Written for Fandango’s Dog Days


I am quite excited about September actually. Suddenly, my writing has perked up, and I am busy writing a book (yes,I really HAVE got going this time!) submitting poetry to various places, and still blogging. My blogging has decreased a little bit, lately, however so I want to get back to “normal’ again. I have decided I need a secretary as I seem to get a lot of emails to answer lately from friends in different parts of the world.

I hope to nurture one or two nice friendships that have developed lately. My aim ultimately is to move out from the town and into the countryside, preferably nearer to the little church where we go most days, and where we have found some new friends. I suspect this will prove to be impossible but I can dream!

I also want to do some more research on the history of the little church.

I think that is about it, but who knows what might happen.

#FOWC. Hunter

HUNTER- that was her last name now. I can’t even remember her former name, before she was married, in those days when she ridiculed and bullied me and made me feel embarrassed at my stupidity, and small. Yes, I felt hunted. So it seemed quite appropriate that she should now be called Hunter.

It’s strange how things happen. There was this group of girls who always used to be waiting for the bus to go to school in a morning. They were at the “big school,” the green school as it was known, taking its name from the colour of its uniform. I wore purple. A purple coat, for I was not yet at the green school, though I hoped to be one day. They never spoke to me, though they knew I was there. A year older than me, they were.

Then, one day, I was at the bus stop, and had changed colour. I was green too. It was my first day at the big school. For the first time the girls spoke to me. They welcomed me into their circle. But there was something about one of them that made me feel on edge. Outwardly she seemed nice enough, but I could sense something underneath that was not quite nice. I feared her.

Indeed, I was right to do so. She began to tease me relentlessly, play jokes on me, make statements that had two meanings, and I never knew which one was correct. This put me off balance, making it easy for her to then ridicule me.

Thing was, she went to church. Appeared good. I went too, invited by the other girls to the Youth Club. They seemed so friendly. Apart from that one, that is. The Hunter. Though even she was able to put on a bit of a show. No one would have known what she was doing to me. Not really. Only I knew what she was doing and getting at when she disarmed me with her talk.

One day the Hunter told me to go to the Staff Room and get a staff. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I didn’t “get” jokes very well, my family never using jokes at all. We were quite a sombre family actually. Everything was deadly serious. So when she told me to go to the Staff Room to get a staff, I really thought she meant for me to go to the staff room and get a staff – one such as my grandad had on the farm. The one he carried everywhere and leaned on all the time.

So, there I was at the Staff Room door , only to find a message on the door saying that we should only knock on the Staff Room doir in case of “dire ear necessity.” It had originally said “dire necessity” but some goon had inserted the word “ear”.

I was flummoxed. How could I get a staff when I could not knock at the door because I did not have dire ear?

I stood for a moment, then left, staffless. When I got on the bus to go home, there she was, the Hunter, smirking at me.

Strangely, my grandfather is dead now, and I have his staff in my bedroom. And no Hunter woman to rib and tease me.


Autumn is almost upon us. There is beginning to be a bit of a chill in the air, and some of the leaves on the trees are beginning to turn tellow. Here is a poem inspired by autumn

The days are growing shorter, darkness falls,
Wrapping its tendrils around my body,
As they tighten their grip a lone bird calls,
Piercing my heart with its stark melody,
Dead leaves crackle their life now is over,
The bird sings again its funeral song,
Like that of a dying, anguished lover,
Knowing the joy that was is now gone,
As the bird reaches its beak to the sky,
Stars start to twinkle and dance in the night,
A nightingale sings, its song rises high,
Out of the darkness has come a great light,
The spell is broken, i know I will live,


I think I have posted this before, but it feels good for today:

Look to
The light, the stars,
The sun and the moon shine
Never can darkness quench their light
The bars
Of your prison cannot stop them
Turn your face, shine
With them


It’s like saying “Goodbye world,”
Going blind,
A fading,
A waning,
A disappearing,
Trying to hang on,
You find yourself losing your grasp,
No control,
Let go,
Say “Goodbye,”
Even voices become fainter,
People you know
You know no more
And they don’t know
But hang on
You have a new world
A new world glowing
In the dark.
Hello new world.


