Something about nothing

This week is a very busy week at Cesspit Cottages - our daughter came to stay Mon - Weds. And for the next three days myself and HS will be out from the afternoon until late - 'doing' the last of our drama club play tour. After that I run out of excuses for not reading people's blogs and for not writing my own.

Meanwhile here is something I wrote a while back, but didn't get around to posting.

Gravity a disconnected rant

So why should gravity have all the fun. I suspect gravity and nature have to be of the male persuasion – despite the fact we wax lyrical about 'Mother' nature.

Lets take a nonsensical look at the complete absence of facts. Nature made women in such a way that gravity could laugh hysterically as things, over the years, drift inevitably downwards. Clearly nature and gravity are in the clothing business together as we end up buying items to lift and separate, others firm up appearances, or we simply accept defeat and buy big and baggy.

I suspect though there was a major design fault with periods . . .yes we women suffer . . .but with PMS hah . . .we more than get our own back on man.

And who the hell designed the lighting in changing rooms? I thought you shops wanted us to buy your clothes not rush gibbering and tearful from the your shops. Worse still are the hairdressers mirrors. Is this the hand of gravity and nature I see turned against us yet again. Is it their giggling I hear in the changing cubicle next door and is it they who are lurking, sniggering under the dryer hoods in the hairdressers.

Winter is always the kinder of the seasons we can hide in sweaters and big and baggy thick, this and that, but even global warming is making the cover up harder now. But the summer, oh dear me the summer. Sunlight glinting off white legs and dappled orange peel, bat wings, turkey necks, spare tyres all rolled out for the summer months. And nature has clearly addled the younger female brain – as trouser bands dip lower and tops shrink ever-upwards – many of these deluded young things, in truth, look ok . . but oh dear so many don't and worse still appear to have no idea how absurdly awful they look!

As we wonderful women age over the years we do appear to wrinkle readily and need more and more ironing. Whereas men in turn simply grow rugged and more interesting. I ask you is that fair? The male animal can indulge in procreation all year round for evermore, whereas the female animal is doomed to spend a great deal of time getting fat and and playing ping pong with errant hormones.

I look at the young though and do I envy them their youth, oh good grief no. I love being who I am and the age I am and everything that goes with it. Oh yes, like everyone, I have my off times and bad hair days and wobbly scale months and, but I also have my many wonderful memories.

So gravity I poke my finger in your eye. With all the love and laughter I have had in my life so far, do your worst, it matters little. Nature I have golden memories brighter than any of your glorious summer days. So try what you will, my memories will never tarnish.

As for the changing room mirrors though – all you shops out there are you completely blind, do you never actually go into the cubicles yourselves. Supermarkets spend millions on lighting to make us feel good so that we shop and shop . . .why aren't you doing the same. Is it your sole purpose in life to make us women feel suicidal. Or is it some bizarre obligatory law that states that all lighting in all clothes shops absolutely every where combined with special designed mirrors must add at least ten pounds to all us poor unsuspecting women, crease and wrinkle everything dramatically whilst multiply cellulite by obscene amounts. Hah all you clothes shop type people I poke both my finger in your eyes too - big time -and say 'now get the finger out and doooo something about your dreadful berluddy lighting and mirrors, before we do something about you and make you go in these wretched cubicles yourselves.

East Kilbride

Oh dear it has been a long blogger's gap. So let me start by catching up and taking you back to the 11th May and our drama club competing in the East Kilbride One Act Play competition with John Godber's Happy Jack.

East Kilbride is the new town of Scotland – not totally unlike Harlow where I grew up . . .(yes, yes, I'm an ex-Essex girl – heard it all before). Um interesting place East Kilbride. Odd looking theatre. It ls ugly and squat and very 60's on the outside. Inside it is a wonderful confusing maze of corridors and rooms and stairs and dressing rooms and a two level bar and one level coffee room and of course a great big – want to act on it stage. I did have that pleasure last year. Smug witch. But maybe that is another blog. To Blog or not to blog . . . sorry!

