They really 'got' the place.The following day Lixtroll was back with Poo, Lixtroll's husband and no, Milla, we still don't know what sort of creature Poo is, but we have our suspicions.

In short Poo and Lixtroll bought our Cottage and The Farm House – I let The Farm House for them as a holiday cottage.

I moved into the now re-built Steading. Husband and I decided we would never ever let it out again to guests as long as we owned it. Husband still had his flat in Glasgow, but with firm plans to give it up and move back to 'home'.


Our neighbours are wonderful potty potters and multi talented creative people. We all clicked from the moment we met. Lixtroll and I much to the disgust of Poo and my husband spend a lot of time drinking coffee and wine by the lochan, smoking badly rolled grotty little ciggies and talking about the CL site and blogging. Oh yes we were there again this afternoon sharing our chatter with the frogs and the ducks.

Husband and I started living together again in September 2006. He was then made redundant from the BEEB in November 2006. He is now pursuing his career as a professional photographer and home all the time – except when his on photo shoots of course. Things are a bit tight – but we'll manage.

So what was once the second worst night of my life has now turned into the best time of my life.

I still have the legacy from the fire of taking ages to go to bed, or go out – I have to go round and switch off everything electrical and sometimes I feel a bit weird . . I just don't feel 'safe'. But oddly enough I worry less . . . . . . . . what will be will be and right now what 'is' . . is wonderful.

I'm soooo sad!

Oh dear I am soooo sad. Husband and Son have headed off on a four day trip to climb the three peaks and I am all alone . . . . . ok I'm over it.

Oh the sheer bliss of it all. I can Spring Clean to my hearts content for the next four days knowing that everything I tidy, hoover, dust and organise will stay the same! I can caffeine out, gibber and cackle to myself without fear of the men in white coats. I can watch whatever Soaps I like on TV without a single disapproving glance. I can leave the room without coming back to find the channel changed. I can eat bread and curried beans and f***t without comment, or having to blame it on the dogs. . . . . . yes wheat and I don't get on and curried beans are a disaster, but every now and again . . . I can drink red wine in large glasses and smoke my little roll ups. Yes, yes I know I shouldn't smoke – but for the next four days . . .

I can pop over to my neighbour and share big glasses of wine and binge smoke whilst we natter and watch the frogs in the lochan. We did this yesterday afternoon whilst husband and son were out walking and I felt so guilty that I wasn't cooking dinner – I really need to work on that.

Oh and dear fellow Bloggers I can read, comment and write without having to sneak onto the computer. I am going to be a blatant Blogger and love every second of it.

Don't tell husband but Jack Russell Arnie can sleep in the bed with me and I may even sneak a cuddle on the sofa. Mind you having said that husband actually put Arnie on the sofa with me when Arnie was unwell and on Sunday morning he was allowed up on the bed . . Arnie that is.

So that is it for now – bit of office work to finish. Then quick trip to the village and the Mobile Bank. Co-op here I came cash in hand for curried beans and wine and the week and Spring Cleaning is all mine.

Friday 13th

Friday the 13th - Hah I spit on you. Ptoooey. You hold no fear for me. I was born on the 13th and with a name like westerwitch and a penchant for running under ladders and shouting 'see, nothing' - how can I be afraid and I had a black cat and I . . .oh never mind. And having just been to the Docs this morning - my ribs are taking forever to heal and I keep 'doing things' and making them worse - and having been told by the Doc I have to rest, hurrah no hoovering, ironing, washing dishes - I LURVE that man - how could today be anything, but a wonderful day for me. Phew I can breath out now - hate writing long sentences cos I have to hold my breath. But I am running out of full stops I am having to conserve them you see. It is because I go . . . . . . . alot - so if anyone has any spare black dots - I would be grateful. Better have some - - - - while you're at it

Oh dear rambling again . . . . . Friday 13th holds no fear, but Thursday 12th now that is a different matter entirely.

To be fair yesterday was a good day, morning and afternoon, by my definition, that is. Apart from a friend dog's pooping in my kitchen. Garn we did larf I tell you.

The evening in comparison went downhill at a rate of something very fast. We had rehearsals for our up and coming shows. Lixtroll had rehearsed my lines with me in the afternoon and I did ok. But in the village hall and on stage, cotton wool invaded brain. Words slid off sideways, sniggering as they left my head. Several of those awful silences when I am thinking smugly – hah, no one speaking, clearly people don't know their lines . . . .and of course that people twas me! So C- for effort and could do better in Drama!

Phew rehearsals over and out to the car park. I put my key in the Jeep car door and it snapped in the lock. Berludy hell and all that. Husband at this point was ten minutes outside the village, coming home from a photo shoot - I phoned him on my mobile - and we agreed he would come and pick me up, back home spare key and so on. I sat in a friend's car and waited and waited and waited and . . . waited hmmmmm. Oh and son turned up too as I was supposed to be giving him a lift home.