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When the world talks
There is a loud clanging
Of emptiness
Disguised as fullness
Leaving me hungry
I crave that which satisfies the soul’s longing
Which can only be found in solitude
Take me to the wild places
Oh wind
Where I can be alone with my soul
Where I can eat and drink
Of Nature’s fullness
Let the wild wind laugh
And let me laugh with it
Let us roll around in joy
Dancing with the clouds
Until the sun sets
And night comes
Then let us rest in peace
In the arms of the dark


I opened to you my heart
Upon your invitation
But once again
I got it wrong
For your words were false
The mask you wore has slipped
And now I know
Your real self
Which wanted only
A scapegoat
Someone to blame
And over all
The desire
For power
You the dictator
Crushed underfoot
A person in grief
Much smaller than you
You the one with the power
I with nothing
You used me
And abused me

HOW SAD – virus and human contact

I met someone the other week. It was at my little church. She just “arrived,” out of the blue. Her name was Candy. She started talking to me. Said she had found the place the other day whilst on a bike ride, and felt “drawn” to it. She wanted to go inside, but it was locked. She felt there was a message inside for her. She wasn’t a “believer,” she said. Yet she did feel there was a message inside for her. She wanted to know if the church was ever open. I was able to tell her when it would be open, but that I would probably be there too, as I feel the place is so special as well. We both felt drawn to the history of the church, and the stories of the souls that have gone before. It is one of those thin space places.

Candy and I seemed to have a lot in common. We both felt we had been drawn together.

Although we had arranged to meet the next time the church was open, Candy did not turn up. I thought that was the end of it.

However, yesterday, I was just sitting there quietly in the church, thinking about life and all sorts of things,when I heard someone come in, and a voice shouted out,

“Hi, it’s Candy.”

Sitting down at the very back of the church, (I was at the front) she assured me that she had her mask on.

We sat, and we talked – or rather, SHE talked. She talked about how wonderful the place was, and said that it was a time drop. It is true. It IS.

But then an amazing thing happened. She asked if I minded if she came close to me as she had something to give to me. At the time I didn’t worry, as it was such a kind act. She had brought me a gift. She said that if I hadn’t been there she was going to leave the gift on the altar and text to say it was there for when I next went in,

It turned out to be a piece of polished rose pink quartz in the shape of a heart. She said it was to put under my pillow as it had the property of stimulating creativeness and imagination, and it was for my writing. Amazing! I had only spoken to her for about twenty minutes that first day, she hardly knew me, yet here she was giving me this beautiful gift that was so thoughtfully chosen.

How sad that this morning I had to worry about the damned virus. She had not socially distanced in the end. She had touched me. She had placed something in my hand that for all I knew, could have the virus on it.

I will try to not think of that. WHAT a world we are living in at the moment. Candy wants to meet me again inside the church, next week. How awful that I will be worrying about human contact and the virus.


The light is dwindling in my life but there is still some light left.

As I sit here
With the mist going over the sun
A mist is going over my life.
Even through the mist
We can still see
And soon our sight will be clearer.


I saw
Demons today
In your cold eyes haunted
By tortured past tormenting you
Sending you completely insane
Never letting you go
Neither you them

They come
Out of your mouth
Spitting out vile mockings
Rending the night air asunder
In hypnotic chaotic trance
I become mesmerised
Join in the dance
With you


When death comes it creeps
As if not wanting to be seen
Silently it wends its way
In many different attires
Bringing you to your knees
Never speaking its name
Or is it you
That does not want to speak its name
For fear of rousing it
To speak it is to know it
But you do not want to know
And yet……….
Deep inside you know its name
Know it is coming
The one thing that you cannot win over
The one thing that you cannot control
And oh, how you have controlled, all your life
But now is the big showdown
And we all know who will win



Cheryl surveyed the scene out of the kitchen window, lost in a reverie about what she might do today. Suddenly, there was a loud “POP” and she spun round to see toast flying out of the toaster and up into the air. Deftly, and with a bit of a leap, she caught it.

