Sunday

Walking in the morning:

Walking in the afternoon:

An intriguing flash of red amidst the mossy green.

Scarlet Elf Cup fungus (thank you, Rose)

And being looked at:

(Mo from next door)

Have a good week!

There and back again

She's back.

Yesterday I collected Tricia (my boarding school friend since we were 14 years old) from the station, to stay for her final fortnight before returning briefly to the North East, then departing for her own home in Australia.

Today we went to Porlock Weir. The weather changed rapidly.

We got very wet.

After a comforting lunch in Porlock, the dogs snoozing in the steamed-up car, the weather changed again, and off we went up Dunkery Hill.

Tricia dreams of spotting a stag, but no such luck today.

Too cold and windy for that trek up to the beacon itself, so we came home the scenic way (is there any other?) via Wootton Courtenay.

There were lambs in the fields.

And at Bratton, the teeniest ford with the teeniest footbridge.

But despite the blue skies, we came home chilled....

And did this:

Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh...............

Grumble grumble

It's grey and dull out there, rather like me.

I'm just in the mood for a good moan; I shall do it in a whiney querulous voice that is designed to grate upon the ear. Stand by.

Why am I getting so many spam comments, many in Russian or Polish?
Why does everyone suddenly seem to have weird and difficult word verification boxes on their comment forms?
Alice didn't know she had one. Do I have one?
If I do, why doesn't it screen out the Russian and Polish robots?
How do you get rid of it?
Why is new improved Blogger so horrible?
Why have so many of my Followed blogs disappeared from my list?
Where are my own Followers?
Why was Scooter dipping his paw into the pond this morning?
Why was the tiny mouse, that I rescued alive and well from under the dresser last night, found dead in the hall this morning?
Why is it so hard to re-set the electronic bathroom scales after we messed them up trying to weigh my sister's suitcase?
Why couldn't she or I do the most basic maths when trying to convert her weight plus a suitcase - in pounds - to the suitcase minus her weight - in kilos? So much for a moderately expensive education.
Why won't the mammoth pile of clean laundry transform itself from Ironing to Ironed?
Why have I put on all the weight I recently lost? Oops, I know the reason* for that one; ignore.

There's more. I shall spare you.

I think I have Februaryitis. Today, I would really, really, really like a warm sunny day to sit out in.

But instead....

* yes, a clue

Joining in

I've done it at last, after years of talking about it  - I've been to a Women's Institute meeting.

I've mentioned the WI before, when I accidentally missed last month's meeting. In her comment then, Lucille mentioned 'Jam and Jerusalem', a gem of a BBC tv series that, somehow, I had always missed. After a bit of Youtubing to find clips from the series, and laughing helplessly throughout, I acquired the entire series. So I went well-prepared for my introduction, secretly hoping that it would be just like Clatterford's Women's Guild.

I went only as a no-obligation Visitor, you understand, encouraged by a lovely neighbour who is on t'Committee. My sister Anne came too, as a Visitor's visitor, I suppose.

We were warmly welcomed, and were found seats in the midst of probably 40 other women. At first, we thought that we were the youngest there - certainly outnumbered by white and grey heads and many tidy shampoo-and-sets - until a younger woman in jeans seized on a chair beside us.

And I loved it all: the friendly warmth, the small comfortable agenda, the lively speaker, a local farmer (sheep milking, restoration of the local deer park, with a hugely informative little digression on the Government-planned badger cull), the attentive responsive audience who asked intelligent questions - to the poor man's evident relief. The little handmade posies for all with a birthday that month, the tea, the cake, the consternation caused by my request for a cup of tea with very little milk, and Anne's request for coffee with lots of milk, the way the door creaked loudly, betraying every latecomer. The three elderly ladies who chatted audibly throughout the vote of thanks, quite oblivious to all the "Ssshhhh!"-ing, the competition (theme 'Belgium' -  winning entry a bowl of Brussels sprouts), the positivity, forward-thinking and energy that belied the average age range.

'Jerusalem' wasn't sung. Phew, what a relief.

And am I going to join? You bet.

I've already been co-opted (by the younger woman in jeans, and several others) onto the skittles group that's meeting next week in my local pub. Being completely clueless, I'm assured, doesn't matter in the least.

Next month's competition theme: Canada. I'll report back.

