Thoughts from the Circuit Overseer Visit

One of my favourite moths, the Brimstone, recently appeared on our balcony. Whether it then featured on a Magpie menu I do not know. I hope not. Actually since Captain B vaselined the balcony railings we have not really seen it - the magpie, not the moth.

We had three lovely talks from our Circuit Overseer during his recent visit, and one point I really want to remember concerns Jonah and the giant fish. How it took 3 days for Jonah's prayer for rescue to be answered - and why.  It's a good reminder to keep praying and not to give up.

And he told us of this experience, one that really spoke to me.  It was about a little girl of about 7 years old who was at church with her mother. She was obviously listening intently to what the preacher/vicar/minister was saying from the pulpit as when he stood by the door to shake hands with his parishioners as they left, she had a question for him.

His sermon had apparently been about both the immortality of the soul and the resurrection.  The little girl was puzzled, and asked the vicar this: "If we have an immortal soul, why do we need to have a resurrection?"

She had a lot more sense than I did at that age. I was taught both those things in my convent schooldays; that we have an "immortal soul" - which is not a Bible teaching, and that we believed in the resurrection - which IS a Bible teaching.  Yet I never saw the contradiction - or certainly not at her age!

Because if, as we were taught, our "immortal" souls went off to heaven, hell, purgatory or limbo then what on earth was the resurrection for?  Why was it needed? We had never actually died.

The thoughtful little girl got no answer to her question back then, just a pat on the head, and a comment (to her mother) "How cute" (or some such, I didn't take notes for the first talk - my hands will only do so much these days).

It wasn't till later, when the child was in her twenties and two Jehovah's Witnesses called at her door that she got her answer. Which is simply that the Bible does not say that we have an immortal soul - it says we ARE souls, and we can and do die. But Jehovah can keep us safely in his memory and resurrect us into the restored earthly paradise.  And then we will not be dying (as we all are now), but will have the prospect of living forever on this lovely lovely planet.

Which is why we need the resurrection!

That little girl is now a baptized sister and has been for many years.

Which makes me feel guilty.  As yet again it underlines how important the door to door Kingdom preaching work is, and I am not doing it at the moment.  I am doing letters and emails and fb posts - and blogs of course - but not going door to door.  I am hoping to get out to the seafront one day this week, with a sister, and we will try to distribute some magazines and tracts.

Maybe, now there is all this electioneering going on, more people will be thinking seriously about what sort of government can solve our problems - because it is only the heavenly one, the Kingdom of God, that can.

And it will.

I did manage to totter the few yards to the seashore on Wednesday - both sea and sky looked so lovely - and we sat on the wall and enjoyed the view, and managed to talk to a few people who passed by.  The result of my yard long marathon?    A very sore right foot - but, hopefully, maybe  the one person who did talk to me and who took a small leaflet about the Kingdom will read it and think seriously about it.

The Economical Man by Peter D Hiley

Once again, I want to review a book I am reading: The Economical Man  by Peter D. Hiley.  We found it waiting for us when we got back last week.

This is so funny, and it is Pete on the page. I lived some of it as I lodged with Peter and his first wife, when we were all students  - many many years ago. 

It would be a great book to take on a plane journey, as you can just dip into it. It does not have to be read in chronological order, and every page is entertaining.  Wherever you choose to start, it will sweep you along with it - and take your mind off all the waiting that goes along with travel these days.  

Captain B has been reading it out on the balcony, laughing away to himself and coming in to share his favourite bits.

Pete mentions the parcels of meat we used to get at the market in our student years. You could buy a Pork Parcel, or a Beef Parcel, very cheaply. And then we would - ineptly - cook them.  He mentions what rubbish cooks we were. True.

And he mentions the Bonair - a "folding caravan tent thing" - a box that they towed along behind their car.  I remember it - from their young parent years! Though I never stayed in it, for which I am rather thankful, given Pete's description of their Bonair holiday.

If anyone has read my Umbrellas of Hamelin, they will have found an extract from Peter Hiley's Pete's Angel, just after my own school story Klook and Plukey. That extract alone probably tells you that Pete is good at putting himself on the page - which is something that looks easy, but is definitely not.

We have tackled our difficult schooldays (both being on the Asperger/Autism spectrum) from such different angles.

In harmony with The Economical Man, at the last meal we had with Pete and his wife when the four children were still at home, in the house with the big fruit and veggie filled garden, did we have a home-grown veggie feast?  No. We had a Chinese takeaway. 

