tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78008096859102108792024-03-05T19:44:30.340+00:00Female of the SpeciesCorinna Downes spent much of her life as a headmaster's secretary and full time mother, bringing up her two daughters. Then she met the director of the Centre for Fortean Zoology, and her world was never the same again.Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.comBlogger340125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-67752666123997373832015-12-01T23:23:00.001+00:002015-12-01T23:23:20.089+00:00Tuesday, 1st December 1987<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The afternoon of the 1<sup>st</sup> December 1987 (oh, cool, it was a Tuesday, like today) found me
walking around Stamford High Street, pushing eldest daughter, Shoshannah, in
her pushchair. We were to meet her
father at my in-laws later on that day, and go home together in the car. All afternoon I had been experiencing what I
put down to Braxton Hicks contractions, and just ignored them as that. It wasn’t until we got home and the fact that
they were still at it that I decided to ring the hospital and proclaim that I
thought I had started labour. They told
me to come in, but not to rush as there was bound to be plenty of time
yet. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
So, leaving Shoshannah with her grandmother, into the labour
wing of Stamford Hospital I was taken. The
midwife had a look, pronounced that she had plenty of time, and then some, to
go get the egg and chips she was looking forward to in the canteen, and
disappeared off, leaving me to get on with it for a bit.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When she came back about half an hour later she was welcomed
by my waters breaking and was somewhat aghast that things had moved along a lot
quicker than she had expected. I had
only been in the maternity wing for around an hour when Olivia was born at 7.58
pm, weighing 7lb 2½oz.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had heard giving birth to your second child was much
easier and quicker than the first, but I didn’t realise just exactly how easy
and quick, and relatively painless, until that afternoon/evening! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Love you lots, little one. And I officially let you off for
causing me to miss that much laughed about steak dinner! I would rather have
you in my world than eat a steak dinner anyway (yeah okay, I’m vegetarian. But I wasn’t then!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Happy Birthday, Liv<o:p></o:p></div>
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xxxxx<o:p></o:p></div>
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Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-70355864818399621582015-08-17T23:35:00.002+01:002015-08-17T23:35:48.879+01:00Weird Weekend 2015 <div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So there it is then. Another Weird Weekend has come to an end, and it is now back to normality, whatever that is.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Apart from Woolsery and surrounding villages being fog-bound on the Thursday night with the heavens above sprinkling down a continual fine rain that quickly and deftly saturated all who dared stand outside the marquee on the lawn, the event seemed to go remarkably smoothly. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Big thanks go to the The Small School in Hartland for letting us be weird on their premises and also to all those that prepared, cooked and served delicious meals, made scrumptious cakes and cookies, and were on hand with endless cups of refreshing tea and coffee, as well as drinks of other kinds.</div>
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</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And big thanks also to Andy, Amy and Charlotte for putting up and looking after Ronan, and to Andrea, Steve and their brood for looking after Lars and his son. Your kindness is much appreciated.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
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</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thanks also to the man who complained bitterly that 3 apples were thrown over his fence by an over-enthusiastic little'un, and to the woman who stomped down to the event because someone had parked outside her house on a public highway, without actually managing to block her driveway .... because, well there wasn't one. Their mean-spirited reactions came as an abject reminder of how the good old British community spirit was largely swept down the drain quite a few decades ago, and we cannot thank them enough for reiterating this so dramatically, and for demonstrating why it is important that events like ours that involve as much of the local community as possible, that dare to join in, are important to try to suck back that spirit from the sewers below ground.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thanks of course also go to the speakers who came along to give their talks. Obviously there will be talks that will not interest some people just as there will be those that enthral people. There will always be sceptics of some subjects, and fervent believers in others. My favourites (apart from my daughter's presentation on 'Feral Cats' of course, and it goes without saying that I am extremely proud of her) were Jaki Windmill's 'Astroshamanics' and Judge Smith's talk involving Ouija boards, as well as Rosie Curtis' first ever talk in public, which was about 'Scary Memes on the Internet'. That does not mean I did not enjoy others; that is not the case at all, and every one of those that I could sit in on and - even more importantly, give complete attention to - I found very interesting. </div>
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I really enjoyed hearing Jaki sing and the opening chant was so reminiscent of the time I had the privilege to attend an All Nations Powwow whilst in Arizona a few years back. That was a mesmerising spectacle of raw, primal chanting, dancing and drum-beating that I shall always remember, but is completely beside the point so I will not enthuse any further.</div>
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PS: Photos to follow!</div>
</span>Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-91140134884507687732015-05-02T10:15:00.000+01:002015-05-02T10:15:00.824+01:00Happy Birthday, Ant<br />
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A bit of class for your birthday </div>
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Have a good one!</div>
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Lots of love </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
xxx</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZaTEdi9tKDM" width="640"></iframe>Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-74544717932063611272015-03-23T10:00:00.000+00:002015-03-23T10:00:01.993+00:00Saturday, 23rd March 1985 – Uxbridge, Middlesex.<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On 23rd March, 1985, at around 1.00 am, my daughter, Shoshannah, woke me up because she wanted to go on a journey. She had warned me about this adventure many times over the previous days, but had been unable to confirm the exact date or time. Therefore, although I had been expecting her to embark upon this once in a lifetime trip imminently, it still came as a bit of a surprise when she actually announced her impending arrival and that her father and I should expect her sometime very soon.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwglnBuxzA5oL2A3rt6vkel9vEO2CRjOR2OIDESBs8FChfxuuIDf5OFC-pBwG1-mGhjnFTKDbEh-vrVJfo-VRcjTQibwil6OAzhKAbJK4y9rvfLoS9AG0FnHHeT0N0Wytz4rO6YnmzdPV/s1600/3+weeks+old.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwglnBuxzA5oL2A3rt6vkel9vEO2CRjOR2OIDESBs8FChfxuuIDf5OFC-pBwG1-mGhjnFTKDbEh-vrVJfo-VRcjTQibwil6OAzhKAbJK4y9rvfLoS9AG0FnHHeT0N0Wytz4rO6YnmzdPV/s1600/3+weeks+old.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After many stops along the way, at
7.26 pm she – as my satnav would put it - reached her destination; all 6lb 15oz
of her. (She also came with an extra
surprise; two bottom front teeth, but that is a different story involving very
short trips in an ambulance around the hospital car park from one building to
another, when she had to have one tooth extracted when only a few days old.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Up until 1985 I think there was
only one thing I had ever done that I could even contemplate counting as a
major event, and that was passing my driving test! And that had taken two goes and didn’t happen
until I was 21. Upon reflection, perhaps two attempts<i> are</i> why I thought it was such a memorable occasion. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuZM3u2bThn9BUx1iG_UZ3honckTAHInD976N0nMbsa5ihl5JegwG5Z3s638ON8QSGHAYHM1U04Pk4bElxCEN1ML2y2gBYd-F2q0bdD33OQqnvvH00QIhrXbXfmAi27uopGB7GjaCTCnf/s1600/toad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuZM3u2bThn9BUx1iG_UZ3honckTAHInD976N0nMbsa5ihl5JegwG5Z3s638ON8QSGHAYHM1U04Pk4bElxCEN1ML2y2gBYd-F2q0bdD33OQqnvvH00QIhrXbXfmAi27uopGB7GjaCTCnf/s1600/toad.jpg" height="320" width="241" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It wasn’t until around eight
years later that my life changed and I relegated that ‘major event’ to where it
really belonged; amongst the pile of ‘just one of those things that one does
and takes for granted events’. It was some time around December 1984 that the
realisation <i>really</i> dawned on me that
1985 was going to be a life-changing year. I had no idea where it was going to
take me; it was scary, exciting, unknown, unfathomable, terrifying, awesome all
rolled into one great ball wrapped with joy.
But I often wondered if I would be able to cut the proverbial
mustard. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Amongst others, there were these recurring
questions in my mind:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Would I be any good as a mother? (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think I did okay, although if I am honest
I don’t think I would have made ‘A*’ but ‘A’ I would accept</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Would I be able to keep them safe
in this sometimes horrid world? (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yes</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">) </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Would I be able to teach them right
from wrong? (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yes – terrible 2s were a bit touch and go though</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Would I be too over-protective? (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Um,
yes I probably have, and shall continue so to do</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Would I cope with the TEENAGE
years? (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Phew, just about</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Would I be able to teach them the proper manners and how to behave in public? (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I didn't read Jane Austen for nothing. And Shosh loudly singing the 'Postman Pat' song at the back of the church whilst we attended her two cousins' joint christening was perfectly acceptable. Even the vicar complemented her on that</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Would they turn out
well-adjusted, kind, caring, and a credit to the human race? (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I reckon I did a
plum job</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">)</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And if someone waved a magic wand
and I could do it all again, would I? (<i>Too damn tooting right I would</i>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Shoshannah, my darling first-born, you have reached one of
those birthday milestones today. If
someone were to ask me now, ‘What are the things you are most proud of
achieving in your life?’ the answer would be that there are only two. And you are one of them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Have a very Happy Birthday</span>.