Before the play we are allowed a half an hour technical to set up. And a very scary half an hour it was too. So much to organise with the lighting – very complicated lighting and vital to the play. Happy Snaper – playing lighting technician excelled himself – he had plenty of help from the resident lighting crew, but still a very daunting task. Then there was the sound – oh dear and yes there was the sound – operated by Westerwitch. I was shown the sound desk, the mini disk – and told there you are you work it out. AAAggghhhhh I used to operate sound desks when I worked in TV – but that was back in the 80's and the sound then was on the one inch VIDEO TAPE. Mini disks – Mini disks. Oh help. . . er . . gibber . . which way does the disk go in – red face – head hanging in shame.

And then all of a sudden there was a great big purple flash and I was in my element. I swished the faders up and down – I twiddled all the wonderful little dials and occasionally remembered to play the mini disk. – cauldron all the time bubbling merrily at my side. Opps sorry there go the smoke alarms again and oh my goodness what an efficient sprinkler system you have – cackle cackle. And yes Bill if you are new to this site and this is the first Blog you have ever read – run away very fast . . . . for this witch has unleashed her broomstick and knows how to fly . . . . .zoom . . . whoosh.. I played and played and set up levels for the whole show and wrote it all down in my best un-joined up squiggle and then played and cackled a bit more purely for the sheer joy of it all and then I was well and truly ready.

Nervous me – of course I berludy well was, knee trembling stomach gurgling, mouth full of sand, loud buzzing in my ears feking terrified kind of nervous. The time arrived. I took my place in the control booth, the curtains opened, the spotlight came up . . . and so did the sound . . . .whoop ferlippin whoop and we were off. . . I was flying again

The Actors – just two of them - out there on the stage depicting the life of Elizabeth – miners wife and Jack her husband – miner - from the point where they both died and then back in time through various events in their lives to arrive eventually at the beginning when Jack first asked 'Liz' out. A very demanding piece for both actors as they both have to play other characters as well as the main characters and move seamlessly in out of various scenes. And both Actors did us all really proud. So much so we got second place in the festival. And if you consider that the festival lasted from the Tuesday to the Saturday with two/three plays every night and all of a very high standard – second place was no mean achievement.

Each play was adjudicated by a single judge, Happy Jack received an excellent adjudication – with both Actors being nominated for best Actor.

So Happy Jack – Happy Cast – Happy Technical Crew, Happy Director and Happy prompt – the latter pretty much had the night off.

And Happy Blogging Witch. Cackle Cackle . . . . zooms off until next time.


NB The picture was taken during our Spring performance in our local village - not at East Kilbride. Picture by Happy Snaper.

A night to remember

Phwoar . . . and double phwoarrr and then a lot more phwoar!!!!!

Bryan Adams with a Y and not an i as I was happily typing before I went to the concert on Bank Holiday Monday. I was, I confess, not a huge fan of Mr Adams - was . . . that is. I love his music and we play his CD's a lot but still wasn't a massive fan. Kericky, then we went to Mr Adam's amazing concert – what a night to remember - now I am totally converted.

I hadn't really appreciated just what a rocker Mr Adams is and having never seen him in concert I had no idea how exciting he is as a performer. So much energy! So much Phwoar.

We had to wait a good while before he appeared on stage . . . tension building and all that, whiling away the time playing er . . I spy . . . whatever . . . and then . . . he and his band just appeared on a small and previously unnoticed stage right in the middle of the SECC audience (well unnoticed by me that is) and not on the stage at the far end as expected and Kerpow and Wow - did they rock us right onto our feet. A few numbers later – the last being just Mr Adams and his guitar – super impressive and very emotional – the whole band moved to the bigger stage and it just got better and better. They rocked and rocked and rolled and then took it down a notch and played the more smootchy stuff and then back to rocking again. And phwoar did he look good. Ooops sorry about the drool people in front . . . yeah I know – but you're drooling too!

What a showman Mr Adams turned out to be – he really knew just how to connect with the audience and how to keep us all on our feet. Well all except Mr and Mrs Boring in row three who seemed to have forgotten how to applaud . . . . and were clearly observing scowl at a concert goer day

We had been to the SECC before - saw Eddie Izzard there (brilliant he was too, but obviously different type of show), but most big music concerts are played at Hampdon Park – we saw U2 there and Robbie Williams. Not keen on Hampdon at all – despite the size and the opportunity for huge sets and special effects. Why? Because - the sound is feking awful. Big disadvantage at a music concert I would have thought. . . or maybe I am just being picky!

