Fluffy Slippers and Pom Poms Third episode.

The lights were low and there was no hope of having a peak at those eyes, so she gave up and would have to sneak a look in the morning. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the genuine comfort she now felt in Pier Company, but that lovely mellow amber feeling was a wonderful thing to have. It had been such a long-time since she could just enjoy someone’s company, without having to be on her guard about a hidden agenda.

They had chatted while they sipped their coffees and debated how they managed to miss each other at the various parties and family dos, where they could have or should have bumped into each other. Their friends and families networks were closely entwined it seemed and it was only a twist of fate had kept them apart.

The most enjoyable part of the evening was their childlike plans they concocted to make all their sisters squirm. At least Helen only had the one, poor Pier had three. The eldest being the one that made it her mission in life to make sure Pier had a life partner and produces off-spring, as soon as possible. His only salvation was the fact she had given up on him getting married.

They both decided that their sisters wanted to stop their freedom and make them suffer as much as they did. Pier also had come out of a long term relationship that had embroiled him in boredom of expectations and took no account of his individuality. Women do that to a man he’d said. Helen admitted more to herself than Pier that secretly she would love to find someone to share life with but blokes irritated her if they got to close. A fact that was not lost on her sister, who wore this particular virtue; of never being irritated by peoples failings, as a gem stone on her shoulder and showed it to Helen at every opportunity as much to say, look what I have and you can’t have it. Pier pointed out that could be why she was so intent on finding, that someone special for Helen. Possibly he suggested bravely, that had more to do with her chip on her shoulder than the gemstone on her sisters.

‘You’re quite insightful for an android’

‘Android?’

‘That’s my nickname for you’ she hoped her apologetic face could be seen. Mellow feelings could get you into an awful lot of trouble she thought. She tried to wake up her centuries so they could be on guard of her mouth, but they couldn’t be bothered and she too tired to wake them. ‘Sorry, but you come across like that at work, especially if I’m having to dash to Norwich, to get the next relative signed up and you haven’t a clue what that A140s like. Anyhow I only say it to my sister’. As if that would make things any better, she contemplated

‘That’s ok yours is ‘Little Miss Tight Ass’ He chuckled

She pondered on this one, as the thought she had a tight ass was very pleasing and that people thought this too, even more so, though she didn’t think that was quite why she had earned the nickname. Too sleepy to care, she decided not to pursue with her enquires, not for now anyhow. She suggested they made a move to bed and the obvious remark came, at which she rolled her eyes.

She went to make sure everything was ready for him in the spare room and got a few of her brother’s things out for the morning, so he could then have a shower at his leisure. With clean clothes so that he would feel fresh and ready for his breakfast. When she went back into the lounge, she fully expecting him to be up and about but he had only managed to make it to the edge of the sofa.

‘You ok?’

‘Bit dizzy’

‘Drink or eye?’ Feeling a little responsible for both she went over and helped him off holding him until he felt steady on his feet. The closeness of him in her arms enhanced that mellow feeling and she contentedly breathed in. The aroma of his aftershave added to the atmosphere of shared intimate space. He laid his cheek on top of her head and she felt him breathe her in. They made their way to the spare room. He tried to argue about taking some pain killers, as men tend to do, but relented, as he could see the sense in her reasoning that a good night rest would do him good.

By the time she’d come back with the painkillers he was already in the bed and snuggled up, with his face completely relaxed he looked so angelic. Looking down at him Helen had an immense sense of pleasure. Never had she spent an evening having been congratulated and appreciated as this evening and never, ever had she had so much fun, just chilling with any guy before. She could see how he had been such good friends with both her sister and her husband for so long. There lurking amidst that thirty something face was that teenager of long ago. She put the painkillers and glass of water on the table next to the bed and left the lamp on so he could see them if he awoke and needed them in the night.

Buster, her black miniature poodle, wondered in and went and laid on the floor looking up at Helen then Pier, wined as much to say I’ll be here is he needs me, then put his head on his paws and closed his eyes. Reassured Helen switched off the light and went to bed.

Fluffy Slippers and Pom Poms Second Episode

The trouble with revenge served cold; especially if you have the same disposition as Helen, it’s hard to hang onto. She had forgotten the resentment she felt at work over Pier’s behaviour, not that she saw him that much; she, mostly driving on the road at his beck and call. Knocking on doors, giving the news that was bitter sweet: - Did you know Great Uncle Bobby; the one that you didn’t know existed or had lost contact with had just died and his estate could be yours. If not claimed, it would all be past on to the government? Not an easy thing to do and he never gave credit to it.

When she went for the job it was for the tracking and the research side but Dave had got appendicitis and she was flung in at the deep end to cover his area of east Anglia and unfortunately instead of sinking (as she was expected to do) she took to it like a duck to water. Heir hunting was full of surprises and twist in peoples history.  

She had now slipped effortless into her role of the hostess with the mostest and as he sat there with her three colourful poodles (Done with food colouring as a joke. Well her brother and brother in-law were always telling her to get proper dogs) while she plied him with as much food and drink as he could wish for. After all he had taken the eye thing in his stride and had appeared to enjoy the movie; she decided to give him a break and slackened her grip on the revenge.