And very nice it was too.

Developing the Farm

I have just read the chapter "Developing the Farm" from JAN STEPEK Part 1: From Gulag to Glasgow by Martin Stepek.  This is the account of their last days as a family, before Hitler and Stalin (at that time in (un)cosy alliance) strike,  so I am going to have a pause before I plunge in to the tragedy that affected my own family too - and so many millions of others.

I wanted to note that once again, Martin's evocation of his father's childhood is bringing my own childhood back to me. He mentions that turnips were grown, but not for human consumption, for the cattle.  I think the local farmers in my Northern hometown - the ones whose land was being encroached on by swarms of us children of the post-war baby boom era - grew mangelwurzels, a kind of beet, for cattle fodder. And that takes me to a memory of when I was about 4 years old, playing out with the "big" boys, fearsome lads of 6 or 7 or so, who did not at all want me tagging along.

Following them, I ended up in a farmer's field, and we pulled roots from the ground and ate them. They were so crunchy and delicious as I remember it - though they must have - literally - been rather earthy.  Then the farmer came along and set his dogs on us. And who can blame him?

I can remember running way behind the big boys till they came to what seemed like a mountain of a wall, or fence, and they scrambled over.  Gallantly they came back and hauled me over just ahead of the dogs. I would have got bitten otherwise - and serve me right I guess, though I had no idea that I was stealing at the time.

I am supposing that what we were illicitly eating were mangelwurzels.  Would they taste so delicious now?  Hard to say, but bear in mind that we were still in the era of wartime food rationing, so children were always hungry. And everything tastes good when you are hungry.

At any rate,  I won't be testing it out in any of the local farming fields.  Those dogs would have the zimmer frame from under me before I could take the first bite!

So there are premonitions all over this otherwise happy chapter.  As war sets in, turnips may well become a luxury food, never mind cattle fodder. And there is also a mention of Jozef, one of the farmhands, who became a good friend of the children.  He was from a German family and had been in the army with the authors's granddad.  I worry for him, as I worry for them all, and I worry what will happen to the friendship, under the pressures of the imminent horror of WW2.  Will we meet him again? And under what circumstances?  He may well be pressed into the Germany Army

There is such intensive research here - it must have taken an immense amount of work.

Here, for instance, is a fascinating detail: the cows "bought from Holland proved to  be too big and heavy in the soft soil of Ukraine".  They had to replace them with smaller cows from Poland who were better suited to the terrain.  

And the story of the homing pigeons is funny.

I also note a religious point, about Sabbath observance, in that the writer observes that the family does not go to church every Sunday, and that the local priest understood that farm work must come first. The author then says: "In many ways it was the opposite of the biblical view to keep the Sabbath holy".

It wasn't for many years that I understood that the Sabbath observance is part of the Mosaic Law, and that Law is not binding on Christians.  We may keep a sabbath if we wish to. But it is not a requirement.

The photo, by Captain B of course, is of a Red Admiral on Cow Parsley (an Umbellifer) in Lobbs Wood. Cow Parsley is the nearest I can get to the pic of a cow.

Jen's Garden

We got back from our tour of family and friends in the North on Tuesday. It was a short, but hectic, trip.  We left about ten minutes ahead of Nute's decorators who were scheduled to arrive in the drive at 9:15. To prepare for their coming, Col had got all the pictures down - and the big mirror (that one with a little help from my creaky self) - and the books from the shelves in the hall. He had also done some gardening.

Nute has a wonderful rambling garden to go with her rambling house - all perfect for family get togethers. So, with that in mind, we had a day with one of the teenage granddaughters, who now has an enormous moth tattoo on her chest (easy to see as she wasn't wearing all that much else - how she did not catch her death of cold...)   I will not forget Captain Butterfly's shock and horror when she arrived and her Gran said: "WHAT is that butterfly on your chest!?"  "It's a MOTH, not a butterfly!" he gasped, reaching for his smelling salts.

He was right, it was. A hangover from her Goth/Emo period I suppose.

I feel very very old these days.

Some of Lilac Tree Farm and a couple of the Derby mob came over for Sunday lunch.  Nute cooked up a storm of pasta, with two sauces, one meat, one veggie, plus cheese and salads, with mini-choc ices to follow. And we played Exploding Kittens with one of the youngest granddaughters.  Don't ask - well, in case you have, its a card game, and no kittens are harmed in the playing of it.