The SECC is a much smaller venue and although there were thousands of people there somehow it was intimate too and you could actually see the band as people and not gyrating dots on a distant stage.

Mr Adams had a very simple set with just a few lights – well you know loads of lights really, but not on a huge scale . . and the sound . . . was berludy excellent. It was a concert about music . . with a good dollop of phwoar – have I mentioned the phwoar!

Four encores we got – yes four . . . the very last one was again Mr Adams and his guitar – a bit unrehearsed – but the audience just would not go home. . . .

And Scottish audiences – well you have to be there to truly get the buzz. But the Scots really know how to Party with a huge capital P. Mr Robbie Williams said we were scary as we roared our approval over and over again . . . .U2 pronounced us the best audience ever and Mr Adams was clearly impressed with us too. I got chatting to a few 'out of town' folk after and they too were knocked out by the big braw Scottish reception.

And yes it really was a night to remember and last night, with Matron away and no neighbours, or guests for us to annoy, Happy Snaper and I put Bryan Adams on the sound system – turned up the volume and partied all over again . . . .whoop whoop.

PS sorry the pictures aren't up to much but Happy Snaper only had his Mobile phone to capture the event . . . .and a pretty old phone by today's standards . . .

Nerves and plays and stuff!

Oh dear my first blog since the site began – I do hope it isn't going to hurt and that I haven't forgotten how!

Friday 4th May 7.30 pm. I stood gibbering hopelessly on stage, waiting for the moment when I would have to creep out onto the stage all on my own – front of curtain, in a spotlight – to tell everyone that I was Squadwon leader Cwafowd (Cwafie does't sound his Rs) and that I was 28 years old (guaranteed)to get a laugh) and that I would be dead in ten minutes – um the play Stalag 69 is a comedy . . . honest.

Once again as I jittererd about waiting for my cue – I was confronted, and not for the first time, with the thought 'why the berludy hell do I do this to myself?'

Music started and I was off and Cwafie took over. And once again I knew why I put myself through it all. Why I spend Thursday and Sunday evenings in a cold hall – where you can see your breathe in the air – rehearsing and rehearsing and rehearsing. Why I spend hours – learning lines that will inevitably vanish as soon as the lights go up – lines that then somehow magically come out in mostly the right order. Why I turn out time and time again on wet damp and windy evenings instead of snuggling up by the fire. Why? Because I LOVE it that is why. I love the electric thrill of being on stage, the buzz, the adrenaline, the nerves, yes even the nerves, the thrill of the audience responding, crying, laughing and the satisfaction and relief and after show party when it is all over.

Stalag 69 by Michael Green is a play set in a Nazi Prison Cell during the 2nd World war. When the curtain opens it quickly becomes apparent that the 'stage crew' have put the scenery up – upside down (see picture one) – which creates absolute chaos – with poor old Cwafie twying to keep it all going. He has porridge tipped over him, he has to tie himself up and even shoot himself, because no one can enter the cell . . . the door is six foot up on the upside down flat. The play finishes and the director announces that because the play is an important piece of work – we are going to do it all again . . . and we do.

This time the set is the right way up. All goes okish – until Cwafie in his enthusiasm gets his arms stuck through the prison cell bars and pulls the whole lot out of the wall . . . . There is then a chain of events which leads to the walls of the prison collapsing and revealing the back stage crew and all their sound effect paraphernalia See picture 2). Cwafie then has to do the rest of the play with the bars stuck on his arms, whilst the back stage crew rush about doing their sound effects.

The play is fantastic fun to do – very physical, messy (the porridge) and occasionally painfull . . . ie on Friday Cwafie just didn't get out of the way in time and one of the 12foot scenery flats fell on him . . . . Berludy hell – that was NOT supposed to happen. Knocked old Cwafie to his knees – but he got up and carried on . . . complete Bar Steward that he is I wanted to make a fuss . . . . But whilst the curtains are open and the lights are up Cwafie is in charge!

Stalag 69 – only lasts 25 mins. The rest of the evening was filled with a mini play – written by one of our members and co directed by Westerwitch. Four comedy sketches and then the main play of the night Happy Jack by John Godber. The latter is a lovely play spanning the life and rough love of Elizabeth and Jack (a coal miner and his wife). It is a play filled with laughter and tears, potential violence and incredible tenderness. Every time I see it – and I have seen it quite a few times now – I get something new from it. I did the sound for Happy Jack. Happy Snaper did the lighting for the whole show!