As the first film had finished and it was only eight o’clock she asked him if he wanted a beer or a spirit. His eye was defiantly getting worse.

‘Does it hurt?’ she pointed to his ever expanding eye

‘A bit’

‘Can you see out of it?’ Realising what she had said ‘what I mean is, is there any blood in your eye, is your vision, uhm……..uhm well you know what I mean’

She shrugged a little embarrassed and still had to stifle a giggle. He had noted this and took full advantage of it.

‘Let me see’ she went over to where he was sitting and inspected the damage. The cork had hit him on his cheek bone and a perfect circle indicated the impact site.

‘Thank goodness, it didn’t hit your eye just your cheek’

‘That’s ok then? A good humoured smirk came over his face playful and boyish the type that meant that no good, was going on in his mind.

‘You smell good, they say your other senses take over when one has been taken away.’

‘You are so enjoying this aren’t you?’

‘Yep, will be milking it for as long as possible, it beats man flue hands down. I can still eat great food, drink good wine and a beer or two, while being driven around by the person who inflicted the wound.’ His smirk was to die for but he had hit a raw nerve and some of the resentment came through.

           

She left to go into the kitchen to fetch yet another beer. She shouted through ‘I was going to let you off the next movie but on second thoughts, if you make me suffer, so must you!’

His laugh was bewitching and she mellowed within an instant.

‘Not trying to be funny but I thought you were going to take me home and you must’ve drunk a bottle?’

‘Not quite but this will do it. I could call you a cab, but', uncomfortably she played with her earring and shifted about and then flopped next to him on the sofa.

‘I know this sounds’ She couldn’t believe she was going to say this. Feeling self conscious she knew he was going to enjoy her predicament. ‘Well herm’

‘Yes’ the boyish pleasure that was shining through his face made her squirm even more.

‘As it, you’re not making this easy are you? In fact I would say you are positively enjoying this’ her stern face was belligerent and radiant with the help of the wine. She took hold of her resolve under his amused yet beaten face and blurted out ‘Well I’ don’t want you to go home’

‘Now there’s a proposition’

‘What, Oh! Ugh she pulled a face of feigned disgust, Oh No!’ The thought behind his innuendo shocked her a little ‘No! Not like that, no. It’s your eye’

‘Oh you know how to kick a man when his down’

‘What?’

‘First you black my eye, then you ply me with drinks and then you lead me; is it down or up? The garden path.’ Her shocked indignation rattled out over her face and he fell in a fit of giggles as she, beat his arm with a cushion.

‘You’ve a strange mind you know Pier Pooley!’

‘Not as devious as yours though.’ He took another hit

‘No seriously, I have a spare room you can stay in, so that I can see you in the morning.

‘He sat up that boyish grin shinning at its best so you want to see me’.

‘No your eye’

‘The rest of me have to come too’

‘Oh you don’t detach them then?’ She raised her eyebrows and shook her head

‘You should know you tried’

‘Oh that hurt!’

He reached over and she avoided him as though he was going to grab her. He lingered and with his one good eye looked straight into her. His piercing glance unsettled her sensibilities. The effect was breath taking.

‘So why the effort, good food, bubbly’ he held up his glass and nodded to it ‘Who was it all for?’

‘Me. Not the beer the beer is for Joey

‘Ex-boyfriend?’

‘Nothing gets past the bongo drums at work’

‘Oh that’s not from work that was your sister’

Helens eyes nearly popped out ‘how do you know my sister?’

‘Through uni’

‘If that so why haven’t I met you before?’ He shrugged, not sure

‘You weren’t at their wedding’

‘Nar, was away in Australia and any party she throws, I avoid. There’s always a threat that she is going to fix me up with a blind date’

Bingo, they looked at each other, they knew this was what her intention had been; sending Pier with that little black dress was a bit strong even for Deb.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking’ Helen looked at him with a mind full of devious plans, none of which matched his.

‘How about giving her what she wants for a change, bet you’ve been asked for Sunday lunch?’

‘You too? Oh that devious conniving sister of mine, it’s got to be good to get her back for this one. Oh send a man round dangling me like a tasty morsel. I told her I was going to get all glammed up. Then have an evening all to myself.’

‘Never thought of you as a tasty morsel and that’s you idea of glamm? I like the idea’ another smack with the pillow.

‘Be quiet I’m thinking’

‘Personally I think we should announce we’re living together.’ Helen looked at him sideways on and did a double take.

‘Living together you, me?’

‘The way I see it, I won’t be able to drive with this eye and you will be working in the office from next week; Dave’s back told me tonight as I was leaving the office, so you could drive me in.’

It all seemed to make perfect sense. Deb would have the shock of her life and knowing her, she would definitely have second thoughts and something to say, if they rushed headlong into a relationship. It would get her off her back about getting out in the dating game again and by the sounds of it; it was the same with Pier. A win, win, situation!

Helen held up her topped up glass and smiled ‘I think it would teach her a valuable lesson. Oh I’m so looking forward to seeing her squirm.’ Then a thought that was so delicious she could taste its flavour already. Mum is so going to pound her Sunday when she finds out.’

