O Come All ye Faithful to Malmesbury Abbey — Anna Legat Author

On Saturday night, I feasted on music, gorging on the angelic singing of Malmesbury Community Choir, and delighting in the heavenly voices of the Westonbirt Girls’ School Chamber Choir. It was quite a treat and it conjured up Christmas on a count of four! I tried to join in with some of the singing, alas […]

via O Come All ye Faithful to Malmesbury Abbey — Anna Legat Author

Did I say how cool I was?

For the first time in history, I am my daughter’s hero!

We went skating. Long childhood memories buried under the ice have come to the surface and I flew across the rink. Daughter was impressed. ‘You’re the only one who could skate backwards,’ she said, ‘and swirl!’

Respect!

My services have now been enlisted to teach Daughter something she actually wants to learn from me. We’ve found common ground between us, even if it is slightly icy.

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Daughter’s first steps on ice.

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Mother, the heroic back-paddling swirler!

Oh, I do love to be beside the seaside!

Went to Burnham-on-sea to recharge the batteries because, let me tell you, I’m hardly a Duracell-man (or -woman, as the case may be). My batteries had been running low for a while, especially after a few near-lethal short circuits experienced this year.

So we went paddling by the boats –

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Head-butting the goats –

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Sitting on a fence –

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Losing common sense –

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Being swept away –

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Calling it a day –

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Getting bruised in Devon

With the best of intentions I organised this PGL adventure. I could still pretend that it was for my child more than myself. All that childish stuff of climbing walls, throwing yourself off rocks, competing to the top of Jacob’s ladder against fifteen-year old boys and their alpha-male dads  – all that would be just perfect for Daughter and Daughter’s Friend. Whilst this year the girls are just into face-painting, next year next year they will be into make-up, Prada handbags and designer shoes (oh dear! there go my life savings!). It was our last chance to do the  child-friendly thing.

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It may have been child-friendly but, by Gods, it was far from a woman of a certain age-friendly! I suffered from general exhaustion, pulled muscles, bruises and torn ligaments. On top of that some viral infection took hold of me and shook me like a pitbull terrier shaking a rag doll.

Back home, I’m licking my wounds and promising myself to go on a Mediterranean cruise next year.

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Rum-tum-tiddle-um-um

Just as I was beginning to think that the world had come to a sticky end (and I didn’t mean that to involve a pot of HUNEY), this arrived with the pigeon post:

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My lovely and irreplaceable husband made it for our 5th anniversary!

The world can’t so bad if there is a Monkey Lane somewhere out there! I am a happy bunny again, hopping on one leg and munching on chocolate leaves.

Big Monkey and Theodore have not been hurt in the making of this card, so I am told.

 

Knowing my place

RaindropMy guest blog with Lynne Shelby:

Knowing my place for Lynne Shelby

Visit Lynne Shelby’s blog

 

Be my rock, a trip to Cornwall

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This is what I needed – Cornwall. I didn’t know that at the time of our departure. We had been offered this trip as part of some promotional programme, and I thought it was too good to be true. At first it seemed I was right – we were stuck in snail-paced traffic, desperate for a wee and envious of road-side kill (at least they didn’t care any more!).

Then there was the tortuous seminar, sweetened by an offering of high tea accompanied by a highly entertaining persona of a chap called Derek. The least we could do was to smile politely and listen (some of us did, others were still dying for a wee; too much high tea, you see.)

But it was all worth it! I’d gone there feeling low (for reasons of my own you don’t want to know), and re-evaluating my purpose in life; I came back feeling… alive in the very least. I found peace, fresh breeze, a horizon to drown myself in, and even a rocky companion that went exceptionally well with my t-shirt cacti.

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We’re good friends, the rock and I (and my t-shirt cacti).

Four days later, we had to be separated and it was time to face the real world, traffic, road-side kill and existential musings all inclusive. We waved goodbye to Cornwall. For those in the know I found Cornwall strikingly similar to New Zealand and French Brittany. Such a small world we live in – I fail to understand why some of us wish to slash it into yet smaller pieces and put barbwire fences between us, but I don’t want my musings to get in the way of universal beauty, so here is more of the good thing:

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