So two performances under our belts – four more to go in four different Scottish locations. Plus Happy Jack being performed at the East Kilbride One Act Play Festival this coming Friday. So busy busy busy and plenty more nerves to battle with in the coming weeks.

Good grief – what a huge Blog – but I feel so much better for it. And as for Cwafie – he is back in his box until Friday week. 28 years old indeed and the stubble . . . . and he smokes a pipe . . .

The last moments

How to keep in touch with us all
Friday Apr 20 2007 12:35:17
By westerwitch


Hi to you all so that we can keep in touch try www.purplecoo.co.uk - Comp Lit husband has set it up as a half way house blog and chat site.

It is not advertising anything so hope I am allowed to say this. It is purely so that we don't loose site (heheh sight) of each other.

I am personally really sad that so many people are saying goodbye and hope this way we can stay together in one form or another.

Apologies if this out of order, but I have made so many good friends on the site and can't bear the thought of it all falling apart.

Maybe see you there - maybe not.

Thank you so much for such a wonderful time and lets blog on somehow.




Oh berlucks I've done it again.

Stand aside Ragrug - I'm Harkdorse . . . hic . . . .off to rehe . . .rhaer rheh . .drama now . . gic

byeeeeeee

Congratulations

Ohmigod – deranged marbles all over the place – I appear to ditto'd and posted whilst I was writing the rest – berludy hell.

I would like to offer my congratulations to the three shortlisted finalists. I suspect they may well be having mixed feelings after the reaction of the blogging community. But well done – you are what CL want – and may the best columnist win.

As for how we are all feeling about the results – I think Bill and Milla have said it all. I would give you my short list, but there are just too many to mention and I would not want to accidentally leave any one out. They might hunt me down and melt my laptop.

I have however gained far more than I could ever imagined by blogging on the CL site. I have found some wonderful friends. The support and camaraderie is incredible and just to really bung the cherry on the cake my own daughter has told me how she feels about me . . . . er we now communicate by blog – not sure what that says about us . . . . . but as she would say . . . whatever. And I am writing everyday . . . what more can I ask for . . .well loads . . but that's not the point.

So blog on . . . . and are we downhearted . . . of course we berludy well are . . . . but we'll soon get over that . . . . now got to rush off out again – blah blah and then rehearsals – blah blah – so I doubt I will get any commenting done today – Ok then . . . huge cheat here – this is my comment today on all my favourite blogs.

TO ALL OF YOU – reading your blogs makes my day . . . I think you are so amazing that the word to describe you hasn't been invented yet . . I am so proud to know you all. Thank you and see you all tomorrow.

Hey hey not on the shortlist – typo's . . poo who cares – grammer – thing of the past, wine chocolate and children all rock . . whoop whoop!

Reply to Wildchild

Well it is 2.00 am and I can't sleep – far too overwhelmed in a squelchy emmotional kind of way.

I have to write and post this now. Maybe then I will get some sleep – I need it -we are off out in the morning. Oh dear keyboard fizzing - bit soggy I guess.

And if you are wondering why, then please read what first time blogger Wildchild wrote about westerwitch last night.

And thank you Wildchild – for once and only this once ok - I am actually lost for words – but thank you, thank you, thank you. You have made my day, week, month, year . . . life . . it has all been worth it

My Mum the Westerwitch

To explain the blog below - this was posted by my daughter – Wildchild - on the other side - the night before the short list was announced. I am so very proud of what she wrote - red face at hopeless self indulgence - and I have posted this here for those of you that didn't get the chance to read it and would like to.

My daughter has never been one to express her emotions - but blogging allowed her to do this . . . .and hopefully Purplecoo will allow many others to also express how they feel and to share the ups and downs of their lives with all of us so that we can laugh and cry and support each other . . .



