Wellington Boots

Clutching £70 I entered the Orvis to buy a pair of the lightweight Berghaus Wellies on display in the shop window. My other dog walking wellies are just so heavy, industrial, hard wearing wellies, the sort you see on farmers trudging through thick muddy fields. After walking Beth through woods, over fields, my legs ache. So, it was decided that I should buy some that were lightweight, hence my foray into Orvis, These are the cheapest wellies they sell, £64. Still expensive, but, I have wide feet

Inspiration from Dr John Conroy Clarke

Oh my goodness. What an evening of total madness and heavenly laughter. The joy of laughing, freely, albeit the NEWS – global, International and National – so miserable – and, there in the midst of this is Dr John Conroy Clarke. Punk Poet, professed Existentialist, to deliver the most hilarious interpretation of life, as it is, as now. Perfect – WHY isn’t he our PM? Such joy to listen to his views about it, and it. AND to learn he is an Aquarian. WOW. So am I.

Happiness is a good night out with the loveliest people to see and listen to the words of this punk poet, Dr John Conroy Clarke.

One of those brilliant days you remember.


Allotment time watering with Freddie, time to play on the Rec. DSCN4113.jpg

What can be better for a lad aged three, and a grandad aged – well, well over 60, to be running around and over the Rec with Beth, the dog, excited with it all.

The allotment, fecund with apples on espaliers, cordons and stepovers. DSCN4118 (1).jpg

With Freddie watering and picking under the guidance of grandad, and me, with Beth in the background, watching over her flock, DSCN4109.jpgwaiting for the chance to round them up, to play again. DSCN4112 (1).jpg

Grandma, watered by Freddie, slowly grows.

Life is beautiful when three, and seventy-three.

Doggy Dior

Which equals her human’s view  of exotic aroma – sheep shit. She rolled in ecstasy in sheep shit. Her total circumference of neck area was covered in a green, evil smelling to us, total joy to Beth, sheep dung. Plastered, hanging in thick droplets from her neck fur. And we were furthermost away from home, with a long walk back.

Doggy psychology doesn’t blame the dog. We apply this, and reward her need to come close to us with a ‘treat’ – to keep her away from us. No way do we want to make her feel she’s done anything wrong, so – we – very carefully warn people she approaches to avoid her – and DO NOT STROKE HER – though this has to be done sensitively – to ensure she is not upset and not done anything wrong.

We encouraged her to swim a lot in the Crimple Beck – and took her to our allotment to give her a ‘rewarding’ BIG WASH with our watering cans before taking her home, where she received a lovely warm water wash after a liberally applied ‘doggy shampoo.’

I feel a lot of ‘smiley’s’ should be added here. Thank God we don’t have three dogs = rolling sheep dung.

She’s asleep now on the sofa, so clean, and looking like the gorgeous angel she is to me. Love her to bits. She keeps me grounded to the reality of life. It’s really a load of shit – and there is doggy pleasure rolling in it.

Love my dog. Love life as it is. Love Jim. [He’s the human part in all of this.]

Then a frogs head popped up

Allotment lunacy, daren’t scatter

blue slug pellets at will,

or randomly around.

This hallowed ground

our plot this spot, still

is home to our resident frog, it matters

that his place isn’t poisoned by me.

Our site, space to others, ladybirds feeding

on brassicas, and my weeding

between bean flowers see apis mellifera.

Take care to not disturb that bee.

My Plot’s organic, nothing mechanic

nor toxic. To me

my allotment is hypnotic.

My place ‘to be.’