</span></div>
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Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-64510351049129271042014-12-25T00:56:00.000+00:002014-12-25T00:59:53.410+00:00Yuletide Greetings<div style="text-align: center;">
To all my family and friends </div>
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<br />Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-78986156326932882522014-12-01T10:00:00.000+00:002014-12-01T10:00:01.346+00:00Birthday time!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> Happy Birthday, Olivia</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Have a lovely day </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>xxx</b></span></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-24415530095751182362014-10-31T16:23:00.005+00:002014-10-31T16:23:48.420+00:00The Day Off<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In the bedroom of a cottage, on
the edge of a village in the heart of the English countryside, an alarm clock
was 'beep-beep-beeping'. The sound got
louder the longer it went on, until – suddenly – it stopped. From beneath the warmth of the quilt an arm
had surfaced, its hand fumbling around on the bedside cupboard in search of the
alarm clock that had once again rudely interrupted his slumber. The forefinger and middle finger of the searching
hand finally found the snooze button, and silence fell upon the room
again. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In fact, the silence was
deafening. And he knew instantly that there had been snowfall during the
night. There was a gleam to the room
through the open curtains, and it was eerily quiet outside. Even the distant hum from the motorway that he
was so used to hearing in the background could not be heard. ‘Ah well,’ he thought. ‘<st1:country-region w:st="on">Britain</st1:country-region> has come to a standstill
again because of the weather.’ And then
he smiled as the next thought beamed through. ‘Hey, I may get a day off work if
there are no buses running.’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Peeking his head out from under
the covers, he looked across at his bedside cupboard. The time was 5.38 am. He
had nearly an hour. He always set the
alarm for an hour before he had to get up. He liked the fact that he could wake
up gently, and snuggle in the quilts, snooze and then repeat this exercise a
couple of times, before it was time to ease out first one leg, and then the
other, before facing the world for another day.
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today, though, he couldn’t resist
the temptation to take a look outside to see exactly how much snow had laid
overnight. He may be in his mid-fifties,
but the thrill of snow still affected him and filled him with boyish
excitement. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He flung out his legs and once in
a sitting position he could see that it was, in fact, <i>still</i> snowing. Great flakes
of the stuff were silently drifting down from the pregnant clouds above. Thankful for the wonders of central heating,
he made his way to the window and lent on his elbows as he perused the world
outside. Yep. It was deep out there. The lane outside was completely covered in,
as yet, untouched, clean, white virgin snow.
The dry stone wall opposite was almost two thirds buried, and it being
at nearly a metre tall, it had definitely been what one could describe as a substantial
snowfall.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now he had to make a quick
decision. Would he attempt the half-mile
walk to the B-road to get the bus? If
so, he would clearly have to leave earlier than normal to wade his way through. There was that prick of conscience at the back
of his mind that he should attempt it; after all the main road may have been
gritted and be suitable for public transport.
But then again, he knew from past experience that the local council was
not known for its pre-emptive measures at this time of year. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He glanced at his front
gate. No way was he going to be able to
open that. Nope, there was nothing for
it – he was snowed in. He smiled
again. He had enough milk, bread and
other basics to keep him going for the day.
He would make the phone call later at around 8.30 to let them know he
wouldn’t be showing up for work today; if anyone had actually made it in to
pick up the phone that is. But he would
try – he could leave a message if needs be, and then at least he would be
covered. He always made sure that he was
covered for all eventualities. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So, with that decision made, he
considered whether to go back to bed or whether to make the most of his early
morning start and get some chores done inside the cottage. Although he had lived in the same county, he
hadn’t been living in the cottage long, having only moved in four months
previously. Work commitments had
restricted his DIY attempts, as well as work on his hobby, and there was a lot
to be done to make the place more habitable or, rather, more habitable to his
taste. The décor was good on the whole,
but there were lots of little jobs to be sorted. And, of course, there was
always the spare third bedroom to be organised.
His remaining unpacked boxes and an old leather chest were stored in
that room and he really needed to go through them and disseminate the contents
before the boxes became too much part of the scenery. Once he had bought a
ladder and could gain access to the loft, some of them would need to go up
there. In fact, at least one of them <i>would</i>,
without him even opening it. The leather chest labelled ‘Jane’. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He had lived with Jane for eleven
years before she has disappeared. The
police had been informed obviously, but after seven years of her not being
found, she had officially been declared dead <i>in absentia</i>. The police, of course, had emphasised to him that this
was just a matter of formality and that she could still be alive, maybe just
having taken on a new identity. This happened apparently, and quite often to
ladies of a certain age who had suddenly decided that the life they were living
was not what they had wished for. But, deep down he knew that his wife was no
longer alive. Their relationship had
been one of those where couples are so emotionally and spiritually involved that
they could feel such things. They had
become apt at knowing what each other was thinking, and often said the same
things out loud at exactly the same time.
They basically shared the same special relationship as do twins. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The chest contained some of her
possessions that he had wanted to keep.
There were a couple of paintings that she had completed that had been
his favourites, together with a box of her jewellery, a couple of articles of
clothing that he loved seeing her wear and some other odd knick-knacks to
remember her by. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So, deciding on the latter
choice, he went into the bathroom and had a pee. Then, as he cleaned his teeth
he stared at himself in the mirror over the basin. The long, pointy-nosed, lean face looked back
him. He didn’t look too bad for his age,
but the encroaching grey that speckled the black hair around the side of his
head always acted as a reminder that his time on this earth was in the downward
spiral rather than the ascending. He
flossed, returned his toothbrush to its holder, and washed his face before one
more glance at his reflection. He
grinned at himself, and said, ‘Okay, let’s make the most of it, mate,’ and
returned to the bedroom to get dressed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Downstairs in the kitchen, he
filled up the kettle, plugged it in and flicked the switch. Whilst it boiled he looked out of the kitchen
window into his back garden. The bird
table looked as if it was covered in a giant marshmallow, and the spindly
winter boughs of the trees were bent over with the weight of snow clinging to
them. He shrugged slightly. By the look
of it, there would be no chance of him being able to finish the job he had
started a few weeks ago down at the bottom of the garden either. Like the boxes in the bedroom, it may just
have to wait until he got around to it.
It was of no consequence, and like with them, there was no rush,
although he had to admit that he would feel better if he could get it
completed. Maybe he would just brush
away the snow so that he could carry on.
He could always build a snowman afterwards with all the brushed aside
snow, just as a childish treat. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yes, that is what he would
do. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After breakfast, he grabbed his
overalls, wellies, gloves, bobble hat and scarf from the under stair cupboard
and unlocked the back door. Like most
back doors, opening inwards made it easy to open in even the most extreme
weather conditions. The shed, opening
outwards, was a little more difficult, and he had to kick away as much snow as
possible before removing the rest with his hands so that he could gain entrance
to his gardening tools. First the yard
broom, then the shovel and the gardening fork, and finally the pick-axe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He set to work; he had made great
headway the time before a few weeks ago, but there were still a few more feet
to go. Soon he had a pyramid of snow
next to the hole. The ground was hard,
and he worked at it with the pick axe to break up the frozen clods of earth as
best he could. Not only was the ground hard work, this kind of manual work was
extremely tiring. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was lucky he had no immediate
neighbours who could nose out of their bedroom windows upstairs. He was merely digging a hole for a pond, but
he knew that it would more than likely look very odd to watch someone do that
at this time of year. But he was a man of the moment. If he wanted to dig a pond at this time of
year, then why shouldn’t he? It was his garden, his time, and nothing at all to
do with the neighbours, even if he did have any. He wanted to get it in for spring, so that he
could plant as many bulbs and shrubs around it as possible in order for it to
be settled and to look its best in the summer months. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By noon he had not got very much
further, but at least the snow had stopped.