‘Your mum’s going to be there? Is she making her apple pie and trifle?’

‘Oh yes. We’re going to get her, Oh ye’ she started to dance in a stirring action when she suddenly stopped. ‘How do you know, about the legendary Sunday trifle?’

‘She used to save me some on Mondays when I came to do the garden.’

‘You did our garden? He was a blond boy, nothing like you’

‘You remember me then!’

‘I need a drink’

‘Are you sure, you’ve had a few’

‘What’s the problem, can’t keep up?’ he shrugged as she went back into the kitchen.

He was right though, she had had enough. The mellow feeling would turn ugly if she had any more. Anyhow making the coffee would give her time to recover. In there on her sofa was her heart throb of twenty years ago! Her first and only young love, the type you just don’t recover from. She had the hots for him so bad it rendered her literary speechless. The colour in her face burned and she could feel the heat. Surely she would have recognised him at the interview? But there had been three of them interviewing and twenty years was a long time. Back then he had bleached blond hair, against his tanned body had made him striking and a bit of a rebel, she liked that about him. But how could she have missed his eyes; well the one you could see anyhow, when she was so close to him. At the tender age of thirteen she had been too self conscious to look too long into those; what she remembered as, toffee pools of seductive fun. As she walked back into the lounge she wondered how she could get a better look, to see if they were just as she remembered them.

If you would like this story to be continued click the 'like' button four or more and I write some more. x

Are we Grumpy this Morning?

Kev is grumpy; he can’t work in the snow! I’m happy as he needs a rest. Then he explained we don’t eat if he doesn’t work, this made me grumpy. Phone rang to say football was cancelled this made me happy again and Axl was grumpy.

We were due to go to a wonderful party held back where I come from; its Justin’s (I decided not to say the age bit as he is my younger cousin) I’ve been looking forward to the party for ages as any chance to be an adult and having time with Kev is always a joy, anyhow, Justin is as exocentric as me, his parties are always fun and my family really know how to get down and be merry, now we can’t go due to the weather, so I’m Grumpy, really, really grumpy!!!

Found the Christmas cards so I can get on with writing them, Angus found the fairies to make for presents so he is busy making them. I look out the window with regret and see the beauty; it puts a smile on my face and a dizzy head. Am I happy? You bet! Some things in life you can’t change the weather is one thing we have no control over. Today will be a tomato soup day warm and cosy. 

Last years snow inspired this little story. It is based on fact, fiction did take over (artistic license they say it’s I say it’s having a little bit of fun).

Have fun playing in the snow, then running in to cosy up. Keep safe and warm x

I stamp my feet again and call out in my most calm assertive voice that I can muster, in the sub zero temperatures. Tinkerbell stops and looks at me with her piercing chocolate eyes and the lyrics ‘don’t stop me now’ quietly enter my inner ear as Tinker runs around the snow, biting and racing. The trickle of the Piano intro starts and the drum’s rhythm is beaten out by her paws and as the crescendo builds, clear and crisp cords of an electric guitar pulsate; her tail bends and I know that there’s  no way she is gunna stop!

At the speed of light in that frenzy of supersonic Fahrenheit enjoyment, she runs up and climbs over the snowman, running away with his coal eye. In pure ecstasy she puts her nose down in the snow and rolls over just as my children come to see what the commotion is all about.

Angus looks at his snowman and mentions the missing eye; I wait for the wail of disappointment that his precious snowman can no longer see, no wail. I explain what Tinker did, immediately he gets another piece so he can witness this daring feat of his little dog. True to form she rushes through the snow gathering speed and leaps, digs her paws in Mr. Snowman’s side and jumps over the top and runs away with the coal, tossing it through the air. Delighted with this, everyone has a go. Tinker is having such a ball and everyone is getting involved; pieces of coal are lodged ever higher with each one retrieved by the little terrier.

Eventually everyone is suitably tired out we came in for hot chocolate, marshmallows and popcorn. Great globules of ice were prized from Tinkers coat and we all sat warming ourselves next to the fire. There was one problem; the lyrics from Queen’s master piece would not leave me alone. They played on in my head, until I too succumbed to them and went and played in the snow.

Months later I still suffer every time those Chocolate eyes say ‘don’t stop me now I’m having such a good time, and the lyrics will not abate until she has made me a supersonic woman, those lyrics win every time.

http://www.tillymoments.co.uk/

My Most Glamorous Gran, my Nana Anne

A lot of the work I have included in this blog is highly personal, this poem the most personal of all. But, it’s far reaching, as in a way it encompasses us all, yet you could have viewed my Nan through stereotypical glasses and easily dismissed her gems of wisdom.

My Nan was one of the stereotypical working class bingo players, of the fluffy slippers and feather duster kind. In her palace, not a knickknack was ever out of place and a spec of dust was polished away the instant it dared to fall. I could lament on, about how life in the beginning had been hard and explain why she enjoyed the things and the life she had, but it would take to long.

She encompasses us all and embodies what we should all strive for: - to live through the hard times to have a little laughter and fun. Her life was normal in a very extraordinary way, as many peoples are. Perhaps, we should idolise the ordinary and not the manufactured celebrity, the first would be a happier and far more achievable life.