And Col had a big family reunion in York, which included the Cheshire Cheese branch of the family, as it was a birthday celebration for both Bea and Keith, who have reached landmark birthdays.  I didn't go as not only did it involve stairs, and an overnight stop, but it was also a birthday.

As a Jehovah's Witness, I try to avoid all ceremonies and celebrations that have a connection to the religions of "the world".  We note not only that the Inspired Scriptures take the time to record two birthdays - both celebrated by those who did not worship Jehovah, and neither of which turned out happily - but also how the early Christians and the Jews of Bible times viewed birthday celebrations.

“The notion of a birthday festival was far from the ideas of the Christians of this period in general.”—The History of the Christian Religion and Church, During the Three First Centuries (New York, 1848), Augustus Neander (translated by Henry John Rose), p. 190.

“The later Hebrews looked on the celebration of birthdays as a part of idolatrous worship, a view which would be abundantly confirmed by what they saw of the common observances associated with these days.”—The Imperial Bible-Dictionary (London, 1874), edited by Patrick Fairbairn, Vol. I, p. 225.

Oddly, though I knew nothing of this, and very little about what the Bible said anyway (despite an intensive religious education at convent school), I never did like birthday parties, not even my own.   I loved our childhood Christmases. I must admit. But back then it was very much a simple family get together, not the orgy of consumerism that it is now.

And of course, we still do go up for a family get together on the 25th, circumstances allowing.

We ended our visit with our now traditional veggie feast at Jen's, which we always look forward to. And she had done a crumble for Captain B!  Perfect. I had some too, as I was on my holidays. so it was a treat for me as well. I usually only test drive my own crumbles via one spoonful, ever since the great Salt Instead of Sugar disaster.

We were also able to have a tour of Jen's garden, which she has turned into a work of art - as you can see from Captain B's photos above.  She is going to have a wonderful strawberry crop this year, judging by the amount of flowers in her strawberry bed.

The last time we toured her garden, much later in the year, there was one strawberry left, and she gave it to me. It tasted as a strawberry should - which is sadly unusual with so many shop bought berries.

Could we ever get tired of gardening, given good health and perfect circumstances?   Having a part in turning the whole earth into the paradise garden that it was always meant to be will be wonderful. And we will be able to care for the animal creation tenderly and unselfishly, and make sure that their lives are filled with joy too.

And, under the loving rule of the Kingdom of God, nature will no longer be "red in tooth and claw".

Talking of that, Jen has got two new cats, as her fierce Miranda died since we were last there. They are grey short hairs, really plush and cuddly, though they do not (yet) like to be held or cuddled. But one of them did appear to say a brief "hello" before shooting out into the garden. They were not allowed out in their previous home and are enjoying their new freedoms.

He is lovely, and I hope to be allowed a little bit of a cuddle next time.  And maybe a photo for my blog.  He is stunningly photogenic (which is more than can be said for me, alas).  However, if and when I am restored to perfection, in the paradise earth...

JAN STEPEK Part 1 GULAG TO GLASGOW

 

I am reading Martin Stepek's book about his father Jan Stepek, and I want to review it in my blog.  I shall do several reviews as I am taking it slowly and making notes to myself as I go through.  So far I can say that Martin can write. Our own and our families stories are always interesting to us, but it needs a good writer to make them interesting to the reader.  

He begins the book with a mystery visitor - a mystery which is solved and which also says a lot about the turmoil of the times, the tragedy in which we, the damaged children of disobedient Adam, are living.

Martin has evoked his father's childhood so well - as such a busy and happy one - yet all the while the reader knows that the horror of Hitler and Stalin is looming on the horizon.  Jan and his siblings memories of their childhood so far echo mine, which took place just after the war, even though they were country children and we were townies.  We lived close to the inner city, but also visited my granny's rambling old country cottage in a small village in Lancashire regularly.

Martin's father recollects his pre-war childhood, saying that "in the summer we were rarely in the house".  And he remembers playing hide and seek in the fields.  Me too. Us children of the post war baby boom years used to play hide and seek in fields of ... were they corn, or barley?  But grasses taller than us, filled with a wonderful world of insects and wildflowers. So clearly there was still farmland within the city then. It will all have been "developed" now.

Martin's father, Jan, says: "In the winter  I would pour water on the ground to make a skating rink and all the children in the area found this great fun."  His sister Danka says "But there was much more to our play than just fun. We were learning so much through our activities and we got to know nature in a deep way."

