All Hallow's Eve

There's ghoulies. and ghosties,

And long-legged beasties,

And children abroad, for tonight

Is All Hallow's Eve

So you'd better believe

There'll be monsters to give you a fright!

 

 You'll hear taps on the floor,

An occasional roar.

Vile threats that will curl up your toes.

So hand over those sweets,

Give them plenty of treats

And don't let a witch through your door.

 

The sky is so dark,

We won't go to the park

Just stay at home free from all harm.

Those pumpkins are scarey.

Say an extra "Hail Mary"

And turn on the burglar alarm!

 

 Tomorrow's All Saint's Day.

Our fears once more hearsay

And life can return to the norm.

No more tricks, no more treats,

No strange sights in the streets.

Just be thankful you've weathered the storm!

A little bit of gothic .....

...... never comes amiss this close to Halloween.

 

 

So where better to find some than down among the dead men

(and women, or course) in the churchyard at St Ed's.

 

 

Imagine the scene in a couple of sleeps time, just as darkness

is falling, when the local spotty youths will be congregating

in the bus shelter before

daring each other to take the short cut past all the

spooky gravestones on their way to the local

supermarket to buy their cheap cans of lager and eye

up the local talent.  The only night of the year when

they won't be put off by a couple of warts and a pointey hat.

 

 

I included this one not because I thought it might send the

odd shiver or two down your spines but because I thought

it showed potential as a cross stitch motif.

I'm sure the owner won't mind and judging by the date

it's well out of copyright.

 

Always save the best till last ......

 

 

..... and this one really would make you jump if you turned

round suddenly and hadn't realised she was there!

 

Happy haunting.

 

 

 



Are you sure this is wise Julia?

No, I'm not sure, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

However one quick look and I soon changed my mind.

 

Wot no Sean Connery look alikes?

No second-hand Michael Caines

or even a well thumbed Ian McShane

- just this lot.

 

I wonder what the two with hats on are trying to hide?

Or perhaps they feel it gives then that

debonaire touch of mystery.

Dream on baldie!

 

 

Now that's more like it, a much better

line of enquiry to pursue indeed.

 

By the way Mary - that looks suspiciously

like your Paul to me.  Top row, far right.

Ooops .......

 

 

 

 

 

 



Skeins

Pink Feet from Iceland,

Brents from the cold,

White Front's from Russia,

Canada's bold.

 

 

They all fly together,

They all fly in skeins.

Quick fetch in the washing

Their poo really stains!

 

 

Lots from the Arctic,

None come from Spain

But they all come together

..... it's goose time again.

 

 

---ooOoo---

 

Just another good reason for returning, like the geese,

to Acle on the marsh near the sea with big sky.

But, unlike the geese, I'm not planning on laying any eggs!

 

 



The Black Death

Today we're back at St Ed's in Acle to take a look at another

of it's treasures - the Graffito!

Mind the steps as you enter.

 

The old Saxon round tower with Norman additions.

 With the ebola virus rampaging throughout parts of Africa

and beyond it doesn't somehow take too much

imagination to picture how it must have been

in mediaeval Europe during the time of the plague.

Suspicion of strangers, panic in the hearts of the

people and fear on the faces of all lest it should

come calling and step over the threshold into their homes.

 

Not much to look at but a powerful message nonetheless.

 

 Acle was one such place touched by the pestilence

in the year 1349 because a message was recently discovered

written on the north wall which had been hidden for

centuries by plaster.  It read as follows:

 

Oh lamentable death, how many dost thou cast into the pit!
Anon the infants fade away, and of the aged death makes an end.
Now these, now those, thou ravagest, O death on every side;
Those that wear horns or veils, fate spareth not.
Therefore, while in the world the brute beast plague rages hour by hour,
With prayer and with remembrance deplore death's deadliness.

 

 

 No one knows who wrote the Latin inscription.

It may have been the Parish Priest holed up in the church

saying masses for the dead while all around the plague rampaged

sparing no one, high or low.

I bet my bum looks big in this.

 

 The use of the words "horns and veils" in the inscription

is thought to refer not to sinners and the righteous

but to lay and religious women as horned headdresses

were very popular in the middle years of the 14th century.