These ordinary people have insights the scholars take millenniums to contemplate. Like uncut diamonds they give their wisdom and if you polish it well, you will end up with a sparkle to life that gives a rainbow hue of sheer  delight.

My Most Glamorous Gran, my Nana Anne


You were my most
Glamorous Gran
Always dressed to perfection.
I have memories: -
Blue Morris Minor;
With a glove compartment
That was filled with the aroma
Of apples, leather gloves
And a duster or two.

A Pinny adorned
To clean ornaments galore,
Bingo,
Most of all
Your laughter.

These memories I’ve wrapped
Softly and gently with love
That will; in an instant,
Conjure up you.

But it’s the gift you gave
I’m thankful for;
A wise crystal,
A bright and beautiful Gem
You placed in my heart.

Sat on your bed with photos
You told me
How love is given
And can never be taken back.
‘You can’t turn it on and off like a tap;
Everyone is different’ you said
‘You don’t give less or more!
But give it the best way you can!

Mother, Farther,
Spouse, significant other,
Child, brother, sister
Family and friends
Are all individuals
Do you see?’
You said

This clear, bright
Rainbow hue of a diamond
You placed in my heart;
Safe from plunder,
Thank you x

A Year on from your passing this poem reminds me, life is worth working hard at.

Even when hurt and pain causes me to plunder my sole, that rainbow hue always makes my heart shine bright Love as always Tilly x

Fluffy Slippers and Pom Poms

Helen’s working week had been dismal; her new boss was an android void of all human need and honestly didn’t know how she had stopped herself from punching him between the eyes. Planning this evening had been her salvation; the fact it was Valentines added to the pleasure of it. Conjuring up a menu, thinking of drinking her favourite sparkling and chilled wine, on her own, by herself, had got her through, just!

           

Now in her mid thirties her signgalton life style was new and refreshingly liberating. Knowing coupledom was full of compromise and a large dose of gritted teeth, she’d decided not to bother with it. Any how dealing with one Man from Mars was enough for her. Her family and friends had tried very hard to arrange blind dates. She had got out of it so far but it was only a matter of time before her older sister had managed to trap her into one.

Her flat became her sanctuary, looking round her elegant comfort zone the week’s tense trauma floated away and a contented smile warmed her through. The table looked magnificent with the overpriced flowers plus vegetation an indulgence possibly too far but she was worth it. The smell from the kitchen surprised her, as long as it tasted as good as it smelt it was going to be a good night.

Three poodles sat on the sofa waiting to give all the love and comfort she needed, her date was loaded in the DVD and she was dressed not to thrill or impress but for comfort and frankly she looked ridiculous. Fluffy bootie slippers with pom poms, bright pink tiger stripped jersey pj bottoms with her favourite t-shirt and grey cashmere cardy. While applying makeup she had to laugh at her silliness. With her new glamorous necklace and earnings she felt a million dollars but looked like one of those figures where you change the face, torso and legs giving a hilarious effect.

As she took the cage off from the neck of the bottle to ease the cork out the phone rang.

‘Bloody hell’ sighing, picked up the phone, grappled with the bottle; still trying to open it, as her Sisters salutation hit her ears.

‘Deb I’m opening the bubbly and the door bells ringing now’! she stopped her sister in full flow ‘gotta go’ and put the phone down. Walking to the door she mentally marked up the score of avoidance.

Her left eyebrow raised as her shocked face set like a mask. The now open door revealed her boss. It was at this exact point; as they were both lost in their disbelief when the cork couldn’t restrain its self any longer. It flew out of the bottle and hit him straight in the eye. Psychologically she had been doing just that for a good couple of months and had to surprises a cheer.

As he lay on the sofa, her three dogs did their best to comfort him while his gruesome coloured eye enlarged at an alarming rate. She did her best to control it by administering frozen peas; while admiring the corks work. It was going to be a blinder of a black eye; possibly a week or more before he could see properly; that should slow him down a little, she contemplated while controlling the giggle that threatened to explode.

‘Sorry I should go; I can see you were getting ready to go out. Your sister said you desperately needed this.’ He held up a very exquisite black dress. How the hell did Deb know her boss? And it was most defiantly not her dress. Deb had won; the carpet was ripped from beneath her feet.

‘Oh I’m not going out’. The truth fell out of her mouth and an awkward silence ensued while Pier looked at her with his one good eye. The bemused stare was broken hastily by Helen running to rescue the lovingly prepared meal. As she entered the kitchen the cringe that had been building up inside her released itself. Her face contorted with horror as the earlier image of her reflection flashed through her mind, why! Oh why? had she not lied? Going out was her get out clause.

He coughed his announcement the shock made her jump and there it was; humour! Humour seeped from his one good eye and a laugh oozed from his mouth that rippled through the strained air and in spite of her resentment, Helen also erupted into a belly laugh Father Christmas would be proud of.