Yes. I recognise that childhood as still existing in the post war. Even in the inner city there was nature, in the gardens, parks and numerous bombsites.  And there was a sort of lore of childhood through which we knew which plants and seeds were safe to eat just as we knew which stones you could break to use to chalk hopscotch squares in the road.

And I do remember making icy pavements even slippier by making slides - with no thought for poor old ladies (like myself).  Shudder...

Does this world of childhood Jan describes exist now? Can it? Or has the writer brought us a glimpse of a vanished world?

I am looking forward to finding out what happens next, though with trepidation as I know there are horrors to come.  

I notice and appreciate how Martin is writing this in a very fair way.  It is so easy to use the horrors of our past to make things worse in the present.  But he writes with understanding of the divisions and hatreds that are soon going to become overwhelming.

He speaks of Jan's father's work to  "try to reconcile all the minority groups in the area"  - and how that work brought him into dangerous conflict with the authorities. Well, yes, it would, as isn't "the world" set up to divide us, and turn us against each other?

He writes of "the competing nationalist biases of the time", often between the Poles and the Ukrainians with fairness and understanding.

I will be interested to see if he can maintain this in describing what is to come, but am confident that he will.

Saturday was sunny and a bit warmer, and beautiful with blossom.  Col set off for his trip to York - two big family birthdays - and I hate to be without him, but...  as long as he gets back safely.

The older I get, the more precious the gift of life seems, and the more dangerous the whole mad system of things on the earth feels.

Taffety Tart

Spoiler alert (though it is an old series), Billie won Australian Masterchef with a perfect Taffety Tart, a challenge set by Heston Blumenthal of The Fat Duck fame.  Before he unlidded the final dish that Billie and Sarah would have to cook I was desperately hoping it would not be Snail Porridge or anything adjacent to it.  Thankfully it wasn't.  It was, apparently, a Heston take on a cake from the 17th century or thereabouts. His was much more elaborate I hardly need to say, involving all sorts of intricate layers that I doubt they faffed about with back then.

I really liked both finalists, but perhaps slightly favoured Sarah in that this was in part Masterchef: The Return, and Billie had won it before. Interestingly she said that she just wasn't ready for all the opportunities it opened up to her the first time she won but now she had grown up a lot and she felt she was.  And I could well understand that, and sympathise.

They were both such brilliant cooks so it was sad that one of them had to lose.

And - another spoiler alert - Grant, the last man standing, won American Masterchef.  He was such a nice guy, and clearly a good cook.

Maybe I can get back to cooking a bit more for poor Captain B now my days are not taken up with all these cookery programmes.  Mind you I doubt he would thank me for raw pigeon, or snail porridge.   

Captain B beat me at the ordles (Wordle, Quordle, Octordle) yesterday morning!  Again!!  But we drew this morning.

What a lovely month May is  - a month of blossom - see the rhododendron that heads the blog, taken yesterday by Captain B.

It was overcast, a bit gloomy, but we still enjoyed our walk in the park, finding all sorts of wild flowers, including wild garlic.  Even 6,000 years after the loss of the Garden of Eden, it is still possible to see that the earth was made to be a paradise. And while we cannot go back and put things right - a point I make in my short story Till They Dropped - I do now know that we can look confidently ahead to the restored earthly paradise, as that is what Jehovah has purposed and all his purposes come about.

Isn't that the very meaning of his name?

A FANTASTIC Figure of Eighty

The sea was so calm on Friday morning - it was a pale grey blue like the sky and so still. I sat out on the balcony for a while after we got back from our hospital trip, and managed to get some rays on my poor old skin.  I feel there is a Haiku in that stillness, but I can't get at it. No doubt the great Matsuo Basho could have.

We did not see the Northern Lights, but many in the UK did - due, apparently, to a violent sunstorm.  What a beautiful awe-inspiring universe we float in!  How often do we stop and thank our Creator Jehovah for the beauty he has made for us?

If we have swallowed down the theory of Evolution, which the world is determined we shall, then I guess the answer, very sadly, is "not at all"...

The moths are returning in their droves now - see the above, a Figure of Eighty. Amazing name - and one that requires a small verse. So here goes:

Figure of Eighty
nice to see you matey
but keep your eyes
open for magpies!