Only a few more hours and it would be dark. But he had got so far he couldn’t possibly just
stop now. He was that kind of
person. Once something was set in his
mind that was it. Jane had known that
and had accepted it. And everyone else would have to as well. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She had had to accept many things
in her relationship with him. She had
never really ‘got’ his hobby, but she had given up questioning it, and the
smell of the chemicals that oozed from beneath the door of the spare bedroom in
their old house. No matter how hard she
tried, she just could not rid the thought that her partner being an undertaker
by day, and a taxidermist in what spare time he had was weird. But then again, he could never see the
attraction of her hobby – flower arranging – as being the most interesting and
absorbing thing to do in one’s spare time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was now 5.15 pm, and it was
dark, and what had become something to complete as an idea to fill in the day
had become an obsession that had to be finished before he went to bed. Then that would be it. One of his outstanding
jobs completed. The matter would be
closed. Done and dusted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There was just one more thing to
do before he could set in the fibreglass pond, which he had bought in the end
of season sale at the garden centre. He made his way to the shed, and switched
on the light inside. There in the corner
sat the large leather chest. This had been Jane’s also, and it was only fitting
in his mind that this is where she should hide after her ‘disappearance’. He dragged it out of the shed and down
towards the hole. The snow made it tough
going, so he had to brush some of it out of the way with the broom before he
could go any further. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He was somewhat relieved that the
chest’s dimensions fitted the hole perfectly and that the fibreglass pond shell
slipped in on top as he had hoped. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">****</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As he had breakfast the next
morning he gazed out at the snowman that he had built in the empty pond shell
and smiled. ‘Dearest Jane,’ he thought
to himself. ‘Such a clever hiding place. You were always good at playing
hide-and-seek.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He went upstairs to get dressed
into his work gear, and before going back downstairs to leave for his walk to
the bus, he had a peek around the door into the second bedroom. His current work was nearly finished, but he
needed to check his supplies to see if he needed to pinch anything important
from work. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Good morning, Gemma,” he said
cheerily to the chubby receptionist. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Good morning, Matty,” she
replied, “How are you today? I am glad
you managed to get in – it was terrible yesterday wasn’t it? I wish I could get snowed in. Did you manage to do anything nice at home as
you couldn’t get here?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Indeed it was,” he replied, “And
yes I did, thank you. I got a job done
that had been lying around for ages.” As he replied, he looked directly at her
and contemplated how challenging it would be to embalm such a rotund figure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-76402982303417637812014-09-03T23:18:00.000+01:002014-09-03T23:19:57.419+01:00Our new little friend ... but not for those who suffer from arachnophobia, alas<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;">A gorgeous female (I believe) garden cross spider on sentry duty at the back door</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rGJ0unUL-8z57FtmNTSQ7kBh6t4v27xN8lAra1oOsxOA4yc5A6yH4c558GtNEK927KCPE9pfYDEawx9sI20H2apADpg3gtSNsqWpNyEaBQbBeDLVJmzSPPyl-sfyFrBR8_XkbWSky557/s1600/spider+September+3+2014+022a.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJeMSOrUBXmbLCw-hCwBDJAnxmbizfzyRQ8VzPBXDz6Kv3Rbvr0YzpNQX8d4lCSGEPnCHRJL6PzzwtCnJ4lyaY3vGcO3ZXzv8FZ3wFiWZ63p65XZtmcZkA2Dk0dLcspo3gpIJaSgjfrzE9/s1600/spider+September+3+2014+014a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJeMSOrUBXmbLCw-hCwBDJAnxmbizfzyRQ8VzPBXDz6Kv3Rbvr0YzpNQX8d4lCSGEPnCHRJL6PzzwtCnJ4lyaY3vGcO3ZXzv8FZ3wFiWZ63p65XZtmcZkA2Dk0dLcspo3gpIJaSgjfrzE9/s1600/spider+September+3+2014+014a.jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPv2X89L0WXoFNvgytygJO4j11kXEi_HqUz6o8r4OU1t9bAsvxZfh9LcIULe9YD4QE6BepXu_6ADxNcTJPh3B9lKW58Hf3SJBh5WbKIGaX6a6ak1DS90Olaxc1kpzMtsOacBoiNyw-3DCE/s1600/25th+April+2014+024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPv2X89L0WXoFNvgytygJO4j11kXEi_HqUz6o8r4OU1t9bAsvxZfh9LcIULe9YD4QE6BepXu_6ADxNcTJPh3B9lKW58Hf3SJBh5WbKIGaX6a6ak1DS90Olaxc1kpzMtsOacBoiNyw-3DCE/s1600/25th+April+2014+024.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Poppy is 15 years old today, or 76 in human years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy Birthday to her and to her late and much missed brother, Spider. No doubt she will spend her day with a casual stroll around the garden, and an undefinable amount of time staring out of the window or sleeping in her box, and perhaps will enjoy something nice for tea. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"But when the day's hustle and bustle is done, </i></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun. </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>And when all the family's in bed and asleep, </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep. </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice-- </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice; </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>So when she has got them lined up on the matting, </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>She teaches them music, crocheting and tatting."</i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span><div style="text-align: right;">
T.S. Eliot</div>
<br />
<br /></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-57787257368701117442014-08-22T10:00:00.000+01:002014-08-22T10:00:00.455+01:00All sorts of things have taken place on 22nd August .......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For example:</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1642 - The English Civil War began when Charles I called Parliament and its soldiers traitors. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1827 - Composer Josef Strauss was born. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="background-color: white;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1862 - Composer Achille-Claude Debussy was born. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1959 - Director of the Centre for Fortean Zoology, Jonathan Downes, was born. (Hey, I know him!)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1964 - Liberty Records reported the album "The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles" was selling 25,000 copies a day. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OlBDMdITlv0SEJxWxLWwjk9ChJJItEZWELF-JfcZ1G9wZRRWgJ7HhTtXlhE82CzJs9k2qzsplBI1Z8BUcDKZEYA6GoSrjMZrqwN_U6SKS5ttAqKf2aY8u5F_ZK2uVW104q2pl2KiO9w6/s1600/SoL+July+2013+043a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OlBDMdITlv0SEJxWxLWwjk9ChJJItEZWELF-JfcZ1G9wZRRWgJ7HhTtXlhE82CzJs9k2qzsplBI1Z8BUcDKZEYA6GoSrjMZrqwN_U6SKS5ttAqKf2aY8u5F_ZK2uVW104q2pl2KiO9w6/s1600/SoL+July+2013+043a.jpg" height="283" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy Birthday, dearest husband of mine.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">xxxx</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And to mark this occasion, how could I resist offering you one of the songs on that 25,000 copy-a-day album?</span></div>
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ZR1tKI10bX0" width="640"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br />
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Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-41260105868197909052014-06-25T21:15:00.002+01:002014-06-25T21:15:37.178+01:00To add insult to injury<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have a poorly little toe today. I succumbed to the need to wear flip-flops due to the current weather conditions, the result of which was that I managed to stub the little pinky on my right foot three times yesterday within the space of only a few hours. Firstly on the corner of my plastic filing tray (which is on the floor btw - I wasn't doing any fancy high kicks), secondly on the corner of the cabinet in the sitting room (whilst trying to avoid the many things stacked beside Jon's chair) and lastly on the small amp in the 'office', when locking the door before going to bed. The curses that uttered from my lips intensified in volume and coarseness with each event, the last being so loud that it was probably lucky there was no-one in the immediate vicinity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This particular toe, by the way, has been brutalised on many occasions since the first time, back in the '70s I think it was, when I was practising my arabesques on the landing outside the bathroom where we used to live. On that occasion, however, it suffered barbarically in that the foot of my leg hit the frame of the door as I lifted it, this contact culminating in my foot going one way and the little toe taking a different direction, for all intents and purposes, at a right angle. Now that <i>did</i> hurt and the painful upshot was that I couldn't get a shoe on for days because not only was it swollen, it wouldn't go back to its correct position either.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To cap it all, today I went into the aviary to feed the rescued magpie we are looking after; something I have been doing for the past couple of weeks. The aviary is the one that is home to our Reeves pheasant - Vic. Every day I have been going in, chatting cheerfully to Vic, then leaving without any bother. Yesterday I noticed he was a bit 'iffy' but today, just as I was leaving, he rushed me and pecked my leg. Now, that is the first time I have been attacked by a pheasant, and should - no doubt - just notch it up as one of those unique events in life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">However, no pheasant is going to get the better of me. I am not too sure whether it was the fact that he pecked me, or that he made a self-satisfying little noise as he did so, but, boy oh boy, did I scold him! I can't remember exactly what I said - very loudly - but it was along the lines of 'Don't you dare do that again you little sod', and waggled my finger at him as I bent down and invaded his ever-so-smug pheasant personal space. And do you know, I think he actually regretted his faux pas? He looked at me with his little beady eye and backed away looking more than a little abashed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tomorrow I shall be prepared for a possible re-match. He may well rue the day he crossed me, the little blighter. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So here I am with a bruised, slightly swollen little toe on my right foot courtesy of various inanimate objects, and a neat, round red dot on my left leg, courtesy of a Reeves pheasant. I can only hope that that is it for this week. </span><br />
<br />Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-8157002025395697612014-06-13T15:43:00.002+01:002014-06-13T15:43:35.175+01:0085 today, 85 today, she's got the key of the door....<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is not only a full moon, and Friday 13th, it is also a special day for my dear mother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy 85th Birthday, Mum</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Love you lots</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">xxxxx </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-83596127013824640462014-06-09T10:31:00.001+01:002014-06-09T10:31:13.762+01:00Happy Birthday time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Happy Birthday, Gavin</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.smiley-faces.org/"><img alt="Smiley Faces" border="0" src="http://www.smiley-faces.org/smiley-faces/smiley-face-groupwave.gif" /></a></div>
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Have a great day!</div>
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Love from your mother-in-law xxxx</div>