So there they found themselves, the oddball couple; he elegantly dressed with a bulbous crimson eye and she with the mismatched outfits sitting at a lavishly set table. There was no way he could drive with that eye and he too polite to just get up and leave after a home cooked meal. He would have to endure the girly movie she had put aside for to-night, with three poodles and her as his only company this was going to be a blind date from hell for him and for her Oh sweet, sweet revenge.

I've Just Found my 2007 Round Robin it gave me such a he he he moment I thought I should pass it on

Well here comes Christmas and I feel this year it has crept up on us with it’s fluffy socks of cosy weather and shouted it’s getting late, to give us all a fright. No autumn wind bracing you ready for the onslaught of winter, no winter sky to remind you that the season will soon be upon us, no cold starry evenings to hold a mug of hot chocolate and bask in the glow of the open fire. So Humbug! I’m not ready for fun and frolics; in fact I’m not ready for anything, but to drop (Angus is teething and his teeth are slowly and laboriously breaking the skin on his swollen gums).

So what have we been up to this year? Kev built a lovely house for his sister and we hope to build one for us this year. We have been in this house for seven years and for all this time I have been planning the extension and am feeling a little miffed as they may not come to fruition. This house is feeling a little on the small side since Little Blue (Angus) arrived. Am I bothered? Am I! You bet!

Axl has taken up the guitar and drums and would love a drum kit for Christmas. Apart from the noise issue, we have a little fella who I can only equate to an octopus on speed and as my monster from the deep will have to share his big brothers bedroom in the New Year, a drum kit fills me with horror. Just imagine a twenty month old, dear little devil that loves sound, hitting, bashing and climbing, he’d be standing through the base drum wearing the hat symbol like a halo with a blink of an eye. You think I jest? Oh! I kid you not!

We went to London with some friends and in my infinite wisdom, when we got to the Aquarium, I let my very own monster of the deep out to explore. I was prepared for a dash and a sprint but what I was not prepared for was the games of peek-a-boo with the veils of the Muslim ladies. They, it has to be said took it with a pinch of fun, I on the other hand didn’t know what to do or say, I just went rather red. I added this to my ever-growing list of "to be aware offs". Then he held a hand of a man dressed in a caftan (long dress robe thing). He was just too quick, though I could see what he was trying to make sense of, a man in a dress, whys that then? But I couldn’t get there before he lifted up the man's gown (thank god it was not a Scotsman kilt) and he was immediately reassured the world had not gone completely mad, he had trousers on underneath. Angus shrugged his solders and cheerfully babbled his way to the shark tank, while the man bemused, smiled after him and not quite believing such a small lad was quite so forward. Looking around to see whom he belonged to his eyes befell on mine, I tried my best to look apologetic but I feel quite certain I looked contorted and in pain. I’m a mother get me out of here!

Ellarose is the apple of her fathers’ eyes and growing into a young lady. At times she is wise beyond her years but out of the blue throws a wobbly to prepare us for the teenage years. We have now been in training for several years so I should feel confident that I have enough grounding to take the horrible hormone era in my stride. Alas I feel wholly inadequate and only hope we all live through it, sanity intact. Shopping with her is a pure joy, a little one sided on odd times and always expensive.

We managed to acquire eight tortoises and one decided to lay four eggs that we are now incubating and they should hatch anytime now, but as I’ve been saying that for the last month or so, so its anyone’s guess to when they decide to honour us with their presence.

One of the adult ones, Tornado (we did not name them) originally came from Tunisia and is now in her sixties and had to have an op to remove a cyst on her leg. I now find myself force feeding her; as she wants to hibernate, and bathing her once a day to keep her warm and her skin healthy.
It’s not easy to force feed a tortoise you know, they are strong critters and as stubborn as a mule. It’s a good job I like a challenge and am more stubborn than any bad tempered mule or Testudo (name of type of tortoise). Now I knew that there would be more to looking after them than just shoving them in a box once a year to hibernate, but I didn’t bank on all the conflicting advice you can get, and how much of it there is. We are slowly getting to grips with their environmental needs, which are a weedy garden, something to climb and chalk to nibble and a house to live in. We had so much fun over the summer months bathing them, watching these prehistoric animals trundling along in our garden and playing hide and seek. We found to our cost that they move faster than you think, keeping us on our toes.

Fred is the worst escape artist; he wedges himself between the boarding to keep them in and the door of the greenhouse. He pushes against the door managing to derail the wheel at the top that the door hangs on and makes good his escape to a nice lump of ground and digs in for the winter. I would love to let them go native and hibernate in the garden, but rats think hibernating tortoises are a tasty snack. So I have to trundle down to check on them in the morning and the evening to make sure the temperature says steady, still I do nothing to do all day.
Will close now, so my round robin doesn’t grow too fat and your boredom threshold is not pushed to the max. Much love the Rodwell clan xxxxx

Tilly’s Goldfish Moment

I don’t bloody believe it the electrician has just turned up (without telling me) and drilled a blood great hole right next to were my computer is.

The gruff billy goat voice shouted out to his mate "it’s not here".

I was though! I have a headache coming. I grab my resolve with a vice grip and try to focus on the words floating on the page.