 

And on that cheerful note I shall leave you.

I must go and look for my paint spray can - you

never know when you might want to leave the odd

few words on the north wall!
Although I think in similar circumstances I'd
keep it short - "Damn and blast".

 

 

 

 

 



Home Contents Insurance - aaargh!

This morning I popped into the office, which is

the beating heart of our little community, to flag up a

problem with my gutters.  Whilst there I just happened to

glance at the notice board and saw a poster

for a company offering contents insurance

specially tailored for people in similar circumstances

to myself.

Knowing my luck, I thought I'd better.

 

 Good, I thought, that will save me a trip into Norwich

so I jotted down the details (including an extremely attractive

first year offer of £25.54 which is less than 50p per week

as they were quick to point out for those of us whose

wits are too addled to work it out for themselves.)

Is your mummy there Peter?

 

 Back at the lock up I wasted no time in phoning and spoke

to a "child" who introduced himself as Peter.

I was tempted to ask if his mummy knew he was playing

with the phone but somehow managed to resist.

 

Now we get to the bit which outraged me.

We went through all the rigmarole and small talk and

he quoted me a figure of £56.92.  That's strange,

I said in my best dowager voice, the poster in the office

said £25.54 for the first 12 months.  How do you

explain that?

Don't mess with the wrinklies - some of us still have teeth!

 

 Without turning a hair he told me that company policy was

to only offer the lower price if challenged.

I'll leave it to your own imaginations to write

the ending to this little scenario as I don't really want

to go into print with my exact words.

But to give you a clue - thieving and another word for

illegitimate were in there somewhere.



God moves in a mysterious way ......

..... his wonders to perform

which is why, on my first surreptitious visit to the Church of

St Edmund King & Martyr in Acle

that I made a rather spectacular entrance through the

North door (yes, I know, the one usually reserved for the Devil!)

The North Door

I was so busy sticky-beaking everything at once that I failed
to miss one vital, and rather important, piece of information.
The rather tiny and partially obscured sign which
read "Mind the steps".

 

Consequently my first view was captured laying flat

on my back at the foot of said steps whilst

uttering foul oaths and blasphemies for which I

expect to pay heavily on the Day of Judgement.

Good job the Vicar wasn't about.

 

15th century font

 The font is one of the church treasures and was dedicated

in 1410 AD, so eat your hearts out my colonial readers,

we're talking real history here!

It has eight panels containing the symbols of the four evangelists

alternated with angels all doing angelic things.

No Alice dear, not making Angel Delight, whatever next?

 

Some of the faces had been smashed during the Reformation

only to suffer further vandalism at the hands of the Victorians

when they attempted to restore them!

 

 

 

Talking of faces, there is also a rather moving memorial to the men from

Acle who fell during the Great War which is somehow made all the

more poignant by the fact that it bears fading sepia photographs

instead of simply a list of names carved in stone.

 

There's a great deal of interest in St Ed's which could turn

into a mini-series if I'm not too careful but for the moment

I'm off to find something soothing for all my bruises

which are springing up like mushrooms as I type.

And - yes, Camilla, I've tried turning the other cheek

but it doesn't help.

 

 

 

 



In the grip of a new passion

Sad to say it's nothing physical and steamy like a close

encounter with Sean Bean or even a "phantom affair"

with the late Oliver Reed - I wonder if that's

what causes "phantom pregnancies"?

 

Gone potty in my dotage.

No, it's much more down to earth than that

- it's HEUCHERAS!

or Coral Bells as they're sometimes known.

You can't smoke them, you can't eat them but they

are a true feast to the eye with colours that change with

the seasons and leaves that stay put all year round.

They are of the family Saxifragaceae and hail from North America.

 

 

Mine hail from much closer to home, from the nursery

of Jooles and Sean aptly named Heucheraholics.

http://www.heucheraholics.co.uk/

 

They are regular exhibitors and prizewinners at Chelsea Flower Show,

which speaks volumes in itself.  Their service is speedy,

their attention to detail superb and their knowledge priceless.

(That should get me a couple of freebies next time I order!)

 

 

The theme at Chelsea this year was the commemoration

of the First World War where they excelled themselves with

a garden called Warhorse complete with sandbags and soldiers helmets.

