Monthly Archives: April 2018

Some days

Some days I fail to see the point. I fail to see the point of me anymore.

I busy myself with tasks that once would have felt important. I do things that I think will help normalise me day. I send and reply to messages with false smiles and bravado that is no longer mine.

I have recently been reading ‘How to stop time’ by Matt Haig. It’s a book I am enjoying and don’t want to give any spoliers but some of his words hit to the heart of my feelings.

At one point he writes for the lead character: “I have been in love only once… the idea that you have one true love, that no one else will compare after they have gone. It’s a sweet idea, but the reality is terror itself. To be faced with all those lonely years after. To exist when the point of you is gone.

The weather today has not helped my humour, I know. I no longer handle the wet or ‘cold’ well, but at least grey days allow me to be grey too.

I dont love the rain, but..



Filed under Uncategorized

Peace Shattered…3

Chapter 3

It’s been about two weeks now since the episide with the stranger in the garden and as they say “all’s quiet on the western front”. In my case ‘all’s quiet’ everywhere. My hours of peace during the afternoons have returned to just that and there have been no more disturbances, except those perpetrated by my furry family and those I am well used to.

Some days ago I had an uneasy feeling that I was being watched. I had no evidence for this except that sixth sense we all seem to have about these sorts of things.

I did a quick check through the front window and there were no black SUVs in the street that could be surveillance vehicles and no men, or women, in trench coats watching the house from behind lampposts with binoculars in hand. Similarly a quick scout around the house brought up no cameras watching nor microphones recording my every conversation with the cats.

I did wonder if my phone was maybe being bugged but dismissed the idea as complete paranoia. That was until this evening.

I had just returned from a quick trip to the bar on the corner where I had enjoyed no more than three beers, maybe four. I dropped my keys into the bowl on the desk in the hallway and kicked my shoes off leaving them under the desk as normal.

Most times when I get home at least one or two of the cats comes to greet me and more often than not they all end up in the hallway to say hello and meander about as if they have a plan to fell me before I get to the living room. This evening I was the one meandering down the hallway, no cats in sight.

“Miserable lot, you all are. No greetings for me tonight?” I shouted ahead of me.”Got something more interesting to keep your attention have you?” I added.

On occasion the cats acted like a pack and caught a bird in the back garden. This could mean they would be occupied for sometime teasing the poor creature until it ran out of breath and chances. They would then get bored and search me out once more. I guessed they were deeply involved in this torturous game.

Coming into the living room I flicked the light switch, flooding the room with immediate light only to see the cats sitting on their various perches around the room staring at the sofa in the corner. I turned to see what was holding them so rapt and quiet and there, once more, was the oddly dressed stranger, although this time his jeans, shirt and jacket were much more in keeping with the time and soundings. They just didn’t seem to fit him well.

Once more my heart leapt into my mouth which had dried as a result of the surprise and my mind tumbled over itself for words with which to assault the interloper.

“You again?!” Was all I managed to blurt out.

The stranger held out his hands in a “guess so / you’ve got me there” gesture.

“Ok. This time I want some answers.” My mind had caught up with the situation and I intended to take charge. “Firstly who are you and how did you get in here this time?” There, the first questions were asked.

“I too am Saul.” Was his succinct reply.

The possibility of us sharing a first name was too much of a coincidence. “You’re joking,” I told him.

“Not at all. I am Saul.” He folded his arms across his chest in a manner that indicated further discussion on this detail would be useless.

“It’s not like it’s a common name,” I commented. “So the chances of a housebreaker breaking into my house with the same name as me must be millions to one.”

“Much greater than that,” Saul replied. “But I am no housebreaker.”

Up to this point the cats had staued in their places watching the interchange between us. All of a sudden they leapt up as one and shot through the door in a flash of fur, headed towards the garden. Arson, thus named for his flaming ginger coat, was just ahead of the others by the time they passed through the doorway and it was his howl that pierced my ears first from outside. I knew each of the cats voices as well as I knew the voices of family and friends.