Do you ever have a goldfish day? You know; when you’re staring out of your world into one that you don’t understand and haven’t the time to work out properly. Knowing the information you need is staring you in the face, doesn’t help either. Computers are simply complex and as stupid as stupid does.

You see I brought a lap top that I could put in my nice new kitchen so I could sip coffee, sharing files with my office, networking to my hearts content (what ever networking is, its hiding from me) while I beaver away on my next novel.

I decide to start lunch and leave them men fishing for those wires that seem to need more holes that Swiss cheese.

A wholesome meal for my three children who are playing/fighting, watching telly or causing havoc in general. Questions come firing through of what's cooking can we eat yet! The sound of ravenous children eating is just so satisfying and for five minutes peace I take my coffee back to the office.

Oh Lord, their drilling again. One shouts out ‘it’s beautiful’ alas they were not talking about me but the hole they have just made (a pity its in the wrong place again and missed the allusive wires by ‘a gnats dick’ apparently). Another hole is made and thank god he’s got it (hold that thought, what ever it may be, it’s funnier that the reality) as I hear wire being pulled through my walls, I just think of the dust and debris that I was sure I had finished with and yes, I had just finished hoovering, as they arrived. Now where was I, oh yes, trying to capture my Beautiful butterfly?

You see I love my butterfly, it had taken hours of hard intensive labour (all with a glass of wine) to get it how I wanted last night. I put my pens away and had saved it and locked it away deep within my files for safety. I was very proud of my self; as I had remembered to put it in my ‘shared files’ so that I could release it on my lap-top to finish my book cover later in my kitchen. So when I had a few minutes to spare I could go to my wonderful new gizmo to let my beauty free to fly around my work, only to find it gone. I raced upstairs my heart pounding with the loss. I sat in-front of the strange world of techno gadgetry that holds the key to the future, apparently. But no butterfly could I find.

I sat there like a goldfish; looking out of my world into one that promised so much but took more than your sanity to achieve. I tried very hard to think what I had done to loose my precious winged flight of fancy. I began to swim endlessly in the same circles, looking out of my bowl opening and shutting my mouth, not able to speak. I must have put it somewhere, surely it must be there! Possibilities swam around my head and slowly I metamorphosis into a Paraná. So angry and despondent; in desperation I rang a friend, who like a dolphin was intelligent and calm. So there we sat the Dolphin and me as she explained the old system and new one spoke a slightly different language and could not communicate well. The Paraná in me subsided and eventually my humanity came back and there on the screen my butterfly appeared.

Later that evening I happily swam in a pleasant bowl of wine, looking at my prized catch of the day, as it gently fluttered through my thoughts and landed on my face as a smile.

So when you feel like a fish out of water come join me in my goldfish bowl and watch the flights of fancy flutter by.

Just Why did I Want to be a Mum?

Just why did I want to be a mum?
I can’t quite recall.
Was it the love of sleepless-nights?
No time to one’s self at all,
With a head full of voices
That are not your own.

I thought of the times
Of stories and teddies,
Making tents,
Snuggling up after bath times.
With long walks
While having long convoluted talks.

I dismissed from my mind
The hazard of learning
Repetitive questions
Investigations of what really happened
Or bodily pooing functions
With wee’s and farts
Demonstrations given of their manufactured burps
At the local supermarket,
On pension day!

I thought of marshmallow cheeks
To kiss softly to sleep
Sweet slumber with loving sighs
I didn’t know anything of the nightmare cries


I’m a filing cabinet, that’s all!
A computer, a machine
From the moment I open my eyes it starts
Where did my wallet go?
Open file
Put in information for quarry
Last seen in husband's hand
Who was proceeding towards
The shower-room
Quarry shows possibilities
Left in pocket of trousers on the shower room floor,
In washing basket
Or on top of the loo,
“See!” He shouts
“I told you , you moved it!”

First child down the stairs

“Is it a school day mum?”

“No, but we have to be out by ten”

“Oh no! I hate being out

On Saturdays!”

Second child down the stairs

“How many elephants can you

Get on a pin head?”

“Fifteen I think the man said.

Now remember to write the

Card for the party,

It’s at two thirty”.

“What are you going to wear?”

“My combat trousers”

“What those ones screwed up under that chair!”

“Yep!”

“You can’t”

“Oh mum please!

They’re the best, the coolest I have Anyway you work miracles

And have done it before.”

“You mean washed them,

Dried and ironed them on time!”

“Yep!”

“Let’s see if they tumble dry”

“Love ya mum!”

Sometimes I want to escape

From trying to be a super human;

At which I dismally fail

I want to fly off to the moon

In a beautiful

Ice blue Boat

With diamonds and pearls

To sleep in quiet

On clouds that slowly float

Dog needs to be fed

Beds to be made

Oh well!

Out, out, let’s go.

See ya love.”

“When will you be back, do you know?”

“Why?”

“I need a bit of a hand”

I look straight at him

With an open glare

Perhaps I misheard

For the list of jobs I have to do

Is rather absurd

I can see by his expression I didn’t mishear

But the look I gave was enough

To strike fear

And he'll not ask again.

Alone at last

House all quiet

Even the dog had gone.

