Friday, 26 July 2013

Can you help...

I urgently need to locate some traces.
Along with burning my bra I desperately 
need some to kick over.

I don't know whether it's the weather,
but I'm all of a doodah.

Can't settle,
too lazy to do anything,
'Oh alright... Eat!'

I've suddenly had a brain-wave...
Before my passport photo needs replacing with
the phizog of the old crone that is now me.
I will take to the open road, rail-track and sky.

Aaron, a long time ago told me of a book he'd read
about a postman who on the cusp of retiring,
had a cunning plan.
He decided that the letters in the box he had just 
emptied for the final time,
he would deliver personally.
With that in mind...

Today, I think I'll iron my red spotty handkerchief,
locate a sturdy stick from the hedge and be off.
My itinerary will be as follows...
Derbyshire to walk and talk with Mr. YP,
he's in need of an old gal's wisdom.
I will then go to Trelawnyd, sneak into the
hen house and give Mr John Grey a 'lovely
surprise' on gathering his morning eggs.
Up to Stafford to see Viv; with the sturdy stick,
I will whack her.  I'll show her the meaning of
raw talent.  My only-child jealousy rides again!

From there off up to Jayne, who I think
is near the wild Northumberland coast.
Over the dye bath we can sit
comparing spells.
Weeing into a pot will fix our friendship,
 and act as a mordant for her latest batch
of loveliness.

Travelling down-country I will
call on Nilly and Mr N.
who knowing my luck will be at Ardingly.

Linc's next...  Afternoon tea, with home-made
dog biscuits, jam and cream. 
Made by a fragrant woman who resembles
Mary Archer with grey hair.
I will survey her garden and much against my better
judgement, advise on my newly emerging take on
 Roughty-Toughty Picturesque gardening. 

Elaine, will quickly get on the phone

to her bro, who on hearing I'm hoving to,
will instruct Gunnera, his valet to inform
Gladys, his wife, the housekeeper, to air the West wing.

By this time in need of a complete change of scene,
 a charabanc to City Airport,
where a private jet will fly me down to
see Cro in France.
From there, I will fly business class to
Angola and with Marcia's help, kick Tom into touch.
She will get her kitchen.

A short hop to Cairns,
the birthplace of those yappy dastardly dogs.
Where I will chill with the lovely Carol.  

Back home with plans for my next foray
into blogland.  If you haven't been
mentioned this time...
be afraid, very afraid...


  1. Oh shucks LL :) you are more than welcome to come and 'chill' in Cairns after all that traveling. See you soon x

    1. A week next Tuesday it'll be then Carol. ;-)


  2. Dyepot at the ready Linda! Your imagination knows no bounds1 Spot on with the geographical guess! five minutes from the sea we could paddle and cool our bunions in the cold north sea! Ready and waiting!!!!!!

    1. My bunions are throbbing with excitement at the prospect Jayne. Female bonding and beachcombing sounds a brilliant combo.


  3. My dear lady, there's no need to fly on some grotty commercial airline to see Mr Magnon.

    Oh, hang on - there's more to that sentence, me ruddy punctuation is all akimbo. There's no need to fly some grotty commercial airline, I shall have the Sopwith Camel taken out of mothballs and fly you there meself. Splendid. We could drop half-sucked pineapple cubes over Belgium on the way.

    Telephone you say? Telephone? Shudders and walks off, shaking head.

    1. Chocks away my dear fellow. Extra waxing on the old Handlebar jobbie, you don't want the damn thing flapping in your eyes. The de Haviland Del Monte, might be better suited than the old Mosquito, what! I've fashioned a crash hat out of a half grapefruit which will come in handy for mid-flight nibbles; we can eat the cheese and jettison the pineapple.


  4. What a brilliant idea - I have a friend in a similar tizz to you, she needs to escape but hasn't a good plan. The trouble is she's not a blogger...
    (Please find out the name of the postman book for me - it sounds a bit like Burley Cross Postbox Theft by Nicola Barker. Set in Yorkshire & I do recommend it.)

    1. 'Not a blogger?' Nilly you do meet some very strange people.

      Perhaps you ought to write a book 'Nilly's Pork Pie Tales of the Unexpected'

      I'll find out what the book was called, I do know he thoroughly enjoyed it.


  5. I fear nothing except travel...well almost nothing...but I admire those who enjoy it. Happy Trails!

    1. David old boy, are you a recluse? How far do you travel to the grocers and back?


  6. Spiffing! Just remember to speak clearly and slowly into George's ear trumpet... Tea will be taken on the lower terrace. Dear Owl will, I am sure, join us - lured by the opportunity to meet you, as well as by the smell of freshly baked scones. I know you will simply adore the other guests - Dominic of Belleau Kitchen and Andy of Belleau Cottage. I promise that you will have a memorable time!

    1. I must confess after being very scathing about Linc's it does all seem to happen there. I suppose without the extra exercise of hills'n'stuff, you all take to gardening, cooking and photography. All terribly artistical, very Bloomsbury.

      Which ear does George sport his ear trumpet? Mine I find works best in my right ear, so with a bit of jiggery-pokery we will have to be sure to sit so our trumpets don't clash.


    2. His works best when he listens...but that is another story. Prepare to be amazed, we live in The Wolds, we have hills! The guest list was hand-picked for you - I know your tastes.

  7. Looking forward to rambling with you "old gal". I know a secret clearing in a bluebell wood where we can spread out a tartan blanket and enjoy a good old...picnic.

    1. I'll meet you by the Dog and Duck. You'll easily recognise me... I'm like Ma Larkin's granny,
      you can't beat a bit of H.E. Bates's bucolics I always say.

      I'll bring the grub, you bring the tartan rug and a bottle of stout.


    2. Oops, grovelling apology about the apostrophe and the s.

      I'm sure during the picnic you can instruct me on my lax grammaticals, innit!


    3. Lax grammaticals? Ooh err missus! Nothing that some vigorously applied beef dripping can't sort out.