“Phew, that’s a strong toaster,” she thought. “I think I’ll go back to my old one.”

It wasn’t exactly her day. She attempted to fill the kettle from the MIXER taps but for some reason no water came out, or at least, it was only a trickle. At that point she received a text from the Water Board announcing that the water in her area was going to be off for a while. Sighing, she turned to the fridge, to get a drink of milk, and in the process knocked a jar of her favourite GARNISH onto the floor where it promptly broke.

Cheryl wondered whether she ought to go back to bed for a while, and then start all over again!


“Dying is not extraneous to life; it is a part of the mystery, and we do not understand life until we stand under death.” —Richard Rohr

I read the above quote this morning, and for me, it was one of those “Aha” moments, where I “saw” everything as it really is. That quote was followed by a longer Article that put it exactly as it is, and that gave back to me the confidence that so many people, over the past couple of years or more, have succeeded in knocking out of me. These people are Conformists. People who are stuck in their ideas, who don’t want to move and rock the boat. People who want to hang onto their own religious ideas, and stay safe in the boat of conformity.

Seven years ago, I stood under death. At that time I “saw” like I have never seen before. It was an ecstatic moment. I received the Last Rites, and in that moment was the most joyful that I have ever been in my life. I and the person who did the Last Rites were both smiling, as she anointed me with oil for my journey.

In fact, as you will realise, I did not die. I am alive! Though “blessed” with blindness and an inability to walk, lung problems, and various other issues, I can “see” so much that I could never see before. I am living “on the edge,” and from this position “on the edge” i have purer sight.

I used to write from the standpoint of this purer sight, until the buffoons who have been in my life tried to do me down and make me conform to their ideas. I was always a rebel, and that remained part of me. But they didn’t like that. They just HAD to categorise me and suppress me. This led to all kinds of difficulties, as I was seen as a “case” for them to “help.” Well of course, that helped them far more than it helped me, because it boosted their egos and made them feel superior and good. Whilst I was branded as the one in need of “help.” Help to do WHAT? Yes, to conform. To be a good little girl and knuckle under.

In some ways they achieved their aims. I became submerged. Their power systems worked. But only to an extent. The real Lorraine was still there, fighting fit, despite crippling disabilities. But I became very very depressed at times, and unhappy. If ever I felt happy, they made sure that my happiness was taken away as they tried to impose their world, the world of the fit and healthy, and THEIR systems upon me. They did not talk my language and I did not talk theirs. This led, for me, to isolation. Then we got the pandemic, which led to an even greater isolation for, and within me. It got bad. Black days ensued. VERY black days.

But now, this morning, upon reading that Article, I realised my own strength and power and inner sight. It truly was an “Aha” moment.

I have spoken many times about writing a book. Sometimes I have thought it should be a book about my life, or an historical book about the little church that I go to, or my grandparents’ farm, but when I tried to write those books it did not work for long. But NOW, I am writing a book on disability, and particularly on blindness and the treasures contained therein. I have been writing it for a while now, and this one is NOT drying up. It is hard going. But this morning I got just the boost that I needed. The knowledge that I was okay. That my insights were correct and had value. The knowledge that however “on the edge” my ideas are, they have value, and more so than if I were living my life at the “centre.”

And so, to all the buffoons in my life, I say, “Get thee behind me.” They have no place in my life.

And to those who want to stay with me, I say, “Welcome to life on the edge. It’s great here.”


Dance to the rhythm of your soul
Chance your life in abandonment
Lance all your fears let them all go
Enhance your world in the energy flow

Throw off the things that hold you back
Go to the place that’s really you
Grow in stature don’t let them win
Show your demons what you can do

Sandman’s Q&A

  1. What is the last meal you ate?

Chicken breasts with roast potatoes and veggies

  1. What is your favourite sort of cake?

Lemon loaf cake

  1. Have you ever slept rough?

Yes, in a school porch.