The visited

Never mind the details of my sister's most welcome visit; never mind the beautiful weather, the walks, the trips to lovely places, the enormous amount of pretty things she bought for her home in Glasgow or the cosy clothes for herself. Never mind the missed flight home, because of the long, long, slow queues of half-term-getaway families at the 'speedy' check-in desk that she reached too late, her gate having closed. Online check-in only works up to a point, when the baggage handover desk isn't clogged by similarly well-organised travellers expecting efficiency from their airline.

Never mind my pleasure at having her to stay, to see and love my house and its location. Never mind my amusement as how - entirely predictably, her lack of any sense of direction being legendary - she found herself in the hall every time she tried to go upstairs.

No, the highlights for the team were the generosity with which she shared food: the ingredients of a fish pie, her liberality with large prawns, the real possibility that every time the fridge door was opened, something delicious would be offered to the crowd of greedy little faces clustered round her ankles. Scooter was transformed.

It was the prawns (which I dislike, so rarely buy), not the German sausage, or the salami that did it (and no, the sausage wasn't for the fish pie, sillies). Scooter stopped scooting, and became bolder. He moved out from under the sofa. Shopping bag games paled into insignificance. The prawn fairy had arrived.

He watched. He begged. He waited. He was rarely disappointed.

A surfeit of prawns one evening turned him into a whirling dervish, bouncing excitedly round the room, over the furniture - where had our timid little Scooter gone?

And then, the prawn fairy having finally got a flight home, to my astonishment (and consternation) Scooter decided with his new confidence and increased visibility that he too must go for walks with the dogs, Millie, Lottie and me.

And so my reputation as mad cat lady is firmly established. I now lead a furry procession up the street: Flossie and I in front, Floss trying hard not to pull eagerly on her lead, Tosca trailing behind, reluctance written all over her, Lottie trotting daintily, her long hair flapping like an 80s rock band's lead singer, Millie leaping and bouncing alongside, and a little way behind, a round black cat, yowling piteously, scared, but determined to come with us. Scooter the Bold.

A reflective cat-collar is on today's shopping list for this new companion. I'll need to stock up on prawns, I think, so that I can catch hold of him to put it on....

Note: Hamish remains scared of everything, prawns included, although a slice of German sausage will be accepted quietly. He cannot be encouraged to bounce; no furniture-bombing or hill-strolling for that little cat. I haven't found his sociability trigger yet. Perhaps I shouldn't try - a straggle of two dogs and four cats walking up the hill is probably more than my nerves can endure. And Catkin? Ah well.....

Coming soon

...to a blog near you: My Sister Visits Me In Somerset, or How Scooter Became Addicted to Prawns.

It's been a busy and eventful week having her to stay. Too tired now, though, after today's long journey to and from airport, where said sister arrived in good time for her flight home to Glasgow and still managed to miss it.

Shelagh has complained that she is sick of seeing only the previous post, implying that I am an idle slacker of a blogger and that it was time I got something up on the page. So for now, here is the saintly sister, encouraging a filthy muddy labrador to clean up in the sea - not that much encouragement was required - and tottering bravely over miles of rocks and boulders to reach it.

And tottering all the way back again.

Next time: the addictive properties of prawns, or Scooter's personality change.

Painter in the house

No, it wasn't me. I loathe painting, and am very bad at it, mostly because I can't be bothered to do it properly. All that sanding, and priming, and filling in holes, all that brush cleaning, and all that actual painting too! Awful.

So a real painter did it for me, in eggshell. I chose the colour - not that this is the colour I thought it would be, you  know. I find that I've chosen a real old-lady pinky-cream. And I find that I really like it.

Next: the rest of the orange knotty pine is getting painted: two small chests of drawers and the bed headboard. The bedspread will move to the guest bedroom, which needs a bit of a splash of colour, to be replaced with something plainer for my bed; not sure what* yet. But Lottie needs it just now.

* lovely cashmere throw, delicious jewel-coloured velvet quilt, vintage patchwork, ruched silk? You must be kidding. Something that can get chucked in the washing machine every week - at least two cats will share it with me!

The light is gloomy in there today - it's snowing.

Well, of course it's snowing - on Tuesday my sister is coming to stay - first time she'll have seen the cottage. Hopefully, she'll have less trouble arriving than the last time she decided on a winter visit to me, but my fingers are crossed already.

Joiner in the house

Arrived, built exactly the cupboard I wanted, and went away.

The inspector arrived (see inspectorial tail disappearing inside door).

Was thorough.

Approved.

Next: painter in the house.

Off to choose colours now. Why do I get all the hard jobs?