My Mum the Westerwitch

By Wildchild


Your probably wondering what the westerwitch is! Well the first thing to say is that she claims to have lost her marbles along time ago but in all honesty she never really had any. She’s an awful lot to take in so beware. 
The westerwitch is commonly found running around the highlands enjoying the Scottish weather. She is social although not necessarily socially acceptable, and can be found hanging around with lixtroll chasing girdly birds. It is easy to confuse westerwitch and the lixtroll as they are similar - pixie like in behaviour - but don’t be fooled. If you really, really, really must find her, you need to have a few tricks up yer sleeve. For example, a trail of wine, chocolate, yare dragons and a few U2 songs should work nicely. Should this fail then count yourself lucky. She is clever although her common sense is questionable. For example, telling the westerwitch that the word ‘gullible’ has recently been taken out of the dictionary and she will believe you every time. The parental skills of the westerwitch are a little odd! Although she is capable of parenthood, the resulting offspring may lack sanity. I’ve lived with the westerwitch my whole life, along with dogs, cats, parrots, ferrets, rats, hamster, snakes, chinchillas and of course…gold fish; and I’m now studying zoology as a result. She has a broomstick in the cupboard, a cauldron on the stove and an unmistakable cackle. 
You see, the westerwitch is my mother. She has ‘raised’ me and ‘loved’ me and ‘nurtured’ me into the person that I am. She’s done an ok job I guess since our mother-daughter relationship has been mostly practical jokes and the insults. Since I have been more than a foetus on this earth, we have been annoying each other and its not about to stop. But among the ‘I CANT WAIT TO LEAVE HOME’ and the ‘Great, I’ll help you pack’ we’ve managed to come out of it with a pretty healthy relationship. And to be honest, I’ll be chuffed if when I turn fifty something, I’m half the person she is (playing with artificial remote control fart machines). She’ll read this and get teary, but I shall deny it when she confronts me despite the evidence. 
So as I sit here stressing about the reproductive patterns of the cephalopod mollusc (it’s actually quite interesting), I wonder what its like to be normal. But then of course…who wants to be normal, right? 

I guess what I’m trying to say is, the westerwitch ain’t a half bad mutha!

Cesspit Cottages

'Good evening Cesspit Cottages. Uh huh, you are looking at our web site now uh huh, how can I help you? Oh you are sorry for ringing up so late , of course I understand . . I mean I haven't got anything better to do . . . it is the only time you can ring, I see, after midnight – sorry I can't hear you is that your TV in the background. Its the police radio you have tuned into – oh I see. Mmm good.

'Yes when for? I see tomorrow, well today really. Er let me look. Yes you are in luck, we can do that. Oh hahahah yes we do take dogs, but we prefer if you pay with money. Hahahahaha. Hello, hello are you still there, oh you are. Um, what sort of dog have you got? Uh huh six vicious pit bull terriers, none of whom have ever been on leads. Oh yes sounds wonderful, no, no we love dogs, absolutely all dogs. Yes, yes of course we do advertise that we take dogs and no, no we . . er aren't even the tiniest pit bullist at all. Um will they be wearing muzzles? Hahahaha no of course not – hahhahah of course they are allergic to collars and muzzles, can't think how I didn't guess. Er are they likely to chase my chickens. Uh huh champion chicken killers mmmmm delightful, they can pull down a full grown deer, but they love sheep . . really . . oh that's nice . . . oh I see, but they couldn't eat a whole one . . hahahaha.' (Berludy hell). 'Price yes you want a price. Uh huh. So how many days, phew just the three nights. Well that will £xxx plus £xx for your dogs and that is at winter rates so a good discount for you. What, sorry what . . . Oh I see, what do you mean am I taking the p*ss. Er no that is the bare minimum we can let the cottage for and not go bust. Uh huh, you say you can get a cottage just down the road from us for how much? Well no I don't know how they can do that. No that was my best price. You want to go away and think about it and you need to contact the other members of your party. Er how many of you are there? Fifteen! Um the cottages only sleep four each . . .well it does actually say that on the web site . . You only want one cottage . . what . . oh but you thought with sleeping bags and stuff and your mates are coming up with their camper vans . . . . . and their dogs agggghhhhh. And and . . .Oh look . . er . . oh my gawd um a tornado . . yes that's right a great big fekking tornado, mmmmm yes er very big er thing and . . . .good grief it has just sucked up both our rental cottages . . mmmm yes both. .. . .well um my goodness . . . . .would you believe it? Sorry better go I have to . . er . . yes er switch off the gas, that's right and the water and and . . . .bye.' Gasp!
'Exploding Cesspit cottages – no S*d off it's after midnight and we are full. . . . .!'

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.