 

 

 

Here at the Lock-Up things are done on a much smaller scale,

nevertheless I think the Long Dog warhorse tribute display shows

the enthusiasm of a novice heucheraholic

and the promise of colourful things to come in my

herbacaous flower pots once I've got them all planted.



I seem to have become flavour of the month around here ....

..... if only for one brief, fleeting moment in time

having just donated a huge bagfull of knitting wool,

which was surplus to my requirements, to the

local ladies knitting circle.

Home alone.

This august body of women meet regularly to
upcycle mounds of multi-coloured wools into
cuddly toys for sale in aid of various charities
throughout the year.

Aaaaaah!

My husband used to puff himself up like a toad
from time to time and pronounce that women only
knit and sew to give their hands something to do
while they talk incessantly.
It's a wonder he lived as long as he did really.
The expression "male chauvinist pig" comes to mind
and come to think of it the term seems to have
fallen out of vogue of late.
I'm sure it can't be for want of candidates.
I'll take nominations should you wish.

These were made by an affiliated group up at Sandringham.

However, I digress.
These ladies may well all knit like the true angels
that they are but whether taken one at a time
or collectively (in their skein)
a sense of humour is one attribute they certainly
don't possess.

Camilla, where did you put the two balls that were left over?

So after a chance and rather flippant request for
a knitted "toy boy" I fell extremely swiftly from grace
and am no longer the rum and raisin delight on the
block but merely the new, and slightly odd, lady from No 5.
 

 



If you go down to the woods today .....

.... there's a couple of things you need to check out first.

 

Arthur is in charge of the bear's "hedge" fund

 

1.  Has the venue already been booked by the local bears?

 

Arthur is a giant bear who lives out in all weathers in a gap in

his owners front hedge.  He is seldom if ever noticed

by people who pass at speed in their cars

but to pedestrians like me he brings a little smile every

time I go by.  He had nothing planned

in the woods today but next week they're definately off limits.

 

2.  Are you wearing suitable footwear?

 

And this is the hurdle at which I fell and so decided to take

the footpath up to the bridge instead.

 

 

There were still some mad sods about holidaymaking in their

little tupperware boats.  A fate which I used to regularly

suffer when my husband was alive.

But not any more!

 

I can think of nothing more miserable now than sitting in a chilly,

damp, confined space watching the rain pouring down

the windows (inside and out) and being asked if I would fancy

a game of Scrabble - no, I bloody wouldn't.

Now what words can I make with these tiles - CFFFKOU - I wonder?

 

 

The pub's not open yet, although people are starting to

gather in anticipation of the "all week Sunday roast"

but I don't think I shall hang about on this occasion

as my feet are starting to complain in these silly shoes

and I could do with a cup of tea.

 

 

Not so much the last rose of summer, more like the

final sunflowert of fall!

Anyway it gave me another reason to smile

-they always do.  I shall call him Michael.

 

 

 



Try anything once post script

If you've read the comments on yesterday's post

you will see that Erica has pointed me in the direction

of another artist who's "done" bowlers.
The late Lindsay Crooks of Dunedin, NZ.

In his particular case at Brighton.

 

Recreational Fisherman

 

  

I was unable to find a picture which I could reproduce for you all
to see so you'll just have to content yourselves with his jolly fisherman
instead unless of course you'd like to follow this link:

www.southseasgallery.com/

Thanks for introducing me to his work Erica,
albeit posthumously!



I'll try anything once ....

.... and yesterday was no exception.

Actually it all started earlier in the week when a

cheery Scotswoman sitting next to me in the doctor's waiting

room posed the question, "Do you bowl?"

Good old Beryl Cook.  I love her work.

 

 

Not something I had ever thought about really

but she assured me that even if I didn't fancy

bowling the Social Club in Acle is very

lively and I would soon get to make new friends.

 

So with my misgivings put to one side and

just the merest touch of blusher on my cheeks

I sallied forth to see what fate had in store for me.

I must have been very wicked in a former life, that's all I can think.

 

 

I lasted all of half an hour!

 

Everyone was very friendly and welcoming,

I could find no fault there.

