Keeping My Sanity And Other Good Things.
Thank you Dan Antion for finding the credit for this picture.

While our country tries to do this a different way (herd mentality). By hiding away the most vulnerable and letting the fittest go about their business. In hopes that they catch a mild dose, and recover. This will build some immunity, weaken the virus and hopefully we will have fewer deaths.

My oppinion is just that; my personal observations. Nothing, others have done so far has stopped it excelling or slowed the deaths, so someone needs to try a different route. Rather than criticising Boris and the science, I can at least see the reason for trying, after-all we are all blind, nobody has inside information, it is all trial and error. That’s out of the way now, how to do it!

We, the Husband and I have not stockpiled spaghetti, or even purchased an extra toilet roll. I refuse to be part of all the madness. If It is my turn to go … I will go while being me. Not a character from some apoplectic bad B movie stealing from the mouths of great-grandmothers. We, after all, have facilities better than they had (see below).

Grandmas dunny

Worst case scenario we die, best case we have a quiet time until the sunshines and I arrive in a bikini ready body. All because, I did not stuff myself with contraban and I hopefully have Kondoed the whole house. I would have scrubbed and spring cleaned every inch. caught up on my reading list. Spent time on my Dream author course and finished editing the next best seller and booker prize winner.

Stand out from the crowd!

I know, I could slob on the couch, eating, moaning and watching box sets. But who wants to go out of this world being that person? What a chance we have, to get given some unexpected free time. Let’s make the most of it, read to your partner, give each other back massages, tell filthy stories or make new ones. If you are on your own, indulge in pampering your skin, make things, read or watch or write beautiful stories. Challenge yourself to learning a new skill. Walk around in a moisturising face mask and one for your hair. Sing and dance to your favourite music. We can make the best of the weirdness that began in 2020. Be kind, be safe and find some goodness inside it all. Life is too wonderful to not. Xxx

What do you hope to get from your time at home? How will you cope? Leave me a comment.

While We All Remember Them.

Florence wears her poppy with pride.
Bloody Mary at the ready ,
fag a dangle from painted lips,
burgeoning breasts child bearing hips.
All a wobble; she waits for the last post.
Lips a tremble; as she drinks a silent toast.

Her eyes and demeanour belie her pain the most.
An orphan of war; his body unfound.
Buried deep beneath foreign ground.
For peace he fought and lost his life,
then suicide tore away his grieving wife.

Alone, eyes all a puddle, she stands. Two minutes never brings them back. Silently clasping her shaking hands.

While, we all remember them.

Do you think my attempt is too fickle for such a poignant rememberance? Leave me a comment its good to talk.

Thanks to the artist of Florence who holds full copyright, giffy for use of tumbling animation. Both poem and poppies are my own.

The Day I Met Mertyl.

Illminster high street, the market cross.

The rain hit hard it bounced back to soak my knees, I drew the neck of my jacket tighter, looking at my feet as I rushed for shelter. It was with a hefty bump that a body collided with mine. “Sorry dear did I hurt you?” The lady said. The woman in her late eighties I’d hazard a guess, had taken shelter in the same spot but from the other side of the market cross. Here I was, fit and healthy, a snip of a girl in comparison to this lady, and she was checking if I was okay; this was what was known as … good old British fortitude.
We sat to allow the worst of the rain to stop and Mertyl began to chat as she pulled a transparent polythene rain hat free of her fine white hair. In no time at all, with a little encouragement, we were in full swing chatting and reminiscing.
Mertyl’s memory took her back to nineteen forty one; the story that follows is the one she told.

“The American servicemen had come in , they were given some five pound notes for currency before they left and little else…  they were walking all the way down the Portland road in Weymouth, it is a very long road just under twenty miles long”. At this point Mertyl was gesticulating wildly, indicating the way they walked.  “There were no toilets and some of the men had just arrived on the sea planes after long journeys. Their pockets full of chocolate and large five pound notes; they were so much better off than our men. The yanks were weary and had still a long walk ahead of them.

An English officer gave directions and told them they could relieve themselves behind the munitions factory if they had to, but they must be discreet or they’d find themselves in jail.”
“Well dear, my husband was the postie, and he came home on his bike to tell the tale. He was ringing his bell and all of  a bother,  he couldn’t wait to tell me the. He said how they rushed behind the factory desperate to relieve themselves. There were no privies and they feared what the officer said about the English bobby. It was a good fifteen minutes more walk  before reaching the camp. Later that day my Percy returned to the factory where he found… My dear it is a little mucky.” She said, while wafting a lace trimmed handkerchief in front of her face.
I assured Mertyl it was okay I had heard mucky before. “Well dear you see they had no paper, the vegetation had been cleared for fear of fire behind the factory, and not even a dock leaf was in sight. Percy heard them say that they wiped their bums with the five pound notes, it was all they had, that was a lot of money you know. Five pounds could feed a family for a month in those days.” I nodded and made encouraging noises so she would continue.
“He tossed and turned all night, but before day break he put on his gardening gloves took some newspaper from the privy,  got on the bike and off he went.
When he came home, I couldn’t believe my eyes he had a roll of newspaper as fat as a pillow under his arm. I boiled a pot and he put warm water and sunlight soap in the tin bath.”
I asked if she was worried that the neighbours would see.
“My dear it wasn’t odd to have a bath in the back yard then, especially in the summer, but the stench of the mucky money against the warm suds made him heave. He cleaned all fifteen notes, smoothed them all out and once they were dry … well dear, we weren’t too proud we couldn’t afford to be.”

An Old white five pound note.

The rain stopped, she shook my hand and waved, tugged on her hat and disappeared into the day.


I am so pleased that I carry a notebook, and that It was on me that particular Saturday morning, when I met Mertyl .

The names have been changed but the story is as true as her memories allowed. The pictures are mine except the photograph of the lady, gratefully on loan from

“How many of you have been told extraordinary stories when you least expected.
Do you unexpectedly lure in the story tellers, the loonies on the bus, have you ever been shocked at what a stranger told you?” I’d love to hear your thoughts. And in-case you didn’t know it I just love to talk so jump in I will answer soonest.