Energised - which is to say I found a tiny morsel of energy - by the C.O. visit, I actually got to the field service group on Saturday morning, and did a difficult call. It's difficult in the sense that the driving and parking is difficult, and my confidence is going. And I am no good at talking to people.

I did nothing in the afternoon, apart from finish my studying for the Sunday meeting, and make Himself's sandwiches.  And I did provide us with supper, which was no great feat of cheffery being our usual veggie soup followed by yoghurt.

Us FANTASTIC authors have been toeing and froeing on Zoom and email all trying to find ways to up our book sales.

Here is the Fantastic Books website if you would like to visit it:

https://www.fantasticbooksstore.com/about-us/the-fantastic-team

And Milton D, a facebook friend, has asked me for a copy of Umbrellas, as he has read and liked my previous books.  I have one copy left, and one out on loan to Tony which should be coming back to me, so I hope to get that done.

It is always encouraging, when someone likes what you have written enough to want to read more. And I too have to remind myself to thank the Creator of language, of the human brain, of the imagination, as it is so satisfying to create something with words.  It is a lovely gift.

The Wetland Trust Re-visited

Col and I lunched at the Wetland Trust on Wednesday - quite a rare outing for us these days.  I wasn't able to do much, but we walked to the Enclosure of the Terrifying Pelicans (I have never really got over seeing one swallow a pigeon whole in Regents Park), and spent some time by the dive pond with its lovely ducks. They swim close by at shoulder level, relaxed and happy, and you could reach out and stroke them. Though of course we don't.

We then had lunch - baked potato with beans and salad for Himself and a cheese and onion pastie for me. Both very nice. We also shopped, hoping to find pressies for the little girls in the Gift Shop, but only managed to buy some rather lovely bird cards. The next time we see them I will just put some money in the cards and leave it at that. I think they have reached the age when they would prefer that anyway.

I Zoomed with a friend in the afternoon - we have a double session on Wednesdays. Her husband is out of hospital and doing well after his operation, thank God.

Recent medical matters were our Covid jabs, Col's follow-up hospital visit, and on Friday a re-arrangement for the delivery date of my next injection pens, plus another email from them saying that there would be a change of formula coming up later in the year.  It involves the dosage being more concentrated and therefore lesser liquid in the pen. So will it be more or less painful than before - or more Korrectly, will there be more or less "discomfort"?

We didn't  - barring emergencies - have any medical matters on this week... hopefully... at our age... mutter... mutter...

... but later on Tuesday afternoon the phone rang, and yes, I do have a hospital appointment this week... so I spoke too soon...

While longing for the time to come on the earth when "No resident will say 'I am sick;", we are both very grateful for the NHS until that time comes.

I made myself go out this morning - a quick shopping trip followed by 2 return visits, one of whom invited me in for a coffee and a chat.  She always used to invite Jean and me in, in the days of Jean, rescuing us from a downpour once, and drying our coats for us.  She is still not interested in the Kingdom though, sadly. The other call, the lawyer, was not at home, but I left him a message and a magazine.

Maybe he will get in touch, and want to know more.   I can only hope and pray.

In May's Gaud Gown

The visiting magpie WAS eating our moths.  The Captain caught him at it and has put some vaseline on the balcony rail, which seems to have worked.  There can't be much nutrition in a moth though. It is all worrying for both moths and for baby magpies.

And we cannot feed the birds around here, as it would instantly attract flocks of seagulls to our block of flats.

I feel a bit melancholy at the moment, so here are two strange and rather lovely poems about the sadness of May. But why is it sad when it's so beautiful? Maybe it's because we are all dying in the middle of the newness, the green leaves, the blossom, the freshness of Spring?  We are not renewing ourselves as everything else seems to be.

It is certainly more obvious when you are well past your sell-by date, as I am now.

MAY   by Christina Rossetti

I cannot tell you how it was
But this I know: it came to pass
Upon a bright and sunny day
When May was young; ah, pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last egg had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird foregone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was,
But this I know: it did but pass.
It passed away with sunny May,

Like all sweet things it passed away,

And left me old, and cold, and gray.

https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/may/


MAY  by  Karen Volkman

In May’s gaud gown and ruby reckoning
the old saw wind repeats a colder thing.

Says, you are the bluest body I ever seen.
Says, dance that skeletal startle the way I might.