“Do you always create such disturbances?” I asked of my visitor as I gave chase to find out what had made Arson screech so. “And stay put this time,” I told him. I wanted to find out more and didn’t want him disappearing while I was out of the room.

I didn’t catch his reply as I exited the living room but it must have been in the negative for when I came back in sometime later he had indeed gone.


Filed under Thriller/Mystery

Sunday lunch

How different are my Sunday lunches today compared to my childhood.

Every Sunday when I was a nipper we would always have had a roast lunch, and always at one o’clock. Goodness knows how many poor critters were sacrificed to end up on our Sunday dinner tables. I wasn’t veggie in those days. It was a case of this is your lunch eat it or go hungry, just like it was for many of my generation I’m sure.

Lunch was normally at home at the dining table, but not with the “for best” cutlery or crockery. That was reserved for very special occasions. On other occasions we went to our gran’s (Dad’s mum) for a full roast there. Her roast potatoes were second to none.

Like I said things are very different now. Today I’ve had spinach and broccoli soup with a seeded roll. I can’t imagine the uproar had my mum ever served that up on a Sunday, let alone had she served some of my even “lesser” Sunday lunches. My family meals back in the day were very much a meat and two veg affair. (Make your own homes up here!).

“For best” cutlery doesn’t exist here and I use whatever is to hand, and sin of sins, I often eat off my lap, unless the weather is good enough to sit outside.

None of this is said by way of complaint. I’m happy with what I cook and eat, and where. No dead critters here.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Who’s looking…

I love finding it who is reading my blog posts. These are the stats by country for today so far… Thanks to each of you for following. Muchas gracias. Moltes gràcies.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Smiles to tears.

It doesn’t take much to move me from smiles to a break down these days. The stupidest thing can jog a memory or hit a nerve and I lose it. Luckily its normally in the comfort and privacy of our home, where the dogs provide immediate support with worried looks and slobbery kisses to wipe away my tears.
Yesterday I had just such a moment.
Cleaning isn’t one of my favourite pastimes. I do the minimum necessary unless anyone is visiting.; then the house can be blitzed from top to bottom, inside and out in a just a few hours. Yesterday I decided the top of the tv cabinet really needed some attention. The marks in the dust were too obvious to be missed. With reluctant hands i grabbed some cleaning stuff and set to.
On top of the tv cabinet are an array of family photos, as well as Tony’s ashes and a couple of momentos from times gone by. It’s always been like that, the only difference these days is the addition of Tony’s Urn. Strangely its not the urn or its contents that upset me but the photos. I am the only one still living in any of them. Each has a poignant memory, now bittersweet.
I really thought that by now episodes of grief would have been easier and fewer but they still hit like a sucker punch or tsunami, stopping me in my tracks as I pull myself back together and some semblance of normalcy. Grief really is a bastard.


Filed under diaryish., Factual, Personal, Uncategorized

Peace shattered

Chapter 2

For a split second I wondered why a stranger sitting on my garden bench in my garden was telling me to be quiet. Fortunately my brain rushed ahead of my mouth and I realised that perhaps this stranger was warning me that I might be in danger.

He nodded almost imperceptibly as if he had heard my rapid thought process. It was at that moment another realisation also landed in my mind. He wasn’t looking directly at me. He was looking over my shoulder. Now I wasn’t sure if he was warning me because he’d seen something or someone over my shoulder, or if he was warning someone behind me to be quiet.

My fight flight response kicked in again and I spun round ready to take on whoever might be there. I wondered if the stranger in the garden had created the noise moments ago to distract my attention whilst an accomplice cleaned the house out of anything of value.

I was sure my suspicions were confirmed when I thought I saw a shadow disappearing through the door which connected the kitchen to the living room.

I gave chase.

Nothing in the kitchen had been touched. ‘He could have done the washing up on his way through,’ I muttered jokingly to try to lighten my anxiety.