A solitary bath

Luxury

Piping hot water

Fragrant and relaxing aromas

That turns the water blue

The bubbles sparkle and shimmer

And hold rainbow colours that dance.

Slipping into the bubbles

That cling like magical oysters

To my relaxing body

Holding a glass of wine to sip

I regain my inner being

My soul comes to life

And for this moment

I become truly me

For ages I dreamily float

On a cloud of bubbled soap

And soak away the trauma

Of trying so hard to be what

Does not come naturally

A good mother.

Many lessons I have to learn

That will last my whole life long

As my Gran once said

“Your father though retired

Is a worry to me

Is he happy?

Is he fed?

A long time a mother, no turning back,

For even when they're not with you

Your heart is not your own".

I’m dry now

House still quiet

Sexy undies

To keep hold of the woman

That is part of me.

Time to pick them up,

Will he remember where they are?

Should I ring?

I miss their loud antics

The dust they make

Sounds of laughter

And in my mind’s eye

I see their smiles

The way they talk,

Hear their questions

The looks they give each other

And the ones they keep

Just for me.

I begin to understand a little

Of what my Gran once said

They will never be

Out of my heart or my head.

My innate sense of time

Rings aloud an alarm

Time they were here at home

Safe, with me!

Phone in my hand

I punch the numbers,

As methodically I go through

All the sensible and horrific Scenarios.

The door bursts open

And life breathes in

The quiet house gone again

As a home kick starts into action

Flowers thrust into my arms

Closely followed by a take-away.

Smiles and love fills

Every space of the quiet house

Making it our home

As my family sit contented

Watching the latest DVD,

Inwardly I bloom.

It’s not quite what I expected

Being a mum.

But sitting on the family sofa

Is a little like

Flying to the moon

In a beautiful sky blue

Jewel incrusted boat.

You just have to learn,

How to

Let it

All

Float!

A Tilly Moment Debate

Are you a glass half empty or half full person?

My husband tells me that you have to have a good Strong mental attitude in life and remember that your glass is half full and not half empty. I can’t help telling him he is wrong. For me my glass is half empty; as I have drunk from the glass of life, savoured, enjoyed it and will take my time reflecting upon it all (men I find in general don’t like reflecting on things, they think it’s melancholy) after the pleasure of reflection, comes the joy of filling up the glass, for me it’s all part of the fun.

            For instance; this week it became clear to me that my children look on me as their provider and I’m sure if I could breathe for them and do all of their other bodily functions they would let me. I felt like the little red hen that found the seed, planted it, watered, weeded, nurtured, reaped the harvest, ground the corn, made the bread, baked it (are you getting the idea yet lol) and all they wanted to do is eat and be merry. Well given the chance I would probably do the same.

            I started to feel my glass was getting bone dry, especially when I came home from taking Angus to swimming this week. I had already picked Ella up at 2; as her school now finishes early, got back home and prepared the evening meal and by 3 dashed out to pick Angus up from his school. I then just had enough time to get to the shops for a few essentials, picking Axl up on way home. Ran in to the house to get Angus’s swimming things dropped off shopping, gave Ella instructions about washing on the line and putting potatoes and the carrots on, so the meal would be ready for us when we got back. Dropped Axl at his girlfriends and then went to the pool for Angus’s lesson.

            I always ring to make sure Ella has everything under control when we get out of the lesson and was a little taken back when I was informed that the potatoes had boiled all over the top of the cooker and were ‘sort of mushy - carrots what carrots? I had enough time to get well and truly steamed up by the time I got home. I could feel myself build that ‘soap box of mine’ but refrained from using it.

            The next morning my ‘soapbox’ had grown to a tremendous height and had flashing lights on it. Both Ella and Axl knew to stand back and Angus started to get his bag ready for school. Well I climbed onto that all flashing soap box of mine and calmly as possible let them know I was their mother, not their life support system. It was my job and duty to teach them how to run a home. This evening’s meal was going to be prepared by us all. At this point Ella went into a melt down. For some reason the potatoes held a vendetta against her, she wailed.

            When they were at school I reflected on my own history, by 9 I was letting myself in and starting the evening meal. I thought of the dreams of having children and a homely kitchen and the reality of a busy lifestyle and the energy needed to get them to help, made me savour the true taste of the wine in my glass of life. I allowed all the flavours and unique taste to flow through my senses and concluded it wasn’t a bad vintage realy, I just needed to fill my glass up.

            By the time they got home I had prepped most of the meal and had just left the potatoes and broccoli to do. Ella approached her nemesis with a teenage attitude and by the time she had pealed 1 potato, I had pealed several. This fact was not lost on Axl. His humour had us laughing and the kitchen started to look like some sort of battle ground. I then decided to take it up a notch and suggested making a desert. Ella picked the recipe, unknown to me needed 8 ramekins but we only had 6 and instead of just leaving some of the mixture, Ella used it all in the 6. I was blissfully unaware of this and blindly put them in the oven as instructed. Well our volcanic concoctions exploded all over the cooker. And instead of the soufflé delight we had a very tasty cavernous desert which made the perfect well for the chocolate sauce. We all enjoyed the meal and the banter made my kitchen the homely one I had dreamed about.