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<a href="http://www.smiley-faces.org/"><img alt="Smiley Faces" border="0" src="http://www.smiley-faces.org/smiley-faces/smiley-face-birthday.gif" /></a></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-52244233961155184232014-05-02T10:00:00.000+01:002014-05-02T12:40:08.112+01:00Family birthday time<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy Birthday to my dear brother Ant</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDokfcMPkg24UtWW1wz2YYC3_aSykqK4VBaxAtPpq0c9l2IPS8ARsfmgqCpD4BsEUhvmZPxdqCXyKOBHfIGW0-TxQ7C0PjiO4G97ux3DfWYLq5AjOSJm3JGfpXnYjxnRBtM6I4pt3jHKjc/s1600/caravan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDokfcMPkg24UtWW1wz2YYC3_aSykqK4VBaxAtPpq0c9l2IPS8ARsfmgqCpD4BsEUhvmZPxdqCXyKOBHfIGW0-TxQ7C0PjiO4G97ux3DfWYLq5AjOSJm3JGfpXnYjxnRBtM6I4pt3jHKjc/s1600/caravan.jpg" height="291" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What better, whilst celebrating a family birthday, than a fun family photo to amuse? A blast from the past with my mother looking - actually I am not too sure what frame of mind her expression is portraying - me looking.. erm..bored and, dare I say it, a bit sulky, and the star of today, my brother looking calm, cool and collected. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nothing like a family caravan holiday eh? It would make a good 'wish you were here' postcard that's for sure. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">xxxxxx</span></div>
<br />Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-74867667554333743532014-03-23T10:00:00.000+00:002014-03-23T10:00:00.247+00:00Birthday greetings<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy Birthday to my darling eldest daughter,</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shoshannah </div>
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Have a lovely day!</div>
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xxxx</div>
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<img src="http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/500/17695133/Charlie+Day+charlie+yellow.jpg" /></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-45719875488580824122014-03-14T12:55:00.002+00:002014-03-14T13:04:17.204+00:00Farewell Mister McGraw<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Spider McGraw (aka The Orange Cat)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">xxxx</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1999- 2014</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bast, Sekhmet, we give you back your child.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Noble, regal, honourable cat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Watch over him, and guide him on his way</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to the spirit world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">May he be blessed in your names, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and hunt ever after beside you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you Shoshannah and Gav for helping him start his last journey peacefully and with dignity, in your arms and surrounded by your love. xxxx</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
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Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-90219392242148242042013-12-25T10:01:00.000+00:002013-12-25T10:01:00.082+00:00Seasons Greetings and ....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-40825958761967652052013-12-01T13:50:00.001+00:002013-12-01T13:50:24.583+00:00It's the 1st December so it's............<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy Birthday to my youngest sproglet (or is that sproglette?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lots of love and many Happy Returns to you</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> xxxxx</span></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-77365280646193393162013-10-31T12:47:00.000+00:002013-10-31T14:05:16.714+00:00The Ship of the Fens<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Ely Cathedral, proud and strong, stands atop her island
surveying all below her. In the bright
sunshine, she can be seen from miles away, but when the mist rolls in and wraps
its vaporous fingers around the fenlands, she is like a galleon in full sail
riding atop the mist; she becomes the ‘Ship of the <st1:place w:st="on">Fens</st1:place>’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The fenlands were once a place full of foreboding, and
the boundaries – where the land gave way to the water-logged marshes – became
the stamping ground of many a thief who lay in wait for unwary pilgrims on
their way to the Isle of Ely to give thanks to God in the great cathedral, or
for travellers who were hoping to sell their wares, make deals or just rest
awhile before continuing on their journey.
The threat of eternal damnation in the fires of hell that many victims
warned of, whilst their meagre purses were emptied, affected these robbers not.
Travellers and merchants were easy prey, and the clergy were as much to be
despised as the conquering Norman invaders. Such things caused these robbers no
concern, for in their eyes the Lord had long since banished them from his
charity. They were already damned; the
raging fires had already scorched the soles of their feet. And when offered salvation they would merely
crack a disdainful smile and laugh in the face of those who presented such weak
and panic-stricken last deals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After Harold’s rule had crashed to the ground along
with his body atop Senlac Hill, the bastard king William of Normandy ruled <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region> with an
iron fist, but there were those that dwelt in the fens of Ely who conspired to
make his life a misery …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But that, of course, was many centuries ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">However, it has been said that - on occasion - the
sounds of footfalls splashing in the thick, dank waters on the edge of marshes
can be heard. If you are caught out on
the fens at night, when the vapours waft across the landscape, your ears may
pick out the low murmur of voices in hiding, or the occasional clank of cold
steel against buckles, and the well-worn
leather of belts squeaking with the motion of hips moving slowly through
tall tussocks. Or you may even make out the sound of the soft splash of an oar
and the faint rub of the wood against the tholepin of a rowing boat as it
carries its occupants across the waters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Although, of course, the waters are no longer there.
Drainage and ditches have put paid to them.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">It was during a September night in 1970 when Becky
and Tim found themselves stranded on the border of the fens. It had been a beautiful day when they had
decided to go for a walk, both to get some fresh air and walk Tim’s elderly
collie. Tim had parked his secondhand,
slightly battered, Mini in a lay-by and they had set off, basking in the late
summer sun. But the darkening sky had
begun its brooding descent several hours into their trek, and it had been this
that had encouraged the pair to cut short their dog-walking for fear of getting
soaked. The British weather often does like to tease, however, and the skies
had brightened again, but as they were – by then - nearly back at the car, they
decided to call it a day. Besides, it
was obvious by the awkwardness of his gait that the walk had agitated Sprout’s
arthritis and he was only too eager to scramble on to the back seat of the car
and rest his weary legs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Upon the key being turned in the ignition it became
apparent, however, that the young courting couple were going nowhere on wheels. The battery of the car was as dead as a
doornail. So there they were, with no contact with the outside world, and with dusk
only a few hours away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Bloody car,” hissed Tim. “I need to buy a new
battery but I can’t afford it at the moment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Becky just sighed.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“We had better just walk I guess,” Tim said as he
opened the driver’s door. “We only have
around three or four miles to reach habitation if my reckoning is correct.
Unless we are lucky enough to come across a farm, but we all know that they are
a bit spread out round here in this godforsaken place, and I don’t fancy
wandering off the road even if we do see a lighted window in the distance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“I presume you have a torch in the car somewhere?”
asked Becky. “Three or four miles are
quite a way to walk and with only a few hours of daylight left it would be……”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Tim cut in, “Of course I have a torch. Not sure how
long the battery will last though, but we may as well get moving.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“You seem to have a problem with batteries,”
quipped Beth sarcastically, but by the look on Tim’s face both her joke and her
sarcasm did not go down very well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">They vacated the car, and coaxed Sprout from the
back seat. He didn’t seem that
enthusiastic about the idea. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">The three set out on their walk back to civilization;
at a slower pace than they would normally tread due to Sprout’s ageing and
arthritic gait. All too soon, the sun began
its descent in the west, and its orangey light cast a glow over the cathedral. It would not be long before the lights around its
base would switch on and send their beams upwards to illuminate its towers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">There was a sudden coolness in the air as the sun slipped
below the horizon. Luckily for the three travellers, the sky remained
relatively clear of clouds, which would allow the near full unveiled moon to offer
a welcome soft, even if slightly eerie, radiance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">It was time for the bats to feed. Dozens of the winged predators flapped
erratically across the road, dive-bombing and catching hapless insects
mid-flight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“I hate those things. Fucked up mice with wings,”
proclaimed Tim, ducking when one seemed to be heading directly at him, only
veering off at the last second to avoid the looming collision.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Becky chortled.
“They can’t hurt you. They won’t
suck your blood you know. Not in this
country at any rate.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Maybe not, but the buggers do get caught in your
hair,” he replied. “That has happened to me before and I hate it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Becky raised her eyes skyward in disbelief at her
boyfriend’s whining. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">When the sun completely disappeared and darkness
finally fell, the beam from the tiny torch didn’t afford them much light, but –
with the help of the moon - it was enough for them to pick their way slowly
down the road. The creatures of the
night really began to stir now. There were not many trees on this flat,
reclaimed land, but those that did grow there were home to many a creature of
the day and of the night. There was the haunting
call of an owl in the shadows of the trees, and the rustle in the undergrowth
as some small creature scurried about its business. A hedgehog bumbled across the road in front
of them, stopped briefly to turn its head in their direction and then scurried
off into the verge on the opposite side of the road. They heard a faint,
frantic squeak as presumably something became the meal of some other diner in
the darkness. Shapes seemed to loom out at them, but were just tricks of the
light from the torch. Becky was not one to scare easily, but even
she found herself twitching at every sound.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">A little further down the road, both of them jumped
with surprise as the ghostly shape of an owl left the tree line to their right
and passed silently across the road just ahead of them, with its unfortunate tiny
prey hanging by the tail from its beak. The ghostly bird was so close that it
almost collided with Tim, and he let out an irritated grunt and a low curse
under his breath. “Bloody wildlife,” he muttered. Sprout growled softly as the winged beast
glided over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What’s that?” asked Becky, stopping in her tracks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What’s what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“That noise.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What noise? Oh the church bells, you mean? So what?
