It has been an odd day, full of anxiety and highs and lows, but as the day draws to a close I’m happy. It’s too late, and I’m a little too tired, to go into it on my blog tonight but I shall reveal all tomorrow if you don’t mind. Luckily, I can nearly always seem to call upon interesting snippets or poems (as in this case) to amuse my readership – at least I hope that you are amused or entertained! This morning I received this poem from one of the poets amongst you. Isn’t it a joy to hear that people are in love?

IN LOVE!

 You always used to tell me “Go shopping, it’s the place to meet and greet,
Well I went shopping yesterday and I must say it worked a treat.
The vegetable area was first in line as to me they should be first in the trolley,
There’s no point of putting a cream cake in first, that’s stupid and utter folly.

The meat was next, followed by the bread and, of course, the eggs on top,
For I’m not only a good looking 61 year old – I actually do know how to shop!
Detergent, toothpaste, soap as well, you know the stuff you use every day,
Sorry if I’m boring you but I’m leading up to what I have to say.

I turned the corner and, lo and behold, a beautiful sight did meet my eyes,
My chest started heaving, I could feel my pulse, and I could even hear my sighs.
What is that in front of me, begging me hither and to stay for a while?
I don’t know how to say this my dear, but I’m in love with the confectionery aisle!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How cruel to write of the confectionery aisle when I would so dearly love a nice line of rich dark chocolate at this very moment! I had a sliver of pork tenderloin and a few mushrooms a short while ago and now I’m thinking how good it would be to round off my mean little meal with something sweet. I must recite my new mantra – “A delicious Dukan dinner makes you thinner, while pud’s for Billy Bunter make thighs like thunder!” It’s a rather long mantra, which makes it hard to sink in.

Back to the subject of love, when I entered our lounge-room this morning I found Andy and Flea having an innocent cuddle in an armchair (see photo). I think they really are in love – well I didn’t put them there. I also have a feeling that my sister, Mary, wondered where her reading glasses got to yesterday….

If it seemed a little quiet from my end this weekend you can guarantee there were plenty of things going on. It will soon be midnight, by which time I hope to be in bed. Goodnight wherever you are and I’ll catch you tomorrow.

One of my blog readers, who signs himself as “a country bumpkin”, kindly sent me this joke in response to my earlier blog posts…

A young bull and an old bull were on the top of the hill overlooking their herd of
bovine beauties grazing in the valley below.
The young bull said ” I think we should run down there and make love to some of
those good looking heifers?”
The old bull said ” Take it easy son, we’ll walk down there and make love to the lot!”

As you can see from my photographs this morning, swans sleep in Cockwood Harbour when the tide is in. I’m no ‘swanologist’ but I have never seen so many sleeping swans before, which may not be such a surprise because the tide is usually out when I cycle to Cockwood (yes, I know the tide can’t buck nature and it must come in twice a day, just not normally when I’m there!).

Whilst we were watching the sleeping swans a train intruded upon the peaceful scene and the sun broke through the clouds, suddenly it was a nice sunny morning and the swans roused themselves from their sleep.One even swam over to wish me a good day, or was it to look for breakfast? Unfortunately for the swan, he soon discovered that I held my mobile phone in my hand and not a scrumptious piece of pink bread and he swam off rather disappointed. Next time I’ll try to remember to bring some bread from the freezer (we’re not eating bread at the moment – not officially anyway – still dieting, but not very wholeheartedly).

One of my highly observant readers (he signed himself as Mr. Attenborough but was not, as far as I know, the David Attenborough) pointed out to me that the bull in the photograph entitled “The Sexy Bull” was actually a cow. In fact, the sexy bull in question was directly behind the randy cow, urging her on, but I must admit that, while looking at the thumbnail photos without my glasses on, I mistook the mounting cow for the sexy bull; and when I discovered my error I left it in because I thought no-one would notice the difference between a mounting cow and a mounting bull. How wrong I was! So apologies to one and all for trying to fob you off with photos of a randy cow posing as a sexy bull, and yes, Mr. Smarty-Pants Attenborough, I do see the difference.

In reparation (in case you, too, felt duped or disappointed by the excited cow shot), I shall leave you with photographs of the aforementioned sexy bull in action. Also, you may be interested and amused to read Mr. Attenborough’s pithy poem, which arrived in my mailbox this morning.

   A Load of Bull  –  by Mr. Attenborough

   It seems a cow is not a cow when photographed from a fence line,
   Yes, they may look similar from 20 yards back, especially when you’ve had a        red wine?
   But a mounting bull? I think not my dear, as you can see the mounter’s udders,
   And not only that, in such a small herd they are probably sisters and brudders!

Well that was a different kind of picnic to our usual – and very exciting! We made it to our usual field (a mile or two from the canal), left our bikes on the public footpath running alongside the barbed wire fence edging our field (so that we would be able to keep an eye on the bikes) and we looked for a good spot to lay the red tartan picnic rug. I thought it would be nice to sit in the shade of a tree but Chris thought it would be much more private a little farther on, away from the fence and path. It was idyllic – the blue skies, the view of the flatlands, the herd of cows grazing in the distance…

As soon as we sat down on the rug a swarm of flying insects surrounded us – we weren’t sure what they were after (our dieting lunch wasn’t exactly plentiful or tempting) and it seemed likely that they wanted us. Being rather resourceful (if I do say so myself), I sprayed some factor 30 sunscreen at them and it worked a treat. We were so happy to be all alone again. We shared a banana and drank our “Calippo” ice-blocks. Before long Chris said, “I think a big bull is looking at us. He’s this side of the fence and coming our way.”