  1. Earphones or headphones?

Headphones. Stops my head dropping off.

  1. What is the most X rated thing you have done?

Kissed Freddie Starr on the cheek and guven him a big bear hug at Buxton Opera House.

Sent from my iPad


Today the sadness lies heavy in my heart
Detached from the world I live
Knowing as I have always known
That between me and the world there is a veil
Beyond which no one can go
What would it take to tear down the veil?
A cataclysmic event
But my heart tells me what my eyes can’t
That this is forever
Forever I must be alone behind this veil
In isolation that takes away my humanity
And yours
Today I cry for what was
And never can be again
And over and over again I hear you say
I cannot help you because you are blind
When all you need to do
Is walk alongside me
It would be enough
To break my isolation


It is Harvest time here. Lovely memories but sad that those days have gone.

White wheat
Fills the far field
Like the fields of childhood
Merging into the dark grey sky
Tears fall
With a grief long unrecognised
For Celebration Days
Of purest gold
Once known


I am angry. Yeah, me, angry. Not something normal for me!

But, I am angry.

NEVER judge a person unless you have walked in their shoes!

I have said this before, and I will say it again.

I have come into NO judgement from all you wonderful people in WordPress. You people are the salt of the earth.

I have received emails today, from those who are supposed to be Shepherds of the Flock, Leaders of the Established Church, who have told me that I am not letting the Light of Christ into my life. That I have to open my heart to Jesus. The tone of the emails was pejorative. I am smarting from this. In fact I can hardly speak of it or function. I feel incensed, and there is not a thing I can do about it except walk away and delete the emails. That, I will do.

But perhaps it would have been better if those people had come down off their high horse, to where I and many others are, and stop crowing about their own problems and issues when they go out on daily bike rides, meals out, etc. Who are they to judge me?

I feel that I need to re-assess my life, and lick my wounds a bit. Hmmmm.


I had a strange but horrible nightmare the other night. I know that it related to an event in my life. I wrote a piece on it, but need a safe place to post it. It would have to have a Trigger warning on it. It might help some people to understand what can happen. Not sure where or how to post it but might post it on another blog in WP that I had before this one. Then people can choose whether to read it or not. I’ll let you know if I post it. And if you want me to post it, please let me know. I am still thinking about it.



Forsooth, I ne’er must eat blue cheese again,
However coquettishly it doth wink,
E’en if it says to me its name is Bren,
It ne’er again will bring me to the brink,
Ne’er have I forgot its wondrous smooth curves,
Blue veins forming a perfect labyrinth,
No man on earth such fire doth he deserve,
Yet hark, I hear it calling from its plinth,
Forsooth, it surely speaks my name – “Derek”,
“Come hither Derek, place me in your mouth,
Hear now, I swear I’ll drive you almost manic,
There is no better cheese made in the South.”
Ho, there is nothing now that I can do,
She always said I was a silly moo.

#FOWC. Wanderlust

I think I must have got it from my mother. WANDERLUST I mean. I have often wondered why I found myself in Harrogate eating chocolate ginger when I should have been sitting in lectures in College in Bradford. It was those names on the front of buses that did it. I just had to try them all out. The places I mean. I just couldn’t resist.

I think I vaguely remember going to Harrogate with my mother, and going to the shop that sold chocolate ginger. She was a right one for chocolate ginger, my mother. And she was a right one for moving house too. Every bloody six months. No wonder I can’t do Maths. I mean, what do you expect when you get to a new school and they’re doing decimals and you are still stuck on fractions. I gave up at that point. Not that my mother did. Got excited at the thoughts of moving to a new place. Even when we finally settled in the same town, she had to keep moving. Up and down that bloody hill. They used to tease her that she was wearing that bit of road out. She didn’t take too kindly to that. She never was good at taking jokes, my mother.

I’ve always wanted to wander free. Not be caged in. Sleeping in fields. You know, that sort of thing.