Finally husband turns up and the picture of how things should go - me get out of friend's car and get into husband's went all skewwiff. Husband got out of car and then joined by son they proceeded to look at the front of the car. My car that is. The car that husband had borrowed for the day. So I said good bye to my friend and went to look at the front of the car too. Mmmm very ordinary front of car with a WHAT cracked grill and should the bonnet really be that squiggly.

The story unfolded. Husband on the way to the village after talking to me on the mobile (hands free of course) had suddenly been confronted by a very large, well antlered stag, jumping over the stone wall that bordered the narrow road. Brakes I understand where swiftly applied and the car went into screech mode. Although the car slowed right down it still hit the stag. Oh deer (well someone was going to say it - might as well be me). The stag ran away, NOT dragging any broken limbs I am happy to say. The front of the car revealed a few hairs, but no blood. So I sincerely hope that the stag was ok. Husband was of course a bit shaken up and we still had to sort out the key problem. Which we did. But it delayed sitting down for a quiet shake, a chat about 'what if' and of course a big glass of wine.

It did make me think though, as I have thought many times before, that life should be lived with joy for every minute it offers, because we live on a knife edge and things can change in a second. This time husband was ok. But certainly the stags life was not as it was, before it jumped over the wall.

On a lighter note I have an A+ from Bill for answering the wrong exam question. WHAT! Oh no . . boring . . I wanted a D- and to be sent to stand in the corner, where I could mutter darkly and operate my fart machine by the remote control. Bah. Will certainly have to try harder.

Drama Celebrations

Ow . .ow. . . ow knives in eyes . . I can't wait for the painkillers to kick in so that I can enjoy this revoltingly over-bright Spring morning. I'm too hungover and tired to do any April Fool pranks either. Then again Husband and I met 25 years ago today – now that has got to be the longest April fool in history. Hahaha – you get less for murder - very funny husband . . yawn, never heard that one before. Anyone out there laugh and I shall be painfully disappointed in you.

No the hangover is not the result of victorious celebrations. It is the aftermath of a thorough drowning of sorrows Our valiant little drama club can honestly say that they gave an excellent performance – the adjudication they got bears that out, but we were beaten by a larger club with an amazing performance. Even the title of their play is bigger than ours – Dogsbreath Devereax, The Dastardly Doctor or Nurses Foiled again by Billy St John. They had a cast of 13. We did Happy Jack by Jon Godber, a two hander. I don't think we even have 13 adults in the company at One Act play time, let alone being able to pick 13 of our best actors. The winning play also got Best Production, Best Set and Best Comedy. Now that is just greedy, but very much deserved.

Watching Dogsbreath was exhausting and exhilarating. It is indeed a comedy, done in the style of the old black and white films. The set, costumes and make up were all starkly black and white. Striking in the extreme. The play itself grabbed you by the throat and dragged you laughing and groaning at 100 miles an hour for its 55 minute duration. Our play was much more poignant – being a journey back in time exploring the relationship between a Yorkshire miner and his wife. Our set was a minimal two chairs and a tombstone! The acting in Dogsbreath was excellent, Dogsbreath himself acted with his whole body, a bit reminiscent of John Cleese in Faulty Towers. The whole cast in fact could really act and interacted in a well rehearsed way. Then again so did our cast, yes indeed . .both of them . . so there neah.

It was a great three nights out. Good to see all the other teams too, most of whom we meet year after year. The One Act Play competition starts in March with heats going on all over the UK and culminating in the National Finals in June.

We all go along to fiercely compete, of course we do, but we also go to learn. Each play has a public adjudication and a private adjudication. Plus we all support each other. Our drama club will now support the winning team when they perform in the Scottish Finals at Greenock. The people we beat in the regional finals were there at Cupar supporting us in the divisional finals and so on. Yes it is as supportive as the CL Blog and Chat site – with possibly a smidgeon more drama.

So that is it for the One Act plays as far as the acting goes. No rest for the hungover though. Tonight we are back in rehearsals for our Spring Show and tour, six performances in all. The tour will feature this years One Act Play entry Happy Jack and next years One Act Play competition entry Stalag 69 which I am in. There will also be another short play written by a club member – and a couple of sketches. All I have do know is learn to smoke a pipe, grow a handlebar moustache and talk in a 'Jolly good show chaps' kind of male voice without sounding my r's.

Ok putting this up now – tried to read it through to see if it made sense Edeneising, but I rarely make sense anyway so how would I know? Uh oh lost the will to type now – need coffee.

