|St Minver threw her comb at the Devil through that very hole.|
Apparently she was a crack shot.
|Fancy weekend gaff|
|Port Isaac as seen from The Doctors house|
You find me in between painting shifts. I had a sudden urge to start painting yesterday tea time. Not the most convenient time, but I need to strike while the iron's hot. I've been meaning to paint said items for about six months now, and just couldn't be bothered. Of course, I've got paint splatters on my jeans and new top (Breton, obvs).The jeans are too big for me since I've started running. Apart from the around the waistline area. My stomach is a law unto itself, I'm afraid. Can I blame Olly? After all, it is kind of his fault that my tummy puts me in mind of a deflated balloon. Particularly when I lean over the bath. Although he did tell me the other day that he thought my tummy was looking "less fat." I'm not sure whether to be pleased or not.
Olly will be seven on Friday. Seven! How? He has two big front teeth that kind of stick out, because his other baby teeth are refusing to budge. It makes his little lisp and difficulty in pronouncing his R's more noticeable. I kind of adore it. His hair is still a mass of unruly curls, but has gone the way of his brothers. I miss his golden halo very much. He would like a new scooter, please. One that lights up. He would also like a corn snake. His best friend Finley gave him a leaflet all about them gathered from 'Pets At Home.' Well, that's what friends are for. He may be a little disappointed that I've got him some Fimo instead. I figure he can make himself a snake out of it. We are going to the new trampoline park. I shall be sitting on the comfy cushions and watching all the action. Gravity and three kids equates to... well, you know.
The running is going very well, thank you for asking. I have entered my first 10K run in May. I'm now at the stage of enjoying my thrice weekly runs, rather than gritting my teeth and swearing. I still find the first kilometre hard. I can't seem to get my breathing right. But then, I am able to step up a gear and happily run for an hour. I don't run particularly fast, but I'm conquering the hills (St Ives is all about the killer hill) and my legs are lengthening their stride. I'm conscious of my posture, and try to keep my head up and back straight. And my sprinting days of old come in handy for that home stretch. I'm like Mo Farah then.
All is quiet on the home front for the moment, which is a relief. No major problems. No teen thing that I can't handle. Actually I'm at the stage of denial when it comes to the stuff I'm finding hard to handle. I'm hoping that a bit of unconditional positive regard will set matters right in the long run. Sometimes I mutter 'bugger off' under my breath, but mostly I am trying to adopt a more zen approach. Anyway, I was such a moody teenager. With such a woe is me attitude. The apple never falls far from the tree, eh?
I've been watching, and listening, to our resident blackbird. He's a handsome chap. And his herald to the end of the day is really rather beautiful. I think it's my absolute favourite thing about Spring. Actually it's just as well it is, because weather wise, there is very little sign of it. West Cornwall has been trapped under grey cloud forever. The odd hour of sunshine arrives, and I get all over excited and hang washing out on the line. But before you know it, the damp low cloud rolls back in, and I'm forced to gather it all back in again. In the garden there are lots of loveliness waking up, unfurling and growing apace. I'm walking around and taking note of what needs to be done. I have sowed my first seeds in the greenhouse. The cornflowers have already germinated. I have lots of geranium cuttings and several salvias too. It was my first attempt at trying it, and I'm hooked.
I have been watching Broadchurch. Have you? Rather harrowing, yet compelling. That's the sum total of my televisual participation. An hour a week on Monday. The rest of the time I am reading or staring into space. I find I can kill the whole evening doing that. Sometimes my head is just too full. Do you know what I mean? I crave absolute quiet, and a clearing of the senses. I suppose it's like a form of meditation. The only noise is Honey's snuffly snore, and I find that rather comforting. My ten year old girl is having some trouble with her back legs; they give out every now an again. It may be the start of arthritis, says the vet. Age creeps us on all of us in the end.
Right, last cup of tea before bed.
(the above photos were taken last weekend in North Cornwall. Specifically the Southwest coast path between Polzeath and Lundy Cove, And Port Isaac. An unexpected couple of days away with a good friend. She brought champagne. I bought smelly cheese. It was top notch).