“The best people sleep under hedges.”

That’s what my cousin David used to say. And he was right. Then he buggered off to Holland. No one ever knew where he went. Waved him off on the boat from Hull and that was it. He might be in a monastery now for all we know. He had stayed with the monks one time when he was down on his luck. Maybe the hedges in Holland weren’t any good. Or maybe there aren’t any in Holland. Well he certainly had the wanderlust too.

My Dad wasn’t too bad at it either. Mind, he always got lost anyway. Couldn’t find his way from one street to another even in Blackpool. Abroad would certainly have taxed him. He’d probably have ended up in the red light district. Just like my Mum did. But that’s a whole other story of wanderlust getting the better of you.

Yeah, I’ve got a bit of the wanderlust. See you in Timbuctoo.


A bit of a scary night tonight.

We have been going to the little church all of last week, and gradually I had been feeling more comfortable about getting out of the car, sitting on the seat in the beautiful grounds, and talking to people who rolled up.

Just tonight our government has started to identify and make known areas where there have been Covid cases found in the last week. Wouldn’t you just know it – our little church is in such an area. It is only a small area, and very rural. Houses well spaced out. But still some cases there.

Quite a few people do go and sit on the seat where I have sat a few times. So now, I intend just to stay in the car! That man who was coughing his guts up the other day did come from one of the named areas, for we saw him leaving his house as we drove by. So now, a stop has been put to our little game! But rather safe than sorry. Still sad though.


Christine stood there looking superior, as she leaned against the school wall. She was tall and thin, neatly dressed as usual, with her hair in a tidy bob. Surrounded by a group of girls, she was heard to say, quite plainly, “I like Elvis.”

Jill looked at Christine in shocked surprise. Christine had always, before, proclaimed fiercely her loyalty to Cliff. Most of the girls liked Elvis, and you were either in one group or the other, Elvis being the more raunchy choice. Cliff was seen as clean cut, and the choice of the “nicer” girls.

For some reason Jill’s hackles rose, at this sudden, unexpected turn of events.

“But you like Cliff,” she spat out at Christine. Incensed, Christine spat back,

“Don’t you tell me who I like. I know who I like.”

Jill felt betrayed. Always, she had felt Christine to be on her side, in defending Cliff, against the more aggressively sexual Elvis. It was a matter of morals and decency to Jill. But here was Christine, going over onto the other side. She knew Christine well. Well enough to know that she had done this to find acceptance amongst the other girls. It was more hip to like Elvis, and Christine was not going to be seen as a whimp.

Jill’s eyes began to flash, and she moved towards Christine aggressively. All the other girls looked on in shock, as Jill suddenly started to go for Christine, clawing at her with her nails, and drawing blood. Then, she started to pull at Christine’s hair, until it came out in great clumps.

Christine fought back, until there were clumps of hair, and blood everywhere.

“I’ll FINISH you off,” yelled out the usually pristine Christine. “Don’t you ever tell me who I like again.”

(This tells you my age lol)



Hermione looked at the GIN bottle. She’d been the Lady of the House for far too long. Lost in a drunken haze she’d been hospitalised many times. But nothing seemed to work for her. George lived his own life – the high life usually. Sometimes she accompanied him, but often not. He enjoyed his Gentlemen’s Clubs, and really, they rarely met up now.

Boredom was the real problem. She didn’t really have to do anything for herself. Her brain was never taxed either. It seemed as if all her thinking was done for her. And so, the gin bottle had become her friend.

Suddenly, she was overcome. What the hell was she doing? How had life come to be like this? In a gust of rebellion she put on some old jeans, scraped her hair back into a pony tail, found some old boots, and made her way out of the back door to the old Chapel where all the gardeners hung out. The Chapel had been used forr religious purposes in the past, but now it was just a workshop cum meeting place for the gardeners, groundsmen and whoever else cared to join them

Approaching the building, she could see that there were four or five men in there, and she could smell the unmistakable smell of tobacco smoke wafting out of the open door. Great guffaws were coming towards her on the air waves, and her heart almost missed a beat. This was Life. A Life she had never experienced before, but which she was about to experience for the first of many times.