LOCKED OUT

Sorry everyone - we seem to be locked out at the moment - you can still comment on the chat page but not post. You can still blog and comment on each others blogss. Have emailed Google with the problem - can only wait for a response - I am sooooo sorry for all the messing about . . . . Happy Snaper - away on a job and the Janitor has gone to the village. We will work tirelessly until we sort the problem - suggest a prolonged break - lots of tea, coffee and cakes.

A little piece about Poo

A little piece about poo



Have you ever considered how much poo we actually live in. Oh I don't mean all the poo that is outside and when you think about it cow poo, pig poo, sheep poo and then all the wildlife poo - both on the ground and plopping down from the sky – people with newly cleaned cars can tell you about the stuff from the sky.Yes there is a mind numbing amount of poo just loitering within tent, if you are an unlucky camper that is.. Nor do I mean the sort of indoor poo that Exmoorjane spread around her house, nor the chicken poo I Exmoored around mine. No I mean the carefully and often prettily contained poo, or so we think, in our own unsuspecting bathrooms.

I made the mistake of watching a programme on how dirty our bathrooms really are. Sit on the loo, do and flush, all gone. Wrong. If you leave the toilet lid up minuscule droplets of poo spray six feet all over the bathroom. Ahah – sorted. ( I'm allowed to say sorted I grew up in Essex – yes an Essex girl – get over it) Thwart the poo by putting the loo seat down. Easy. Oh no, not that easy at all the little bacteria laden droplets of poo squirt out the side between the lid and seat. OH MY GOD. And it gets worse. The droplets settle on everything - your face cloth, towels, toothbrush – yuk - everything. Wash and wipe your face and you're covered in poo. Dry yourself – covered in poo. Brush your teeth, yes you've got it good old poo mouth wash. Plus if you are lucky enough to have a cut in the gum the bacteria get in your blood stream and make you really sick.

Read in the loo take the book outside and poo all over the house. Walk innocently from the loo and you transport droplets from the loo carpet/tiles all over the house. Not to mention you have wiped your hands on a poo splashed hand-towel. Oh it goes on forever – we are all sh*t covered peasants living in poo coated hovels. Poo, poo everywhere and never a warning stink.

So why aren't we all dead. Because in a very small nutshell it is normal that's why! We live in a bacteria laden world. We share it with untold trillions of bugs and we all co-exist, for the most part, happily together. It wasn't until we had antibacterial this and disinfectant and antibiotic that , that we started to shift the balance and not live so comfortably in our own world. If the older ones amongst think of how we grew up and the amount of bugs we were exposed to and how we all survived. Then think of now about super bugs and immune systems never given the chance to develop properly. . . . and so on.

I still wish I hadn't seen the programme – it was sensationalism and I bet you are wishing you hadn't read this blog and I bet you keep your toothbrush in a cupboard from now on – I know I do.

Sock Tree

Whoooosh Zooom. Still in big rush. I have chosen to be horribly selfish and Blog now rather than read the Blogs already up, or the ones I missed yesterday – disgraceful. Have to get the holiday cottage ready now for guests coming in-before we nip off to Cupar again (brilliant night – will Blog it all after its finished) – will sneak Blog reading in-between bathrooms and dusting. I can't hoover husband honestly – ouch – the ribs – giggle.


Leaflet day was brilliant - not too many public, lots of stalls run by people I know. So spent the day quietly listening to people and catching up on news. Of course not I caffeined out big time and gibbered and cackled my way through the entire day and bought a Sock Tree.

Yes that's right a Sock Tree.  What! Has no-one here ever bought a Sock Tree. Shocked. Shocked I am. Read on and think the freedom this could bring you. Every year my Father in-law, when asked what he wants for Xmas says socks. Ok yes very exciting mmmm lose the will to shop socks. So fed up with this I went out and bought a - hang on a sec the ticket is in my bag - yes that's it an Abies Koreana Fir. On to this pretty little tree I tied socks - new ones - loads of them. Then for Xmas I gave Mr In-Law the tree. Its a Sock Tree I announced - so don't ever ask me for socks again. Bewildered Daddy in-law apparently wore the socks, but gave me back the tree. The tree came to Scotland and got planted and yeah verily it did well. Then we had a fire - another Blog lost money and had to move - only two doors down mind you – but the sock tree was too big now to transplant and sadly I couldn't find one to replace it. Then yesterday I walked into the village hall all prepared for leaflet day and the first thing I spied was a baby Sock Tree. Kerching, sale made and I am one proud owner of said Sock Tree.