They ring occasionally. You scared or something? You been reading too many books about ghouls
and ghosts?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Huh? Books? Don’t know what you mean. But I do like to read books about that sort
of thing, yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Because they are interesting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“But obviously only interesting if you are in the safety
of your armchair it seems.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“If you like such things, then how come you are acting
so scared and imagining things in every noise you hear? You will be seeing
Black Shuck next and thinking you are going to die.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She tutted. “I
am not scared. I never said I was. I only asked you what the noise was. And anyway, don’t you think all that folklore
and the stories of ghosts are interesting?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Not really.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“This place is full of history. I mean just look at the cathedral. All those people who built it, and died
building it. Such a magnificent
structure – I find it fascinating. I
love living near such a historical place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yeah, and look at all those tourists that heave
around the place in summer. They think
they own the place, pushing and shoving you off the pavement, and snapping away
with their cameras. The constant
nattering in foreign languages drives me crazy.
It almost comes as something of a surprise when you hear someone speaking
in the local dialect.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“But Ely has always been full of travellers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yeah, yeah, I know.
Monks visiting with money pouches tinkling, to prop up the church
coffers under the watchful eye of the bishop to make sure every last coin was
deposited. Lords and ladies prancing
around like they owned the place while normal folks – like you and me would
have been – eking out a measly existence, surrounded by the stench of open
sewers and the risk of disease round every corner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You have no sense of history at all, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Nah. Boring.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Becky tutted again.
But then came the sound once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“There it is again,” she whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“The bells?” enquired Tim <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Uh-huh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“So?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He crouched down and arched his back, waving his hands
about and making strange contortions with his face. “Sanctuary, Esmerelda. The bells,” he
slobbered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Stop it,” she said.
“You are making fun of me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“It is easy, you have to admit,” came the reply with a
muffled giggle. “Did you like my impression of Quasimodo?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Not really,” she replied disdainfully. Then she noticed Sprout. He was staring into
the darkness, his ears flattened on his skull.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Look,” she said, pointing. “Sprout can hear them too, and by the look of
him he doesn’t like it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Probably just hears a rabbit,” responded Tim. “And is
probably upset because he is too old to chase it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Can you not hear the bells?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Huh? You
know I can. I just said so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Yes but <i>the</i> bells. They are not the
usual bells, I swear it. They are too
deep. If I didn’t know better, I would
almost swear the sound is coming from the cathedral. But that can’t be. Bells have not tolled there for
centuries. Jesus, John, Mary and
Walsingham.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“What the heck are you on about?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“The bells – Jesus, John, Mary and
Walsingham were their names.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“They actually named the bells?” he asked,
his voice sounding incredulous at such information. He raised his eyebrows as the words uttered
forth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Oh yes.
They were cast in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Gloucester some time in thirteen hundred and something</st1:place></st1:city> …”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">He broke in… “Enough! I don’t want a history lesson. Thanks, but no
thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Her doubts about her continuing
relationship with Tim were growing. To
be uninterested in history was one thing, but to totally dismiss it with such
arrogance was another matter entirely. He was really beginning to annoy her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“You know this area is supposed to be
haunted, don’t you?” asked Becky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“I have heard the locals spout about
such rubbish, yeah,” came the disinterested response. “No doubt the usual lady in grey, the
headless horseman and the like,” he continued sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Actually no,” said Becky. “For the sake of daring to give another
history lesson, as you call them, the <st1:place w:st="on">Isle of Ely</st1:place>
has been at the centre of quite a few incidents. For example, back in the 11<sup>th</sup>
Century, Hereward the Wake had a refuge there where he led insurgencies against
William the Conqueror. William was
desperate to get to Hereward but did not know the way across the marshes, so he
had a timber causeway built – you know down around Aldreth - and sent his soldiers across it in an attempt
to get to Hereward. However, the weight
of the soldiers’ armour and horses was too much for it and it collapsed,
causing some men and horses to drown. Over
the centuries there have been reports of people having heard the sound of cries
for help, splashing and horses whinnying, especially – of course – near the
village.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Weird folk in Aldreth, so I’ve
heard. More likely to be scaremongering
by the locals. Or even stuff drunks see
and hear on their way back home after having one or two too many at the pub. You
are just trying to freak me out with your tales of ghouls and ghosts wandering
the marshes. You know I hate all that
stuff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“I can assure you that I am not trying
to do any such thing, Tim,” responded Becky, somewhat churlishly. “If you are not interested then that is your
choice, and I would most definitely not try to scare anyone on purpose. And the
villagers of Aldreth are not weird. My
aunt and uncle live there, and they are as normal as anyone else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Okay, okay, keep your knickers on,”
replied Tim somewhat surprised at the change of tone in his girlfriend’s voice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">They began to move on, but Tim had
trouble getting Sprout to move. The old
dog strained at the leash and refused to continue forward, but stood staring
intently towards the drained marshes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Oh come on, you silly mutt,” called
Tim. “There ain’t nothing there. Get a move on, or we’ll never get home.” And
he pulled harder on the elderly dog’s lead.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Don’t be so mean to him,” said Becky, snatching
the lead from her boyfriend’s grasp. She
made a clicking sound and called to Sprout in a soft, calm voice. “Come on boy, let’s go.” And, much to Tim’s annoyance, the dog trotted
slowly off to her command. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">At last they could see the faint lights
in the distance. The nearest village was
not far off now and Becky felt sure that there would be a telephone box so that
she would be able to ring her mum and dad and ask one of them to come and pick
them up. A silence fell between Becky
and Tim as they carried on walking towards the lights. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">And then the torch began to flicker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Tim frantically began to shake it in an
attempt to get the light to work properly.
“Damn batteries,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“I am not sure shaking it will help,
Tim”, offered Becky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“It could be a loose connection, it
sometimes does the trick,” replied Tim testily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“If you say so,” responded Becky. “But we should be alright, the village cannot
be that far away now and at least we can be guided by the light from the
windows.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Tim looked skyward. The stars were beginning to disappear above a
blanket of cloud that was slowly edging its way towards the moon. Becky
followed his gaze. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“It will be as black as pitch out here
in the meantime though if those clouds build up. We will not be able to see where we are
walking if this damn torch goes out, whether or not there are lights in the
distance,” responded Tim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Becky had to concede that what he said
was true, but still refused to panic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">And then came the voices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Listen,” she said, with her hand on
Tim’s arm. “Can you hear that talking? There is somebody here. There. Somewhere. Perhaps they have a spare torch.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“What are you on about? I can’t hear
anything. Don’t start again, Becky.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Start what? I can definitely hear voices – faintly – but
they are there. French I think. But my schoolgirl French was never very good
and I can’t make out what they are saying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Well that will not be much help then,
will it, if they <i>are</i> French, if all
you can say is ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’ and ‘how are you?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Becky threw him a glare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Oh wait, yes,” said Tim. “I can hear
voices now. Your hearing is a darned sight better than mine.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">And then came the scent of woodsmoke, as
it wafted on the breeze that blew gently across the lane from the fens. And with it came the unmistakeable scent of fish cooking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Smells like someone is having a
barbecue,” said Tim. “Surely not – not
out here. The smell must be travelling
from a garden somewhere nearby. Which means that we may have found our
telephone and ride out of here quicker than we thought.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">An uneasy feeling had by now crept upon
Becky. Her skin pricked on the back of her neck, and she had goose bumps on her
skin. She felt as if someone was
watching them, under cover of the shadows around them. Even old Sprout had begun a low growl and she
could see by the light of the fading torch beam that his hackles were up. However, Tim was too intent on trying to get
the torch to work properly to notice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">So she nodded. “Possibly”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">It was clear that the walkers were
heading towards whoever was out there. But
not only did the voices grow louder, they also seemed to infer much animation
in their delivery. And they were all
male voices as far Becky could make out, and – although it seemed somehow not
quite right - she definitely thought it was French. ‘Perhaps just an odd dialect’, she thought to
herself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“They don’t sound very friendly,” Tim
said. “Perhaps we should just sneak by them
as quickly as possible.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Although his obvious nervousness annoyed
her, she found herself having to agree with him. There was something definitely ‘not quite
right’ about those voices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
The stench of fish cooking invaded Becky and Tim’s nostrils, and Sprout growled
louder, and came to a halt, firmly refusing to move a further muscle. <span style="text-transform: uppercase;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Oh no, Sprout. Not now.
Come on boy,” urged Becky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">She pulled on the lead and whispered
coaxing sounds and words to no avail. The dog was going nowhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">And then the icy grip tore at Becky’s
insides. She felt so cold from the
inside out. Not the feeling of your skin
getting cold and that coldness permeating inwards. This was in reverse. Icy cold.
Deathly cold. She shot a quick glance at Tim, and from the ashen look on
his face it was clear that he felt a similar sensation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Clumps of mist swirled across the road
in front of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Will-o’-the-wisp,” whispered Becky.
“Ghost lights.” She grabbed hold of Tim’s arm.
“Don’t move,” she continued.
