Last week, a monumental thing happened. The Post Lady, who has scurried her way up our ever-worsening driveway to attempt to deliver our letters, smiled at me. Not only that, but she wished me a happy birthday, and even shared Read more
At this time of year, I’m experiencing a severe lack of shrapnel. The jingly-jangly, non-maiming type of shrapnel that you find at the bottom of your bag, in your coat pockets, or in Big Seymour’s work trousers. Shrapnel of that Read more
I’ve read enough Phillipa Gregory novels to know a little of what life was like in The Olden Days. I tend to view the sixteenth Century in a romantic light, and imagine the dresses, and jolly jousts, Henry the Eighth Read more
It was like a scene out of a well-known eighties movie in my kitchen on Sunday. Big Seymour had his welding mask on, and was attempting to secure his enormous steel erection with small silver screws deep in the pit. Read more
There was a gentle thudding upon my roof on Sunday afternoon. It sounded like a bird plodding across the old felt surface, only slightly heavier. I stopped what I was doing in the kitchen below and pondered for a moment; Read more
Something strange has happened to me. I am putting it down to a mental suppression of the area of my brain that is concerned with all things aesthetic. Let’s face it, if I was using that area of my brain Read more
I watched The Four Little Seymours from a distance the other evening, and came to the conclusion that, despite a lot of bickery nonsense during half term, they’re actually not bad eggs at all. Bless them. I really didn’t want Read more
I always have grand ideas about the amount of “stuff” I will achieve during a half term break. I imagine that, in the absence of the usual itinerary, I will make the most of the time at home, and sort Read more
Routines are useful things. They may be a bit boring, but life is generally easier to manage with some kind of pattern. I find this to be especially true when the very house you live in is constantly on the Read more
It’s amazing how quickly one becomes used to a cavernous hole in one’s kitchen floor. I have actually forgotten it’s there. Well, that’s to say, I had, until the Meter Reading Man came round. I am always a little suspicious Read more