Now for the rest of this cautionary tale - Father-in-law didn't learn. The very next Xmas after the Sock Tree when asked what do you want for Xmas and fixed with a stern stare don't you DARE ask for socks stare, he thought and thought and said 'not a lot.' Arrrgghhhhhh. You can't say that how can I buy not a lot. I fixed you with the sock tree and now you come up with this. Grrrrr. So I found a jigsaw company that made things to order and they made for me a stand up jigsaw that said . . NOT A LOT. The body of the jig saw sat on the shelf with the end bit dangling off . . .no not an accident it was designed that way. And so I gave my parent- in-law Not A Lot for Xmas. And the moral of this tale is . . . I have no idea but I had a lot of fun thwarting poor old daddy-in-law. Hehehehe Can't wait to be a Granny - I am going to be sooooo AWFUL.

Tooooooo busy to blog

I am in a huge rush – hit the ground running top speed. Got a leaflet day today to sit and get bored at. All us village business type people sit in our local hall and give leaflets out to other people types so that they know what we do – thought they did already. Networking with bits of paper. Or something! Tell you what it is when I've done it

I was also in Cupar last night – four hour round trip from where I live – and am going again tonight and tomorrow night. Why? It is the Divisional Final of the One Act Play Competition of course! Oh yes and our Village has a play in it – went through from the Regional Finals no less. Hard for me this time around as I am not in The One Act Play comp this year – been in them the last seven years, but we are already rehearsing for next years. I play a World War 2 pilot . .no I do really. No really I doooo.

And I've sprained my ribs – well the muscles, you can't sprain bone can you! Think I did it when I was lifting hay and feed over the fence for the sheep. Either that or when I was chatting to the Sky remote control and fell backwards over the dog. Grief I am sooooo tired how the hell am I going to stay awake today and tonight. Lets face not all the plays are good even if they are in the next round. Hope the ribs hold up they are a bit sore. Not allowed to get excited cos it hurts to breath. No jumping around either . . good grief life it going to be boring for a while.

Fabulous day and my god is that the time . . .

Thank you thank you for all your comments on yesterdays blog. Do you know that Wild &Green said I Rocked – how cool is that. Oh maybe they meant I was a rock . . .whatever oh no still got to feed the sheep.

No time to comment on other peoples today . . sob . . no time to read anything . . .sob . . .but I can give it up any time . . . oh yes. Oh yes I can. I can can can so there neah. I am an adult and can cope with life. I won't be caught in the loos blogging, nor behind the bike sheds, nor over the wall. You won't find me there. No I won't rush home later to blog at 1.00 in the morning . . .well I might . . .but whatever I hope you all have a great day.

This is the Mother . . . .

It has gone, emailed, posted, dispatched. Yes I discovered organisation in a brief, but productive and lucid moment yesterday and sent my assignment off into the ethernet. I even managed to round up all my answers to the case studies. They will go today. I would have done it yesterday,but somehow I had thought it was still Tuesday and the post office shuts on a Wednesday afternoon.

So now in a rare idle moment I am staring at the flowers I got for Mother's day. They are all looking a bit sad now. I am either a) too lazy to throw them away or b) can't bear to throw them away. Bit of both probably. However I have the card that my daughter sent with the flowers - it says – Happy Mother's Day Mum. I appreciate everything you've ever done for me and I'm glad you are my Mummy. The Card from my son is a really flowery emotional card and on it he has written – thank you for everything you have ever done and he gave me a big box of chocolates.

Where on earth did all that come from. Bearing in mind this is the mother who played practical jokes on her kids. Who refused to lose at Monopoly. Who refused to cook for her kids in their teenage years because she was sick of coming up with meals they didn't like. Here I pause to point out I cook by the smoke alarm – when it goes off it signals that whatever I am incinerating is ready. This is the mum who loves animals – well that's ok isn't it – mmmm I thought so to – until the kids said – I suppose we will have to grow fur, or feathers if we want to get your attention. Ouch! Having said that, our daughter is studying Zoology at University so maybe not all bad. Then again our son is studying Robotics . . But all said and done I was really choked on Mother's day. Last year our daughter went on to Ebay and bid for two Furbies for me for Mother's Day – where did my kids get to be so thoughtful. What have I done, or not done to be so lucky.

I was not one of the mother's standing at the school gates on the first day sobbing. I was the one punching the air and shouting 'yes'. Even the empty nest syndrome did not affect me the way I know it has some. I hated going swimming. I sobbed embarrassingly at school plays and wore flashing earrings at Xmas and tinsel in my hair. I have never pushed my kids – although I did nag about homework. They even accused me of letting them do to much. Why forbid them they will only it anyway and at least I was/am around to pick up the pieces. This is the mother who gave them wine and beer – I would rather they learned to drink at home. I also taught them all the swear words and then what they meant – up to them whether or not they chose to use them. Rather they learnt from me than some oik in the playground without knowing what they were saying. When we went in the car we rarely listened to nursery rhymes – it was always Queen. Daughter floored me the other day when we touched on this saying how proud she was of knowing all the words to all the Queen songs. Wow – didn't see that one coming. They both love Rock music and we have even been to Rock concerts together. U2 was amazing. Although I gather they were hard put to cope with the fact I danced all the way through.