“They will lead you off the road.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Superstitious hocus pocus,” replied her
companion. “Come on, let’s just keep
moving. Sprout…move!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“No!” shouted Becky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">A swirl of ghostly shapes appeared
behind the ‘lights’ and stopped. The
sound of talking intensified as the shapes appeared to turn to face the
walkers. Then they almost seemed to sigh
as one in satisfaction at their discovery.
Becky and Tim knew that these were the voices that they had heard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">The vapourous shapes slowly began to
take the form of men as they walked slowly through the will-o’-the-wisp towards
Becky and Tim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“There you are, you see,” announced
Tim. “Blokes on a trip stopping off for
a barbecue, that’s all.” But his voice
didn’t sound convincing. “Just say
something to them in French, and we can be on our way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Somehow I don’t think ‘Bonjour, mes
amis. Comment ça va?’ is going to work, Tim,” responded Becky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
Tim looked across at his companion. Her
face was ashen, and for the first time that night he could see fear in her
eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Unless we have stumbled across some
film set, I am not sure why we should be greeting a dozen or so men in
chainmail with the greeting of ‘Hello my friends, how is it going?’” she
said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">As the figures drew closer, and the
sound of their armour rang out in the quietness of the night, Sprout growled,
his lips wrinkling around his mouth to expose the rows of teeth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Back up,” Becky continued. “Walk backwards and then just turn and run.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Why?” asked Tim. “What the hell is the matter with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“These are not real, Tim. Or, rather, they were once but not now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Oh come, on,” said Tim. “You are not
trying to tell me these are ghosts are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Just walk backwards, Tim. Hold my hand
so we stay together. Come on Sprout.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">The companions began moving slowly back
down the road. The figures kept on walking towards them. The breeze picked up and blew the stench from
their bodies towards Becky and Tim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Turn, now. Run!” shouted Becky. Sprout’s growl had turned to a whimper and he
strained at the leash. Becky had to let
it go and she could do nothing but watch him run off into the fields. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">The two turned as one and ran back the
way they had walked before. But their
escape was cut short when in front of them more figures appeared. Slowly they were surrounded by a circle of
sneering, smelly figures; a circle that closed in tighter and tighter until
each one of the travellers was staring into a pair of cold, lifeless eyes of
evil. The soldiers’ lips moved as their
unintelligible words uttered forth in a foreign language, but the sounds and
movement were slightly out of synchronisation.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">By now Becky and Tim were standing back-to-back
in the centre of this circle of malevolence.
They both heard the smooth sound of steel being drawn from leather and
saw the faint light of the moon shine on the metal. The heavy toll of bells resonated across the
landscape. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">It took Sprout the best part of a day to
walk home. After scratching at the door
to gain entrance, he found his bed by the stove and lay down. As the panic went on around him as to the
whereabouts of Becky and Tim he lay his head on his paws and drifted off to
sleep. He dreamed of the day before and
twitched in his sleep as he re-lived the night’s events. He whined and yelped and then fell silent for
the last time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">The police found the abandoned car later
the next day. But weeks of searching
could find no trace of either Becky or Tim.
The only item found was a torch at the side of the road, its glass
smashed where it had come to rest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-84469317744065061542013-09-09T18:50:00.001+01:002013-09-09T18:50:48.168+01:00Bin art - the conclusion<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Further
to my last diatribe with reference to the kitchen bin, I can now reveal the
culprit (s). It is 4.00 am and </span><em><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">all</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><i><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">is</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></span></span><em><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">quiet</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><i><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">in the house,</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></span></span><em><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">not</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><i><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">a creature is</span></i></span><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> <em>stirring</em>,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em>not even a mouse</em>. Not in the kitchen anyway,
until – that is – Morticia appears on
an evening pad around the joint. Completely ignoring the bin at first, she is
soon back to remove a scrunched up kitchen towel, then back for something else,
and then on the third not-so-delicate pick, down the bin goes. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeObrTpz1_aoWO3LuV0OYIdepFGwHCOHljbDtchUvk0VMfv5QYqwX-YifPB4EyzZFpYdXFPbK4CY73nHu58sGNOpiGWsrMVIXIS1pBgnkE5IgZBG5slDIO513-HuOTvlwHyZLJdWgMEMzj/s1600/PICT0628+4am+raiding+sequence.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeObrTpz1_aoWO3LuV0OYIdepFGwHCOHljbDtchUvk0VMfv5QYqwX-YifPB4EyzZFpYdXFPbK4CY73nHu58sGNOpiGWsrMVIXIS1pBgnkE5IgZBG5slDIO513-HuOTvlwHyZLJdWgMEMzj/s200/PICT0628+4am+raiding+sequence.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;">But she doesn’t do much after that except for
investigating the folded up empty fish and chip box.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;">Then into shot comes Lilith.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;">Hmm has this whole exercise merely been a
training session for Lilith to learn how to hunt kitchen bins? Nearly an hour
later Lilith appears slightly bored and wanders off, but comes back, listens to
a few more instructions on disembowelling methods, and then disappears again. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZv7B9hCfPVfJ3YBTButKgZ85sd2K9UjD6q0-6UxQGx894MSwsWQVMuaM7CMQClmddJzTkTL4eek6-wQS6In7YN2F23WiHDTf6gAR2YKILCI3G6qliCtWskckBLFZhXM0GqkMkcQXR0KK/s1600/PICT0641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZv7B9hCfPVfJ3YBTButKgZ85sd2K9UjD6q0-6UxQGx894MSwsWQVMuaM7CMQClmddJzTkTL4eek6-wQS6In7YN2F23WiHDTf6gAR2YKILCI3G6qliCtWskckBLFZhXM0GqkMkcQXR0KK/s200/PICT0641.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;">But
that seems to have been that – Morticia merely felled the bin and then just
kept sniffing around it on and off until 5.31 am, perhaps with the occasional
lick of an empty sachet of cat food here and there.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;">Nothing occurred then until Morticia returned
at 7.30 am, to take a couple of cursory sniffs and then leave </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;">again.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdiuRLCEM6KbakXcOiHi0M3Kq_-t99v4uKcumug1piPJYHgfj6W8ikASxyCTDVW9jiKYVQ131A5BAvFmIWN4iA98dVDIoiTk52v93tD8wYWw3C2OAIDc1RPjijODwZuCmLsgOkcy4sya4/s1600/PICT0642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdiuRLCEM6KbakXcOiHi0M3Kq_-t99v4uKcumug1piPJYHgfj6W8ikASxyCTDVW9jiKYVQ131A5BAvFmIWN4iA98dVDIoiTk52v93tD8wYWw3C2OAIDc1RPjijODwZuCmLsgOkcy4sya4/s200/PICT0642.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So how did the contents of the defenceless plastic receptacle end up strewn across the kitchen floor? Move forward to 8.20 am, and in comes Archie. You can almost sense his excitement when he sees the felled beast. He does not waste too much time before getting to grips with the contents and out they come.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-JhTRKZkDRkQmOPGLeDiGvP3uF01YXZy4MXrRB6hoYDYXbezdVshGBa43a7kwXnAF9DGRFhqti04yohJ7VPOXPPrgMNi8KSON9Xk-j6XqsHAhj700FHGXmfpVkQ_TGjYNzRrIBqU2G1L/s1600/PICT0869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-JhTRKZkDRkQmOPGLeDiGvP3uF01YXZy4MXrRB6hoYDYXbezdVshGBa43a7kwXnAF9DGRFhqti04yohJ7VPOXPPrgMNi8KSON9Xk-j6XqsHAhj700FHGXmfpVkQ_TGjYNzRrIBqU2G1L/s200/PICT0869.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia;">And
that is how the contents of the bin’s bowels ended up as a project of modern
art in a sleepy <st1:place w:st="on">North Devon</st1:place> village.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5TGSp9U4A4uHItlWpN9MqfAIxXbHfzR2iz5W9v3t_kTVRq27mvyXUFJFTSvcIuAS_ImPjqm9H6Q3LOeKHCWOAcf_MMguLgCqr75dU6bQc4sQl-2_IEmPL79rDPlyKAKsKVELrk2WbqnF/s1600/PICT0954.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5TGSp9U4A4uHItlWpN9MqfAIxXbHfzR2iz5W9v3t_kTVRq27mvyXUFJFTSvcIuAS_ImPjqm9H6Q3LOeKHCWOAcf_MMguLgCqr75dU6bQc4sQl-2_IEmPL79rDPlyKAKsKVELrk2WbqnF/s200/PICT0954.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia;">PS: All precautions have now been taken to secure the safety of the bin and its inner
depths. A chair was placed against it
last night and one will continue to be
put there at night in the forthcoming future.