As she approached the building the men suddenly became aware of her presence, and all went quiet.

“Can I help you Maam?” inquired one of the men in shocked surprise.

“I hope so,” replied Hermione. “I’m sick of life up there in the House. “I want a taste of the real stuff.”

Jim let out a huge guffaw. “Well you’ve come to the right place then. Mind, you’ll have to excuse our language. Take us as you find us.”

“Oh, I’ll do that alright,” said Hermione.

Then, she spied in a corner cans of BEER.

“How about starting off by giving me one of those,” she said, pointing to the beer.

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer SHANDY?” asked one of the men.

“Oh no,” she replied. I need the real stuff.”

And soon, there she was, laughing and guffawing with the rest of them. Like one of the lads.

“This is the life,” she thought to herself, and in her mind, turned her back on the high life for ever.

Written for FDDA

My routine s quite boring really, although if you were actually with me, you would end up laughing.

So, I wake, usually feeling shit, but by the time I have gone nto my blog to bring myself round I am feeling much much better.

I don’t usually get breakfast until halfway through the morning although sometimes I don’t get it until lunch time. I spend the morning writing, posting, and reading other people’s blogs.

Around 2 p.m. we load everything but the kitchen sink into the car, including the dog, and set off out somewhere. Being a child of the earth, I love to go out into the countryside somewhere, where I can feel the sun (if there is any) and the wind on my face. The rain too, if there is any.

After we have found a spot where we can sit, I get my phone out and check my blog, then I start recording into my phone my impressions of where we are, and my observations and feelings. I try to listen to the silence, if there is any.

The dog has a picnic! This consists of cheese biscuits, which she loves, and the she gets out of the car for a wander. Sometimes we have a bit of a picnic too.

The going home bit is usually interesting if not hysterical, because I usually start singing, laughing, and being generally stupid and cracking jokes. This is the time when I am most awake in the day. It is a good time. It tends to get rather noisy in the car at this stage. The dog usually tries to come forwards in the car to see what is going on.

After that I calm down a bit, and sometimes put Tibetan Healing Music on on my phone. It is so relaxing.

When we get home hubby does dinner, then sometimes we will go out again to watch the sunset (the one thing I can still see) or we will just talk. Bedtime is usually around midnight, but sometimes I am back on my blog again, or reading other people’s blogs. And that’s it. Not very interesting reallly but with some fun bits in.


There was a time when hills were just hills,
They had no meaning, they just were,
Until the day they became mysterious,
Sometimes dark, sometimes light,
Enticing, entrancing, beckoning,
What wonders did they hide?

Enfolded within them, I wanted to hide,
Be absorbed into those hills,
Their spirit seemed to be beckoning,
From wherever they were,
Within their darkness I knew there was light,
Something so mysterious.

Life to me was mysterious,
So often I’d wanted to hide,
Shrink back from the light,
Now I’d found the hills,
In this new place where we were,
Gently they were beckoning.

Why would they be beckoning?
This to me was mysterious,
Standing where we were,
I no longer wanted to hide,
Someone had given me the hills,
Secreting their everlasting light.

I was now drawn to that light,
As I felt it beckoning,
I knew there was glory in those hills,
A glory so mysterious,
That they never truly could hide,
It fell wherever we were.

And that was where we were,
Enfolded in their light,
Love bade us hide,
It was Love that was beckoning,
It was all so mysterious,
The glory of the hills.

One day I found the hills hiding their light,
I could see from where we were that they were beckoning,
Though it was so mysterious, in their glory I’d hide.


And so now here I stand
On the edge of light
Waiting to know my fate
Will the glorious day dawn when I’ll see once again?