Never a patient nurse – sorry about the pun I sometimes struggled with sickness, but some of our closest moments were spent all huddled together when we had the flu. Even daughter said – I suppose you are going to treasure this time aren't you. It was said in a mocking but tender way.

Somewhere down the years I must have done something right. I am still introduced as the embarrassing mother – but do I now detect a note of pride? Thank you kids. Thank you for ringing me with your problems and for looking forward to coming home. Thank you for being there on my birthday and for letting us pick you up from Dundee on Xmas day. Thank you for wanting to be here this Easter and thank you, thank you, thank you for just being you.

Ps Hey Dorta you have snakes, fish and a cat and I don't think you should get rats – but I know you will any way – so I have bought them a cute wooden house – Luv yer Ma.

Talking to the walls

Well I have only gone and bloomin' well bloomin' bloomin' done it and in a good way for a change. Yes I have finished my third and final assignment for my Stress Management Training Course. Not long now and I shall be released on the unsuspecting and seriously stressed public. Victim selection now in progress. Well yes I still have to check the assignment through and no I haven't actually sent it in quite yet . . .but I will . . soon . . .when I stop blogging . . . yeah yeah tomorrow. And yes I have actually buckled down and done the required 30 hours of reading. 30 Hours – that made my head ache and emptied the coffee pot. Not that I did all the reading at once you understand. Well not until now when I realised I hadn't done enough. Anyway I am now officially feeling really smugly pleased with myself.

Ooops ash on the keyboard – no not fag ash. Fire ash. I've been cleaning out the fire. The new chimney sweep is coming today, all the way from Stirling. We had to find a new chimney sweep, because the old one clearly wasn't going to run out of 'why I can't clean your chimney ' excuses.

And (how daring is that a capital AND at the start of a paragraph) got a phone call this morning from the plumber who, after eight months of nagging. No, no, no, me nagging him . . has finally run out of why I can't test your gas excuses and is coming up on Friday to test the gas appliances in the self catering cottage for our Land Lords certificate. Yes Exmoorjane – eight months. I couldn't get anyone else either – has to be a Corgi registered plumber and they are in short supply up here.

Having had a very serious fire here and having then found out the importance of having all my paperwork in order – chimney swept, boiler serviced, landlords gas certificate – it is not something I would ever neglect. The fire I will save for another blog.

I say that people are coming up here cos we are higher than the village. It can be raining in the village and snowing up here. Well not in the summer of course.

Ok! So now I am feeling brave enough and here is the real reason for today's Blog. Does anyone here other than me talk to the wall, the fire, the kitchen, the bed, the carpet, the dogs . . . thank god for the dogs and the sheep and the chickens. . . . My daughter summed it up really when she said 'for goodness sake Mum, you verbalise everything!' Very brief stunned silence followed. But she is right I do verbalise everything and it isn't a requirement that anyone else is there to listen. It is probably better that they're not. My head gets bizzy and buzzy especially after the morning coffee rush – so I externalise the internal dialogue – which I assume every one has, but after my daughters comment I am not so sure. It isn't usually a problem, but a couple of times going round Sainsbury's I noticed people giving me odd looks . . . . . well ok every time I go round most shops . . .and I have realised I have been externalising my internal dialogue yet again – better known as talking to yourself. Well at least I don't have an imaginary friend with me – no he stays at home. Er that was a joke. So I was just a bit curious as to whether any of you lot do it too. I mean when I had my babies and I was out with out them . . and only once because I had forgotten to take them with me . . . I did used to catch myself standing in shops swaying from side to side. This I know I am not alone in. The fact that I still do it is a little worrying. But the talking to anything . . . now is that normal! Please feel free to lie convincingly.

Good scales day

Good scales and hair day today (see yesterdays blog), just as well, because other half, whilst out on an assignment photographing a distillery yesterday, had committed the sin of getting a parking ticket – in my car.

Looking at the damn thing took me back to Guildford and when we lived in Holmbury St Mary. The kids plus friend and I had gone to the cinema in Guildford – big treat for us country bumpkins. We parked in a multi-storey car park – not such a big treat. I put money in the pay and display machine to discover I was 15 minutes short of six o'clock - after which time the car park was free. No, surely not – they wouldn't fine me for being short 15 minutes now would they? Specially not in my beaten up old car. Then again might my beaten up old car might offend towny types? The kids in a rush to get to the cinema were dragging me away. Anyway I reasoned the car park was full so chances were no one would spot the time short fall on my ticket.