 

Everyone was also a good fifteen years my senior,

clad in white with their names machine stitched just

above their left breasts.  Whether for ease of identification

or in case they forgot I'm still not sure.

Beryl strikes again.

 

 

I watched the first "rubber" or "chukka" or whatever it is

they call a game played out in total, intense silence

as they waved their arms aloft trying to send kinetic, directional

messages to their woods and rolled their eyes when the

particular wood in question took not a blind bit of notice

and hurtled on to land with a thump in the gulley.

 

They came equipped with towels to keep their hands

free from moisture, personalised bags to carry

their bowls from A to B, specialist lifting devices for

those unable to bend but what really freaked me out
was when an elderly gentleman took a small aerosal spray
from his pocket and proceeded to squirt his woods.

I'm a cross stitcher - get me out of here!

 

 



It's been raining .... quite a lot .....

..... inside and out!
The chewing gum trick didn't stop the problem for long.

 

It might work at that.

 

If it had carried on much longer I was seriously contemplating

turning the conservatory into a giant acquarium.

It would have been rather cool to sit in my one comfy chair

watching creatures of the deep swim past my patio doors.

It still might happen ......

 

But then the sun came out from behind the clouds

and I telephoned the local builder to come

and survey the damage.

 

Sideways of course.

With perfect timing the door bell rang just as I had put the last

Bourbon biscuit in my mouth - whole.

An awquard silence ensued as I tried not to dislodge

my false teeth in my haste to deal with the offending object.

 

"I'll wander through and take a look shall I?", he said,

like a true gentleman, leaving me to regain my composure

and empty my mouth at the same time.

 

It was just as I caught up with him standing on tiptoes in the

middle of the conservatory with the old blinds draped around

his shoulders like some oversized military sash, that a sound

like a pistol shot rang out leaving my ears ringing and my

heart beating a tad faster than usual.

 

 

"Thought so," he said, sucking on his teeth "Hear that?

(Of course I bloody did, they heard it in the village).

The roof's gone brittle, happens all the time.

I'll measure up and let you have an estimate for a

replacement.  Should be able to get you sorted next spring

if we get some decent weather."

 

A fine example of "brittle roof syndrome"

 

 

I thought that selling the Chateau meant leaving these sort of

problems far behind me in France for someone else to deal with.

 

It seems I was mistaken - I've inherited some new ones.

Fasten your seatbelts - here we go again!

 



You can call me Pat

In sunny downtown Toronto there's a Spanish

style tapas restaurant that goes by the name of Patricia,

although she's know as Pat to all the locals.

 

 

But this is no ordinary eatery because they've literally

been driven up the wall with cross stitch.

 

 

Laura Carwardine did all the stitching by hand with a

little help from her friends.

I wonder what count of mesh she used?

 

 

For those of you into stats - you need to get out more.

It took two months to complete,

or 485 hours of work if you prefer.

There are 17,000 stitches spread over 21 x 4' by 8' panels.

 

That may sound a lot but I've just worked it out and

Dawn Chorus weighs in at 17,673 stitches.

So there should be nothing stopping you -

think big, climb the walls, the sky's the limit.

And imagine what you could accomplish with something

the size of Bois le Duc.

 

Do you think the vicar would mind if I gave his steeple a little touch up?

 

 



My forever home

 

"All is safely gathered in 'ere the winter storms begin."

These words from my favourite harvest hymn

serve equally well to describe my current state of being,

although I hope that the afore mentioned storms,

if not actually cancelled, have at least been put on

hold until I find someone to fix the leak in the conservatory.

That temporary piece of chewing gum won't hold indefinately.

 

We've got some old fashioned little shops here,
and look - they even do eggs in fours.

 

You'll be pleased to hear that I haven't managed to set light

to anything else these past few days and my time seems to be

spent rummaging in boxes and trying to turn chaos into order.

 

Why the fishing rod?  It just came along for the ride.

 

 The office above, as you can see, is still in need of

"a woman's touch" although where she's got to I have no idea.

 

 

Wouldn't it be wonderful to find a chum like

this hidden in the bedding boxes?

Unlikely but a girl can dream.

 

 

 



Last night

Last night I watched the stars.

I saw a bat.

And got a stiff neck.

 

 

And the best thing about it was

- the freedom to do so!