Radius, ulna, a catalogue of flex.
What do you think you’re grabbing

with those gray hands? What do you think
you’re hunting, cat-mouth creeling

in the mouseless dawn? Pink as meat
in the butcher’s tender grip, white as

the opal of a thigh you smut the lie on.
In May’s red ruse and smattered ravishings

you one, you two, you three your cruder schemes,
you blanch black lurk and blood the pallid bone

and hum scald need where the body says I am
and the rose sighs Touch me, I am dying

in the pleatpetal purring of mouthweathered May.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/55530/may-56d2373a7826d

Of course I may not be understanding Karen Volkman properly, as her poem has the obscurity that seems to be required of poets these days. But that is how I read it - that in the newness and freshness of May, we, the damaged children of Adam, are all dying.  Our lives seem as quickly gone as the life of a rose.

That is true. Alas.

And she uses language in such a powerful, such a beautiful way.  This has been a favourite poem for many years.

Keith sent us a video of his parents' (my in-laws) wedding, back in the 1940s.  How young they all were. And how happy they looked.  And yet most of them are gone now, in what seems like the twinkling of an eye.

A rather solemn Aunt Bea - still with us, thank God - and still looking good - presided as chief bridesmaid.   

But whatever our age, we can be spiritually renewed, every day, IF we listen to our loving Creator, Jehovah, who is the Source of life and energy.  And in time He will restore us to life and perfection that our first parents so tragically lost. That will happen during the Thousand Years foretold in the Book of Revelation.

It will be a wonderful time - with even more wonderful times ahead.

And in harmony with that thought, it was the Circuit Overseer's visit last week. And his first talk was about being inspired and strengthened by the example of the prophets of old.  He talked a lot about Daniel - his faithfulness both when he was a young man and when he was old.

Daniel was taken in exile to Babylon as a teenager, and lived, in Babylon, to be very old. So he had about 80 years of waiting for all the Kingdom promises to be fulfilled.

And what is more, he knew it would not come in his lifetime, as he was given that vision of the march of the world powers. He knew that many things would have to happen before God's Kingdom came. It is so well worth studying Bible prophecy - vital to do so! -  and I might say a bit more about this in some of my next blogs.

A Busy Morning

I had a busy morning on Thursday - well, busy for me these days.  Off to the shops first thing to get grapes and chocolates for 2 local friends who are just out of hospital, then just back in time to Zoom to the C.O. field service 5 minute talk. He was emphasising once again the need to listen to people, to try to make a relationship...   all things that are so much out of my skill set, being Aspergery, that I would despair, if I did not have trust in Jehovah to do what is impossible for us.

And in harmony with that - after delivering the first bunch of grapes and chocolates - I did call on an old call of mine - an eccentric and well-read gentleman, with a bit of an acerbic tongue. After pouring a modicum of scorn on some of our beliefs, he said that it was "lovely to see you again, dear."  He has never been so warm before, so who knows?  Maybe we are forming a friendship in our own odd way.  I got a chance to talk to his wife too - a very nice lady, We have both had replacement shoulders and empathise with each other's difficulties.

We agreed that we would be in trouble if we got caught in some kind of hold-up/Police raid as, when ordered to "Put up your hands!", we would not be able to do so.  We could "Put up one hand!"  but that likely would not be good enough.

And I left them with 2 magazines and also a copy of "The Umbrellas of Hamelin"  He is a real bookworm like me and did borrow and read Waiting for Gordo.  He was  a bit acerbic about that, but then also said "but I like the way you write". So he had enjoyed reading it in a way, even if the plot was not completely to his liking.

I then got to the Hall for the 11:30 coffee session - and had a coffee I did not really deserve as I had not been out on the doors with the group. And I delivered the second batch of grapes on my way home.

I also posted my current letters and got some more of the pretty little cards from the Post Office as I am concentrating on doing letters for my siblings to leave at Not Homes at the moment. 

Apparently there was a terrific thunderstorm at about 2 o'clock on Wednesday night and we both slept through the whole thing. So I must have got some sleep even though I woke up feeling so tired I could have cried.

When I was talking to my upstairs neighbour in the lift she was saying that she had lain awake for an hour while it thundered and lightninged overhead, worried as we have been struck by lightning twice. Our block is rather prominent on the seafront, or so the lightning thinks anyway.

They say "it never strikes twice", but clearly it does. So the question is: Does it strike three times?  Hopefully not.

The magpie has struck again though, as it has taken the two moths who were on our wall this morning.  Clearly they are much safer spending the night in our Moth Trap Hotel.