Two hours later we returned to the multi-storey to find it was almost empty and I had indeed got a parking ticket. I was shocked, stunned, angry . . very angry , flamingly roaringly , blisteringly angry and the kids were full of understanding and sympathy. Like hell they were, they were all doubled up with helpless laughter. I got even more angry then at their lack of understanding and was about to stomp off and find a car park type person to viciously shred when the kids told me to 'look, no mum, REALLY look at the parking ticket.' Little brats it was a fake. A joke shop parking ticket. Then I remembered – the girls had gone running on ahead to the car park. Son for some odd reason wanted to read all the cinema posters on 'coming soon' films on the way back and had dawdled for ages. DING! Berrrrrludy hell they had got me good.

Ahah, but never trick a trickster. I got a letter from our local council photocopied it and wrote to all three children. The letter said something like that now we were in the common market to bring us into line with school holidays in Europe the English School Holidays would be finishing two weeks early this year and they would be expected back at school on the following Monday. I signed it Mr J. oke. Hahahahaha. Got the little blighters. Eventually with tears of motherly concern in my eyes at their distress (no of course not – I couldn't see, or breath properly I was laughing so much) I confessed. They weren't very appreciated of the efforts I had gone to 'get them'. Honestly the youth of today are so ungrateful!

All went quiet. Life continued on. Then I got a letter from our local dog obedience class – where Arnie was enrolled. We were clicker training him. Positive reinforcement with a Jack Russell that is a laugh in itself. The letter said that although Arnie was doing well – he was in fact in bad condition and until his condition improved we were being asked to leave the class.

Being an animal lover and taking the care of my animals very seriously I instantly saw several shades of red in quick succession. Then the tiny reasonable part of my brain kicked in. Mmmmm something not quite right here . . . I read the letter again . . .condition was spelt condishun. Ten out of ten for effort and excellent attention to detail – but minus quite a lot for not spell checking the offending piece. Then again being a model parent I did appreciate the effort the had gone to. They on the other hand didn't speak to me for the rest of the day, because I had rumbled them. Early bird kids, early bird!

Bad Scales Day

I was almost out the door and on the home run when the nerves ambushed me. This resulted in mutterings of 'too much coffee you see, too early in the morning, empty stomach . . blah . . . . blah . .' and a further three visits to the loo.

Then into the car loosening the seat belt so that it didn't press on my bladder. I spent the journey with my brain zizzzing all over the place (hehehe see LixTroll the spell check doesn't like zizzzing either . . squiggle) . . and going hot and cold – mind you I blame the heated seats in the gas guzzler for that. Pins and needles in the fingers, cold hands, garage stops for the loo. It was all getting seriously out of proportion. No sympathy from strong silent husband type person, or maybe he couldn't get a word in edgeways! I realised after a while there was this incessant irritating gibbering noise in the car and it was me.

All this self inflicted cruelty was because I was on my way to a play-write seminar hosted by the SCDA (Scottish Community Drama Association) and the Playwrights' Studio Scotland.

No I am not a play-write. I am a tentatively, maybe, possibly, perhaps one day aspiring play-write. The seminar was aimed at tentatives like me and up to the real, full blown thing. Cool eh in the same room as real play-writes.

The nerves exploded because I knew we were going off into workshops at some point and it occurred to me that in our groups we would be expected to stand up, say our name and a bit about ourselves. AAAAGGGGHHHH I hate and I mean really hate doing this. As it gets nearer to my turn – every time - the heart starts leaping about. My hands get all clammy, I suspect they suck the moisture from my mouth which has of course gone ash dry. My throat closes up. I get ringing in my ears, I feel dizzy and sick and the instant it is my turn I can't remember my own name or speak coherently. So I end up babbling hesitantly, going red, giggling and sitting down. Whereupon I am faced with sea of sympathetic indulgent faces. B*****r I did it again.

So I got to the Seminar sat through the opening bits and then off into the workshops. Mine hosted by Chris Hannon – a real play-write. Gasp. Oh Gulp. And he didn't, he didn't make us stand up and say our names etc. It was much, much, MUCH worse than that. We got divided into groups – five people to a group and all given the same beginning and end of a fairy story and told to act it out – some groups the beginning and some the end. Mind blowing panic! What is going on? I love acting. I am a member of our local drama club I have been in Panto's, One Act competition plays before adjudicators, even been on tour. I get nervous yes . . but usually I get weeks, sometimes months to hone my nerves. Not this time, not like this, not just dropped on me. Burble Wurble, giggle! The first two groups did their play – good – then we all discussed what we'd seen, what it meant, the meaning of life. I needed the loo. Then that was it. Only two groups out of five got to do their play. I sat for two hours a smouldering, hyperactive, twitching bundle of loo needing nerves and I didn't get to do my piece. What was my reaction to this. I was irrationally disappointed, yes really disappointed. And there was a queue for the loo.