The bull was still some way off but he was barring the way that we had come into the field. We looked for another way out but couldn’t find anything suitable for pole-vaulting over the canal, and I haven’t had to test my broad-jumping skills for some years.

“We’ll have to go back to the fence where the bikes are,” I suggested.

“Too close to the bull,” Chris said.

“We’ll have to climb the fence nearer this end then,” I couldn’t see another way without actually  jumping into the canal.

I picked up a four foot plank of wood and walked towards the herd, singing as I did so. I remembered that cows enjoyed being milked to music so I thought a song from me might calm them and possibly endear me to them. The first song that popped into my head was, “I love to go a wandering along the mountain track…” Three cows couldn’t bear that song, turned around and walked off. The bull was fascinated and moved closer, or perhaps he took exception to the red rug that Chris threw over the barbs of the fence. Chris jumped over first and landed on top the pile of hawthorn branches on the other side of the fence. I saw a nice branch above me and hung on that while I elegantly and safely made it over the fence. Phew! We were safe!

The herd seemed not to be too bothered about us after all. The girls came over to the fence for a closer look and they enjoyed a chat. As it turned out the bull was feeling fruity and serviced three of them while they were otherwise amused. I’ve never seen anything like it. Luckily I had my mobile phone with me.

We were three miles from home when I started to feel the bones of my bottom objecting to my hard gel saddle cover.

“Are you saddle sore too?” I asked Chris.

“Not so much saddle sore as shorts-sore,” Chris answered.

“Oh, a hard seam?”

“Yes, I’ve never worn these particular shorts for cycling before,” he paused and added, “And I shall never do so again…”

I was still laughing when we arrived at our gate.

“Shall I, shan’t I? Should I, shouldn’t I?”, those were the questions over which I pondered whilst watering the flowers a few minutes ago. Should I stay in my very hot studio, open the doors and windows, and work on my latest commission (oh, I know, this may sound familiar!) or should I take advantage of the return of the good weather and take that picnic which Chris and I always promise ourselves but never seem to find the right occasion to take up.

“Shall we?” Chris asked just now.

“It’s getting late to set out – maybe we should go tomorrow,” I suggested.

“And maybe the weather will not be so good, or something else crops up… and another year will go by with no picnic?”

Chris was right. I can’t stop long writing my blog today because we’re going out for a nice long ride to Exeter Canal, where we shall peel off the main track onto a white sandy road to the left, and  we shall find our favourite field looking across the flat-lands to Topsham. We shan’t think of work, nor will we feel guilty.

A few days ago Chris and I were talking to our friend, Martin, who lives two doors up from us, and who has recently painted his steps a bright azure blue and his gate a banana yellow. I like it. Chris isn’t quite so sure.

“What do you think?” Martin asked proudly as we were about to pass by with our bikes.

“I like it,” I said.

“It’s rather bright, but much better than before,” Chris answered as carefully as he could without being dishonest.

Now Martin is a clever man, a university lecturer and writer, also he has a wonderful sense of humour.

“You remind me of me when I was a little boy, Chris,” Martin smiled. “Apparently, as the story goes – I can’t remember personally – my parents were taking me to a restaurant and I was stood in front of them as we waited to be seated. Oh, and I used to have a very sharp, loud voice as a small child, and I was a bit precocious… Well, ahead of us was a lady with  extremely short hair and a mannish look. I came right out with it and asked her, ‘Would you please tell me, are you a lady or a man?’ My parents walked backwards out of the restaurant leaving me standing there…”

“I was worse than that,” I began. “When I was two years old – and I can remember – I was walking down the road with my mother when we came across a neighbour who had recently had a baby boy. We looked in the pram, and I can remember his head now, he looked like an alien…”

“Lots of babies look like aliens,” interjected Martin.

“But not like this one,” I said, “he was bald and so thin that you could see  all his veins under his skin – he must have been ill, now I come to think about it. Anyway, I whispered to Mum, ‘Isn’t he a funny-looking baby, Mummy?’ My mother ignored me and I thought she didn’t hear so I pulled on her skirt and asked again, quite softly still, ‘Isn’t he a funny-looking baby,Mummy?’ Mum didn’t answer but tried to push me behind her. Totally frustrated, I shouted at her, ‘Isn’t it a funny baby?” Oops! All eyes were upon me and realised I may have said something wrong. I hid for cover under Mum’s gathered skirt. I used to spend quite a lot of time under my mother’s skirts.”

We laughed, as you do, and Chris’s comment was forgotten. I’ve thought of Martin’s story more than once and that’s why I’m passing it on to you. And please remember that I was only a tot of two…

This morning we awoke to blue skies and sunshine, not even a strong wind. As you can see it was rather too good to stay in and paint or write…

If it’s still like this tomorrow we’re going to cycle farther and take a picnic with us.