Which way will It go now?
I wait in silence
Deep in the heart of God
The mystery is held, I listen for its beat

Soon it will be revealed
On that day i’ll know
In dark or light I’ll stand
But wherever I fall I’ll know light eternal

BLOCK EDITOR! Never be defeated!

i have been forced into using the Block Editor! Tried very hard to get back to Classic Editor, but just couldn’t manage it with my sight problems. Hubby tried too, but it didn’t work. So here I am, using Block Editor – and succeeding. Wooo hooo. It seems that if I make sure I always write into another document, and then copy and paste, it works O.K.

TAKE SEVEN 14th August


Stella found herself to be always ALONE. Granted she was CHUBBY, but then so were many girls. It wasn’t easy though, when she got a crush on Jim. Tormented by her desire just to be with him, she wondered if she DARE make a move. She began to FLEX her brain, trying to think of ways in which she might manage this. Jim, unbeknown to himself was in the FRAME for an experience!

“That’s it,” Stella said to herself. “FRUIT.” Wasn’t that how Eve got Adam? She would go and wait for him outside the GYM where he went each night, and attempt to distract him from his antics with the GROUP he always left with. He always seemed so HAPPY, and that was partially why Stella was attracted to him. She had seen him angry one day, though, wielding a car JACK and muttering under his breath.

Stella was a great one for reading LITERATURE of all kinds, but romance was her favourite. She loved to read about a man with MUSCLE. Maybe one day she might take her PEN and write her own romance story. Of course, somewhere in it, someone would have to become PREGNANT either for the better or the worse, but she knew that to write a story she would have to stick to a fairly rigid REGIME. Writing was not easy. Certainly no piece of cake, and commitment was required. A bit like going to the gym every night!

The days recently had been so hot and sunny, but by the evening there would be plenty of nice, cooling SHADE Perfect for exchanging that first kiss.

Having hatched her plot, Stella waited outside the gym. Her hands felt STICKY with the heat. Even though the sun had almost gone now, it was still quite hot. The wait was TEDIOUS. Her imagination ran wild. She had in her hands a banana. In her opinion, everyone liked a banana, and especially when leaving the gym.

In her imagination, ideas grew. Perhaps they could kiss with their tongue, open mouthed. She had read and heard of that, but never had the opportunity to try it.

Things did not go WELL for Stella however. Jim emerged from the gym not with his usual group, but with a blithe young woman hanging onto his arm, and Stella recognised her as Eve, the heart throb of all the guys in her school. She hadn’t a chance against Eve.

Stella shuffled sadly away, comforting herself with her banana.

RDP Thursday


I sat in the church in my home village, waiting for the Harvest Festival Service to start. I had been visiting the village and just sitting, for a few weeks, trying to re-connect with my happy childhood times at my grandparents’ farm. I had just gone into remission from Stage 4 Hodgkins Lymphoma, a blood cancer that had nearly killed me. The chemotherapy had left me blind and wheelchair bound.

I found that I did not know who I was any more. Gone was the fit and active woman who cycled, ran, walked, and swam 30 lengths of the swimming pool each day, to be replaced by someone who needed help to do even the tiniest thing. I simply dud not know who I was now.

Over the weeks, I re-lived my happy times at the farm, especially the HARVEST time. My grandfather grew wheat and barley, as well as keeping herds of cattle and also many chickens who ran free in the fields, scratching around as chickens should. But harvest time was a great time of celebration and joy, as the wheat and barley was cut and made into stooks in the fields. My grandfather gave employment to many of the men in the village at this time. I too stooked the corn. It was an amazing feeling when I made my first stook. The sun was scorching hot, and everyone was mopping their brow.

It was like one great big party out in the fields, and my grandmother brought huge urns of tea into the fields along with plates and plates if sandwiches. All the men were laughing and joking, and some were singing. It was a most amazing time.

As the vicar stood at the back of the church waiting to process up, the organ started up, and we were all singing “We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land” except that I burst unto tears immediately. Those days were gone now, and my grandparents were dead, and here was I, blind and in a wheelchair.

It was kind of bittersweet, i loved the Harvest Festival, but grieved also for those wonderful days gone by, Farming is very different now to what it was then.