The rest of the Seminar was less exhausting and thoroughly enjoyable and it was done more as open discussion sessions with panels of speakers and question time – no more work shop groups. It was a pleasure to be amongst and chat with writing types. Also at one point I noticed that the walls of our venue were actually padded! From then on I relaxed. I now felt very much at home!

Writer's seminar

I was almost out the door and on the home run when the nerves ambushed me. This resulted in mutterings of 'too much coffee you see, too early in the morning, empty stomach . . blah . . . . blah . .' and a further three visits to the loo.

Then into the car loosening the seat belt so that it didn't press on my bladder. I spent the journey with my brain zizzzing all over the place (hehehe see LixTroll the spell check doesn't like zizzzing either . . squiggle) . . and going hot and cold – mind you I blame the heated seats in the gas guzzler for that. Pins and needles in the fingers, cold hands, garage stops for the loo. It was all getting seriously out of proportion. No sympathy from strong silent husband type person, or maybe he couldn't get a word in edgeways! I realised after a while there was this incessant irritating gibbering noise in the car and it was me.

All this self inflicted cruelty was because I was on my way to a play-write seminar hosted by the SCDA (Scottish Community Drama Association) and the Playwrights' Studio Scotland.

No I am not a play-write. I am a tentatively, maybe, possibly, perhaps one day aspiring play-write. The seminar was aimed at tentatives like me and up to the real, full blown thing. Cool eh in the same room as real play-writes.

The nerves exploded because I knew we were going off into workshops at some point and it occurred to me that in our groups we would be expected to stand up, say our name and a bit about ourselves. AAAAGGGGHHHH I hate and I mean really hate doing this. As it gets nearer to my turn – every time - the heart starts leaping about. My hands get all clammy, I suspect they suck the moisture from my mouth which has of course gone ash dry. My throat closes up. I get ringing in my ears, I feel dizzy and sick and the instant it is my turn I can't remember my own name or speak coherently. So I end up babbling hesitantly, going red, giggling and sitting down. Whereupon I am faced with sea of sympathetic indulgent faces. B*****r I did it again.

So I got to the Seminar sat through the opening bits and then off into the workshops. Mine hosted by Chris Hannon – a real play-write. Gasp. Oh Gulp. And he didn't, he didn't make us stand up and say our names etc. It was much, much, MUCH worse than that. We got divided into groups – five people to a group and all given the same beginning and end of a fairy story and told to act it out – some groups the beginning and some the end. Mind blowing panic! What is going on? I love acting. I am a member of our local drama club I have been in Panto's, One Act competition plays before adjudicators, even been on tour. I get nervous yes . . but usually I get weeks, sometimes months to hone my nerves. Not this time, not like this, not just dropped on me. Burble Wurble, giggle! The first two groups did their play – good – then we all discussed what we'd seen, what it meant, the meaning of life. I needed the loo. Then that was it. Only two groups out of five got to do their play. I sat for two hours a smouldering, hyperactive, twitching bundle of loo needing nerves and I didn't get to do my piece. What was my reaction to this. I was irrationally disappointed, yes really disappointed. And there was a queue for the loo.

The rest of the Seminar was less exhausting and thoroughly enjoyable and it was done more as open discussion sessions with panels of speakers and question time – no more work shop groups. It was a pleasure to be amongst and chat with writing types. Also at one point I noticed that the walls of our venue were actually padded! From then on I relaxed. I now felt very much at home!

Premonition dream

Wow this is so cool. Last night I dreamt that I had a hangover and when I woke up this morning I had a hangover! See – witch, premonition dreams. Mmmm more like neighbour, last night, visit, big glasses of wine, binge smoke to compensate for giving up and today, hangover. So this morning I am feeling very sensitive – bad. But I am studying today so can curl up on the sofa with books on being Over sensitive 'n' stuff – good. But the books all have these brilliant white pages with black wiggly stuff on them – very bad. Films and plays and TV news items have to say that they have strobe lighting and flash photography – so books should say they have blinding white pages with black . . . . oh whatever!

The vet phoned early yesterday evening. Apparently Arnie (my Jack Russell – see yesterday's blog) has raised enzymes in his blood which indicates he may have had acute inflammation of the pancreas. I wanted to to tell the vet he was cute too, but the bromide had kicked in and I no longer cared. Arnie is still on antibiotics – I've sold my muzzle on ebay – and yes my much loved pooch is back to normal- licking stones and rocks and yapping at them as he shoves them round the garden. Sassy our Collie is delighted too, because now Arnie is out again she can resume running rings around him and pretending he is a small, but annoying sheep. We do actually have five pet sheep, but she just ignores them altogether.