It looks like there are not only
two felines here that are possible ASBO material
after all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">PPS:
And it has since transpired that Morticia is a well-known felon and certainly
not new to this kind of crime. I have it
on good authority that the bin at her previous abode suffered similar indignities. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-45218295705830901902013-09-07T12:46:00.000+01:002013-09-07T12:48:19.386+01:00Bin Art<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have never been a fan of modern
art; unmade beds or a half-open, half-eaten can of baked beans in the middle of an empty
room, with one sticky bean 'artistically' left where it dribbled down the side of the can to stick itself on the floor, don’t really rock my boat. However,
as can be seen from the photos, it does appear that we have an exponent of such
artistic ‘talent’ here. Yes right here, in a kitchen in deepest, darkest <st1:place w:st="on">North
Devon</st1:place>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yxrigTTkVbR6orZ29KuFtxvlrTbc0N3hQ7ank4GgLurECOi7l9qv0mTXBYDpORAikAARg0Yet6hXWtuUDZlu1DcRrhCZXz3LnvjZ7O4EcuGE8I6vECPfTNdvFdoPEbktFogQR8x3vJLH/s1600/bin+art+August+2013+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yxrigTTkVbR6orZ29KuFtxvlrTbc0N3hQ7ank4GgLurECOi7l9qv0mTXBYDpORAikAARg0Yet6hXWtuUDZlu1DcRrhCZXz3LnvjZ7O4EcuGE8I6vECPfTNdvFdoPEbktFogQR8x3vJLH/s320/bin+art+August+2013+006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whodunnit? Well I do not believe for one minute that it
was one of our resident ghosts. So there
are three humans, four cats, and two dogs that are in the running. We know that it was not Poppy McGregor, my
cat of aged years, who likes nothing more than to sleep and then pop outside
for a natural break and sniff round her ‘hood. We know that it was not Prudence
the dog, because she was on our bed, and although she came downstairs at one
point in a huff (apparently she tried to boot Jon out of bed and went off in a
sulk when he chastised her for her impudence) she soon returned when thunder
rumbled in the distance.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So we are down to six possible
offenders:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF1BkIcjacQokv-upLjrJYX8EwoNytNe6tieNlB0sRdo2yV9jPefzvPLDqEOAGuaXju5N3mYJS4Kl03PJa_8oCYNtyzcy4Os4QE4CP43tO7zzY4ir5DGXctAQ1l1b70sml8wvv5kW-bbA/s1600/bin+art+August+2013+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF1BkIcjacQokv-upLjrJYX8EwoNytNe6tieNlB0sRdo2yV9jPefzvPLDqEOAGuaXju5N3mYJS4Kl03PJa_8oCYNtyzcy4Os4QE4CP43tO7zzY4ir5DGXctAQ1l1b70sml8wvv5kW-bbA/s320/bin+art+August+2013+004.jpg" width="320" /></a>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jon – nope he was fast asleep and
away with the faeries. He didn’t even hear the dogs barking, a foot away from
him, at the thunder</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me – well you know I am not a fan
of such art so why would I?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Graham - well he has been known to take odd photographs of things in the past, like chairs in the middle of a room, or drainpipes. These oddities, I must add, usually taken when he is supposed to be taking photographs of speakers, for example, at the Weird Weekend </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The ginger kitten, Captain Frunobulax the Magnificent (aka
Peanut) – quite possible due to him being ASBO material</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lilith Tinkerbell the black
kitten – quite possible due to her also being ASBO material and being the sister of the
Captain </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Morticia, Olivia’s black cat – a bit
of a quiet one and we all know they are always the worst</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Archimedes Archibald the Archimandrite of Joppa (Archie for short) the
Jack Russell – the new boy in the ‘hood</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, it is quite possible that
the two kittens could have ganged up together as they do tend to hang around in
a pair menacingly, flattening everything in sight, and then chilling as if
butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths like two spotty-faced kids around a bus shelter plotting their next act
of defiance against the system. However,
I do have to admit to have witnessed the bin going down under attack from one
of them in the past. But that was before
I was alerted to the bin’s vulnerability and began to wedge it under the
counter. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So who has the crowbar and the
weight behind them to un-wedge the defenceless receptacle?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let us look at the psychological
profiles of the two remaining suspects:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Morticia: As I have already stated, she is the quiet
one. She stalks around the house like a black panther (no such thing? I beg to
differ – she </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">is</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> one). She has this ability to remain unseen while I
frantically search behind curtains, under beds and in cupboards in a bid to
check that she has not managed, somehow, to escape the house. Then she will arrive downstairs with her yellow eyes glinting at her own cleverness at hiding and relishing in her own impudence for ignoring my calls for her.
Being a black cat she is adept at putting the shadows and darkest
recesses to good use. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Archie: The new boy. Well his background his hazy. There is not much information on him to form
a satisfactory profile. We have given him a home due to him being under unavoidable duress at his last abode. However, he was definitely
upstairs with us, at least until I went to sleep. But he is a dog, and dogs are
always on the look out for a free scavenge (and some do have a penchant for bins as we all know). And he did bark at Poppy this morning - was this an admission of guilt? Was he scared she was going to dob him in?</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, readers, who is the perpetrator? I think I know who the guilty party is. If only I could speak ‘cat’ as Poppy may well have witnessed it all and I have a feeling she would be quite happy to squeal
on the offender (or offenders). On the
other hand, she was probably also away with the faeries and missed the whole
messy project as it formed itself on the floor around her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUt8X1HD6xLMRTHYZroSk6c1ANA01tPGC-_5R9FaAQF6rqeL6IX-RB2_925SdLlxDpRKkZTjvH_vokAYCcOkZr_P5xA9WA0-8e7VqSvgZ9mySiBFaYrzO9ivK9RurBecawcBefeg07ESb-/s1600/bin+art+August+2013+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUt8X1HD6xLMRTHYZroSk6c1ANA01tPGC-_5R9FaAQF6rqeL6IX-RB2_925SdLlxDpRKkZTjvH_vokAYCcOkZr_P5xA9WA0-8e7VqSvgZ9mySiBFaYrzO9ivK9RurBecawcBefeg07ESb-/s320/bin+art+August+2013+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Poppy: Fetch me Dr. Dolittle and I shall reveal all </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Where <i>is</i> Hercule Poirot when you need him? Probably off on some cruise down the Nile I expect. I think, therefore, that this may be a job for our very own spymaster and sleuth, Graham. Tonight, I shall ask him to open his special box of tricks. A box containing, amongst other things, cans of lager, rollie dog-ends, the occasional mug growing its own special culture, and…hopefully …a trail camera. If all goes well, tomorrow we may have our culprit (or culprits). </span></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-78237353904560387132013-08-22T11:26:00.002+01:002013-08-22T11:26:38.930+01:00Hip, Hop, Hooray, Jonathan's 54 today<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7WAphzIXlhY?feature=player_detailpage" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Happy Birthday, Mr. D</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>xxxxx</b></span></div>
Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-74377212215000122972013-07-29T21:50:00.000+01:002013-07-29T23:24:34.841+01:00 Journey to the Centre of the Garden of England (and the Sussexes)<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, with our Gonzo Multimedia hats on, we (Jon, young Jessica and I) were off to </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Georgia;" w:st="on">Kent</st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> to film Judy Dyble and others at the SOL festival, visit CJ Stone in Whitstable and then visit Mick Farren of </span><i style="font-family: Georgia;">The Deviants </i><span style="font-family: Georgia;">in </span><st1:place style="font-family: Georgia;" w:st="on">Brighton</st1:place><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> on our way home. What started out as an adventure turned into a freaky episode of peculiarities, culminating in a very sad return journey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">There were so many odd occurrences that they cannot go by without a mention. Jess certainly had a baptism of oddities during this, her first, trip away with 'uncle and aunt'. She seemed to enjoy herself and we hope that any future trip she may accompany us on will be a little less full of such strangeness. She is great company, as are all of her family, and we hope she would like come with us again some time. Thanks Jess, you were a star.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number one: Jon wanted to try to get a replacement watch – but the shop in Bideford no longer sold them. Well it did, but for some odd reason it only sold ladies’ watches. Go figure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitches numbers two, three, four…..ten: Then came some of those odd, unexplained stop-start traffic incidents – caused, presumably, purely by the sheer volume of traffic, with the M25 doing a perfect impersonation of a car park at Christmas time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number eleven (although it was probably actually somewhere between four and eight): Well not really a frustrating hitch. Just one of those Jonathan moments – a bit like one of those old Fry’s Turkish Delight moments but with no Turkish Delight, seductive music, or desert scene. In fact, nothing like one of those moments, and I have no idea at all why Fry’s Turkish Delight popped into my head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">But whilst on the subject, and for those who don’t remember, or have never seen, that iconic advert of the ‘80s here it is:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qAY_o36paQ0?feature=player_detailpage" width="640"></iframe><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Anyway, we were stop/starting over Salisbury Plain and asked Jess whether she had seen </span><st1:place style="font-family: Georgia;" w:st="on">Stonehenge</st1:place><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> ‘in the flesh’ before. She hadn’t. So Jon explained that we would be passing by said monument very soon and that she should have her camera-phone at the ready. ‘Just after this hut’, he said confidently. Hmmm nope. ‘Sorry, I always get confused when it will actually appear,’ he explained. ‘Okay’, said Jess. ‘Actually I don’t think we will be passing it at all to be honest,’ continues Jon later. ‘Sorry’. ‘That’s a shame, never mind,’ says Jess, putting away her mobile. Stop/start. (I am so glad our car is automatic at times like this). ‘You know, I think we will pass it,’ announced Jon confidently. This will we/won’t we scenario continued along the A303; Jess remaining outstandingly unfazed by Jon’s long-drawn-out senior moment. However, you will all be pleased – and relieved – to know that we DID pass </span><st1:place style="font-family: Georgia;" w:st="on">Stonehenge</st1:place><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> and Jess DID get her picture after all. Phew. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number twelve: Arriving at the festival, we discovered that the other act we were supposed to film had kindly gone on a couple of hours earlier, because those who had supposed to have gone on a couple of hours earlier had ‘phoned in to say that their transport had broken down. So, basically, we missed who we had supposed to be filming because when we arrived the people who had supposed to be on two hours earlier were actually on then, having managed to get their transport working again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number thirteen: We mustn’t forget the ambiguous travel directions to our hostelry which caused our cranky sat nav to take us around the back-streets of Bexhill-on-Sea and to keep telling us that we had reached our destination, although eventually we found our actual destination about half-a-mile away. Then there was the missing key to our room facilitating the need for the inn-keeper having to be asked to lock the door for us after we had left each day. I am not sure how it would have worked if we had not returned before closing time on the Saturday, for although we had a key to the hotel back entrance, we would quite possible have had to bunk down in the corridor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number fourteen: We had booked the hotel rooms online just like we always do. When we eventually got there we found that although they had taken the card details, these were just required to secure the booking. So instead of what we had thought was a good idea, thus avoiding the need of claiming back the expenses with Gonzo having paid for the booking, we ended up having to pay them anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number fifteen: Then came the beer and oyster festival at Whitstable (plus road-closing carnival) followed by thunder, lightning and heavy rain drenching hundreds of festival-goers (plus us non-festival goers) and pubs being so full they looked like enormous cans of sardines. Then there was Jon trying to hold a ‘business meeting’ amongst the loud ‘chatter’ of revellers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">However, this frustrating hitch did give me the best seat in town to be able to watch the antics of one particular drunken attendee who was outside in the pouring rain as he stood in the road, stopped traffic and mooned splendidly at all and sundry, before intermittently gesticulating and then throwing himself on a bollard. Wow they make bollards of bendy plastic now – that’s brilliant. I know this because when he stood to pull up his trousers over his lightning-lit posterior cheeks, it bounced back up again. Amazing. They should get some of those in children’s playgrounds. It would give them practice for any future exploits they may undertake in those odd years of youth that would probably have - once upon a time - involved the beating of chests, body painting with woad or some other ancient ceremony that cannot be performed these days due to health and safety, or just simply because we have evolved a bit since then and are supposedly civilised. However, the painting of woad does still appeal to me on occasions. I am quite often impelled to daub myself, fling my quiver over my shoulder and take up my long bow, and a sword, and cause havoc in <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Barnstaple High Street</st1:address></st1:street> or on one of those trains that are transporting that other group of ceremonialists – the football supporters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I understand that new grandpa (or whatever he is to be called; granddad, grampy, grumps or even just plain Your Royal Highness, granddad sir) Prince Charles, is supposed to be visiting Whitstable Oyster Festival today (Monday). I hope Mr. Moonie is either still suffering from one-helluva hangover and is hibernating in his bed, or that he at least keeps his trousers on for such an auspicious occasion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number sixteen: During the festival Jess and I somehow started discussing milk shakes and both then yearned for a McDonald’s milkshake (because they do make exceedingly good shakes). This was sometime during the afternoon of Saturday. So for the rest of our stay at the festival and the journey to Whitstable and back, it was at the forefront of our minds. Could we find a McDonald’s on the way back to Bexhill-on-Sea? You bet your posterior cheeks we couldn’t. So it seemed that the yearning on the 80-odd mile round trip was going to prove insatiable. Until, that is, we stopped at a garage shop not far from the hotel to buy some sandwiches etc., and a quick enquiry revealed that there was a McDonalds on our way back to the hotel. We found it. We were excited. It had a drive-through. And it was OPEN. Huzzah! Somehow, not one of us had noticed this establishment on the other two occasions we had passed it. But to be fair I think we were all side-tracked by the sight of the Big Top that had been erected in a ‘field’ opposite. Well I wasn’t that side-tracked of course, because I was the driver and had my eyes firmly fixed on the road, and after driving for so long I was firmly glued to my seat, with hands firmly wrapped around the steering wheel (basically set in that position) and staring out of the windscreen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">‘To McDonalds and milkshake,’ we cried. We didn’t really cry that at all, but that rousing untruth does add a little<i> je ne sais quoi</i> to the situation. After tackling the mini roundabout that had been placed so you couldn’t actually drive all the way around it in one go, facilitating a dodgy three-point turn, I then promptly drove right past the ordering station – you know, the metal thing that speaks to you. As I crawled along I heard the muffled, ‘Can I have your order please?’ as the sound trailed off behind me. Realising my mistake, and reversing back, I said something along the lines of: “Oh, I am sorry. I drove right past you then” – admittedly in a rather Joyce Grenfell, and ever-so-slightly vacant, way - at which point Jon started laughing. Anyone who knows the sound of Jon’s laughter will know it is not a stifled giggle, or a gentlemanly guffaw, but more of a raucous cacophony of belly laughs that echo around the area like ricocheting rubber bullets. At this point young Jessica started laughing and I was left to implore them both to shush whilst I started to give our meagre order. This shushing task I singularly failed to fulfil and had to shout down the thing, ‘One banana and one strawberry milkshake please!’ Fine… I had gotten the order out. But then came the reply ‘I’m afraid we have no milkshakes,’ at which point we all started laughing. The guy on the other end apologised profusely, and after saying, ‘Okay, never mind. Thanks’, I drove off. I didn’t notice, but apparently the guy gave us a really odd look as we crawled passed the window. Slightly confused, I then asked why Jon had laughed, and he replied that when I had explained (albeit unnecessarily I have to admit, but I put it down to a manic state of mind on actually finding a McDonalds after all that time) down the speaker that I had driven passed, it had sounded as if I was stoned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Frustrating hitch number whatever it was: We thought we would take Jess on a shortish trip to <st1:place w:st="on">Beachy Head</st1:place>, but the road was closed due to yet another annual event. However, we did manage to see a very large white horse and a giant....etched into hillsides I must add before you begin to wonder whether I was actually stoned after all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">There were other irritations too, for example: a) whilst there were coffee and tea facilities in the room, there were none of those handy little milk cartons/tubes, b) there were no instructions on how to work the shower nor was there any mention of having to flick a switch on, located high up on the outside of the bathroom in order to get aforementioned gadget to work, c) we realised at 9.55 am that we had to be out of the room by 10.00 am avoiding the necessity to pay for an extra day. This information, of course, causing a mild panic as Jon was still IN bed and I was still faffing around in my undergarments. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">None of these peculiar and frustrating occurrences mean diddly-squat though. They were purely that – peculiar and frustrating, and part of the rich-tapestry of life; little things that just happened to occur all on the same weekend rather than being spread out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">When Jon attempted to contact Mick Farren to confirm that our visit to see him at home in Brighton was still okay, the news that unfolded of his collapse on stage the previous night, and his resulting passing deeply shocked and saddened us all. Both Jess and I had been looking forward to meeting him for the first time, after hearing from Jon what a great guy he was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Bon voyage, Mick, and rest in peace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-82207564033055910982013-05-02T10:00:00.000+01:002013-05-02T12:15:59.259+01:00Happy Birthday to my big brother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Remember this, Ant?</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQnBS2BGO_T4UUjLO3cBmhanZ_mCphr_iNUIZXWMZD0zGEispH7M2pi9yDuzl0O1WdpwB1RS9FFxbzaj0-VvwyyykMPfNrGOfejkXXZbfiG737cfmTkxyvLNjvLYPT299_XCYEUiFnTle/s1600/the+mekon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQnBS2BGO_T4UUjLO3cBmhanZ_mCphr_iNUIZXWMZD0zGEispH7M2pi9yDuzl0O1WdpwB1RS9FFxbzaj0-VvwyyykMPfNrGOfejkXXZbfiG737cfmTkxyvLNjvLYPT299_XCYEUiFnTle/s1600/the+mekon.jpg" /></a></div>
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Dan Dare is the greatest<br />
The Mekon is the worst<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmmm...now let me think, but while I do let me say........</td></tr>
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The only thing that's worrying me<br />
Is how to finish this verse.......<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Birthday to you</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Birthday to you</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Birthday dear brother</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Birthday to you</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>xxxxx</b></span></div>
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Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7800809685910210879.post-22665936262248666422013-03-23T10:00:00.000+00:002013-11-30T15:54:47.917+00:00Birthday greetings - 28 years ago and a Saturday too<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Happy Birthday, Shoshannah</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Lots of love and Many Happy Returns</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">xxx</span></div>
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For your delectation, here is 'The Boss' singing just for you....</div>
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<br />Corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02510292249777697226noreply@blogger.com0