In the living room everything was exactly as I had left it. My mug of now cold tea was sitting on the coffee table beside the plate with a couple of hobnobs. ‘At least he didn’t steal those.’ Another attempt at lightening the stress.

Rushing into the hallway I noticed my mobile was still where I had left It and the mug of loose change on the desk was also untouched.

Sticking my head into the office, which doubled as an infrequent guest room, I could see the laptop was still there, and as far as I could tell nothing was amiss in this room either.

Rushing on to the bedroom I was thankful my home was just a small one and that this would be the last room I needed to check.

I rounded the door breathing heavily. The cats, who had now forgotten what had sent them fleeing for sanctuary in the first place, were all cosily sitting on the bed cleaning themselves and each other. They gave me a cursory glance and continued with their ablutions. It was nowhere near dinner time so why should they worry?

Turning to leave the bedroom I wondered what was going on. I hoped the stranger in the garden might be able to shed some light on the afternoon’s excitement and headed back down the hallway.

As I passed the bathroom I was suddenly aware of my stupidity; I hadn’t checked in there, and the door was closed. Unless I had guests I rarely closed the bathroom door. I felt my heart speed up as I threw the it open only to see my confused face looking back at me. It too was empty: the bathroom that is, not my face.

“Sod this!” I exclaimed marching back through the flat. “Someone’s got some explaining to do.”

Back in the garden I was once again alone. “Where the?… what the…?” I asked aloud, using a couple of my favourite phrases.

The stranger had gone leaving no trace of his ever being there. It was at this point, and not for the first or last time, that I wondered if I was losing my marbles.

I went up to the now empty bench intending to sit and think a moment to try and process the goings on of the last few minutes. As I sat I spotted something written in the dust on the side of the bench where the stranger had been sitting. It simply said, “I’ll be back.”

“Very bloody Schwarzenegger,” I grumped as I rubbed the words out.


Filed under Uncategorized

Peace shattered

Chapter One

The hours between three thirty and six thirty are perhaps my favourite ones of the day. I think of them as the quiet hours, and as my quiet time. I like nothing better than once having made myself a nice cup of Earl Grey to recline on the sofa with a chocolate hobnob and sip said tea.

Once I have settled, one of my family of cats usually joins me and on this day Pumpkin, one of the older statesmen of the family, was gently purring whilst curled in a fluffy ball on my lap.

At this time of day the interference of sound is minimal. Sitting, relaxing, imbibing, this afternoon all I could hear was the gentle tick of the clock above the television cabinet and the occasional sound of the distant traffic passing by our little town on its way to wherever.

Just as I closed my eyes to savour another sip of my recently brewed cup there was an almighty crash in the garden the likes of which I hadn’t heard before. It caused pumpkin to fly off my legs into the air leaving his claw imprints through my jeans, I could tell I had been bloodied again. Meanwhile the other cats all ran towards the guest room and sanctuary. Button, the youngest kitten, was the last to fly by as he speeded over the living room tiles like a thing possessed.

My immediate thought was that Button was indeed the cause of this almighty crash and that he had brought something down with his very usual antics.

“What have you done now, Button Mutton?” I asked as he disappeared from sight to join the others.

I set my cup on the coffee table and moved towards the garden.

On arrival in our little corner of paradise I was more than surprised and shocked to see a young man sitting on the bench in the arbour. From the perplexed look on his face He was just as surprised to see me, or perhaps had been startled by whatever had happened moments before.

My outrage at finding someone sitting in our garden had been tempered by the surprise of finding the young man and by the way he was dressed. His clothes looked more like the sort of things my dad would have worn at least 30 years earlier than what a young man would be wearing in this day and age.

I wanted to know what he was doing sitting there, how he had got there, and if he knew what had caused the almighty crash of previous mention. All I said was “Hi.”

In reply he waved noncomittally, while regarding me as if I were the interloper.

“What are…” I began to form one of my questions, only to be silenced by the look of horror he sent my way as he placed a finger to his lips in the international sign language meaning ‘be quiet’.


Filed under Uncategorized