The day before yesterday myself and husband took our daughter, son and daughter's boyfriend to fulfil the helicopter ride bought for said daughter's boyfriend's 18th birthday, last August. Mmmm yes LAST August. Then again it is hardly likely to be this August is it? Slightly late for the young man's birthday, but we arrived in plenty of time to be thrown out of the airport coffee shop.  Brilliant. We spend a fortune on the flight and then get thrown out of a completely empty coffee shop by a male, snooty flying type, older person and why . . all because we were standing and looking through the window and not ordering and drinking coffee. Hubby and I saw the kids off on their flight and then went back to the coffee shop and loudly announced we were now going to drink copious amounts of coffee and get hyper!!!! Slurp slurp . . .then we ate cheese and onion toasties with extra onion and burped 'Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines'. We had to stop when the kid's flight was over – they don't like being embarrassed and I hate being sent to stand in the corner – especially with onion breath.


Three different reactions from flying around in a helicopter. Daughter, not sure, genuine fear of flying – so a huge well done for going up. Boyfriend, well he actually got to fly the helicopter and was given a certificate to prove it – smugly happy person. Son, oh look out! Duck, hyper teenager in erratic orbit. We drove to town so that hyper son could buy a DVD on flight simulation. Alarming noises of crashing and burning have been coming from his bedroom for the last two days – but no dead mouse type smell yet, so I guess he must be ok.

In truth I was actually upset – being an over-sensitive type – when the arrogant, g** . . person in the coffee shop ordered us out. Not even sure why he was there – he seemed to have a desk behind a screen at one end of the coffee shop. How dare he spoil, what for us, was a long awaited special day and what was worse he did it with no regard for how we might feel. So think positive. Let me see. He's a nasty, horrible person and, and, and . . we're not , so there, that'll do! Plus to help make it all right I got a lovely understanding smile and goodbye from the lady serving behind the coffee shop counter when we left . Then again maybe she was glad to see the back of us, but did I catch a hint of her humming Those Magnificent Men under her breath?

First ever blog on the other side

Uh oh - I am a new blogger and would like to enter the competition.

Mmmm - another blogger coming out the woodwork at the scent of a competition. I am wondering how that makes the regular CL bloggers feel.

So I am writing this with trepidation, I do feel as though I am trespassing. People 'on here' already seem to know each other and I feel very much like the new girl. Good grief not again  . . . I hate being the new girl - well more woman now. . . . er much older woman . . as my slim, tall, very attractive 19 year old daughter would delightedly point out. Grief even her hair is gorgeous - why is nature so cruel - I age, she blossoms. Then again I have romped through the menopause and she has years of PMS ahead of her. I have agreed to pay for her therapy for surviving her childhood with me, but I am only coughing up for a year. I don't want her to become too normal she might realise that I am even more nuts than she already thinks I am.

I live in a delightful village in Scotland. Delightful that is on the surface - dig a little and then is when it starts to get really interesting.

Two hundred years ago I would have been burned as a witch. Nowadays I advertise in the village bi-monthly magazine as a reflexologist. It is certainly a lovely way to meet people. Although I am not entirely sure that my village is completely ready for alternative therapies. Then again I can claim satisfied customers. One lady rushed up to me in the middle of the street, following a reflexology treatment the day before, threw her arms around me yelling 'thank you, thank you, you've cured my constipation' . . . . So that was confidentiality out the window then. Another lady has also credited me with helping her and her husband get pregnant. Good grief that could really scramble the gossips.

My witch status was finally established when I did talk on Reflexology for our local Women's Institute. Now there is a scary bunch for you. I did the talk as a demonstration. I couldn't face standing up in front of all these wonderful ladies - that would have meant looking at them and they did and do intimidate me so and I knew I would end up gibbering. So I sat with my back to them and talked them through my 'volunteers' feet. I talked about the cold she had, chest problems, stomach problems .  . . slight irritable bowel and oh look an underactive thyroid. I also got rid of her headache. The room went quieter and quieter. Then a voice said 'oh yes and the broom stick is parked out side.'
I replied 'its brand new so hands off.' Another voice said 'oh we think you're a good witch.' I got tea and cakes at the end and sat at the 'top table'. I never did find out who had voiced the witch opinion. It has never been discussed. Happily in the last eight years there hasn't been a stake, or bonfire in sight.

Now I am studying to become a Stress Management Therapist - I hope it doesn't damage my reputation. Meanwhile I have a pile of reading on stressed nervous systems, how to become more assertive, how to allow your sensitivity to work for you and so on. I have to be on top of my reading and written my third and final assignment by Friday week - so panic on. Stressed, that's me and not a magic wand to be found anywhere and now I have started blogging.

Welcome

Hi there

Well I have done it - I have got my own little room off the assembley room where I can blog away happily. We can now all have our own blogs, visit each other and chat together on the purplecoo page - any ptoblems email Westerwitch gill@westerlix.net or Lixtroll at Heather@thebottomofthegarden.co.uk

Whoop berludy whoop

Westerwitch