The drinking of the wine takes but a second and should be savoured. I’m trying to hold onto that thought as I try to scrape the welded chocolate lava off the side of the oven (inside and out). In reality my glass is both half empty and full and I take time to understand and acknowledge this. Surely you have to, don’t you, what do you think?

20 Men

20 Men
Full battle gear on
Trying not to fall
One side a town
The other rubbish tip
Talking swaggering
With lots of off hand bantering

Then the call comes
‘Come on lads lets get the job done
Before more good old Gerry boys come.
Off at a run
Now no time for fun
Serious stuff had to be done.
Get ready lads
Hold your gun
Steady nerves.
Have no time to think,
Talk or drink
Even though mouth is fearfully dry.

Like cunning Foxes
They fought that day
Not one have they lost?
No, no one today?
Hey! Jester Joe!
Where did he go?
No one replies to their
Shouted question

They searched for their
Mate, comrade and brother
Till dusk started to fall
And danger set in.
Time to go back
‘The way we came lads’.
Their hearts heavy, dull and dented.
Back over that wall
That in sunlight was so
Full of camaraderie,
Was now silent and still.
Nineteen men half broken
Spirit dulled.
Who was going to
Make them lift again?
And get rid of their screaming cries
That their dreams hold?
Who was going to flip life upside down?
And relieve their aching frown
Many a head shook and lips whisper
Jester, Joe where is he now?

Only footsteps could be heard
Heavy footsteps tired and weary,
Eyes to the ground,
Yet another soul lost.A
‘Lads down here,’
The lad’s shocked faces looked down
As a swirl of blue hue
Came to meet their gaze.
A head could just be seen above
The stinking and festering mire.
Their greetings hurled at them
In Jester Joe’s familiar tone,
‘You bloody bastards you took your time
I’ve been stuck down here for frigging hours,
Did yer just want me to rot in this stinking hell hole?’
Smiles broke out among the men
For they knew Jester Joe
Had heard it all
Every gun shot
Every cry
And call
Of death
And war
He had to lie there
Unable to be there
For his comrades and brothers
Not knowing if any would come back at all

Together again these comrades and brothers
Laughing swearing about the day
Where was Jester Joe?
Upwind, a fair way away
The smell flew around
Their beaten bodies
Like a dead mans shroud
Engulfing them in their fear drenched clothes.
Jester Joe sits all alone
With insults flying this way and that
A smile held upon his face.
All twenty men relieved
And together again
Each knowing some of the others thoughts
And fears.

My Humble Tribute

Golden Honey

A jar of clear golden honey sits on the table and I joyfully stick my finger in the silky liquid. The sheer joy of seeing the amber thread trickle down the jar, takes me back to when I was a young girl. I’m swinging my legs on the table were I was turning the handle on the aluminium cylinder, joyfully anticipating the time when the honey was extracted and the sweet liquid flowed from the tap. Under Mr Springs smile I would; unseen as possible from his all seeking eyes, wrap the lush scented indulgence and quickly consume the plethora of tastes from the fields around us.

Mr Spring had powder blue eyes that glistened like dew drops. Their piercing gaze held your attention from a rugged but strangely youthful face. Those eyes would captivate me with humour and foreboding. A tall slim frame, held muscles that clung to it tight and taut. His gamekeeper shirtsleeves were always rolled up, a felt cap a donned that to me personified him and his comrades precisely. As he filled the honey jars I’d listen intently to stories that in later life I found out were fact. To me the tales of the war were adventures but preoccupied Mr Spring thoughts.

In his commando voice he would tell me of the desert where they prepared for the Arnhem drop, of the Dutch people’s bravery and of the resistance fighters that got his lads out and back to England. The blurred tattooed images held the respect that Mr Spring had for all the people that made the war pointless; that is to say, good people on both sides died too young. I don’t see these tattoos clearly. Though I know one was for Joe Beet and am sure was in the shape of a Dagger.

Joe was born in Derby and was a conscript; or as Mr Spring would say he joined for fun and to get out of trouble. The platoon had been to North Africa, defeated the German Afriks Korps and on 8th September 1943 they landed at the port of Taranto; Italy. They then marched; at the double, to secure the town. They then marched into Astlellanetta where they found themselves in a spot of bother.

Astlellanetta was built on an escarpment with houses to the right and on the left there was a wall, three feet in height. The other side of the wall fell away steeply for about twenty foot. Weapons at the ready they came across machine-gun fire, they quickly brought the situation under control and were ordered to take defensive positions for the night. A casualty report was taken and to the platoon’s horror Joe and his Bren gun, were missing.

Immediately they silently searched for their anchor, each with an individual fear of Joe’s loss. They heard many expletives burst through the sullen atmosphere that expressed Joe’s discomfort. In the quagmire of rotting tomatoes and grapes, he had sunk down as far as his neck; though the precious Bren gun was held above his head for safe keeping. He felt his comrades had taken too long in fighting the Germans, on purpose. Managing to get enough nylon lines together, they hauled him out of his predicament to the song of ‘Violets Sweet, Violets Sweeter than Roses’. When Joe was eventually hauled to the top of the wall, to add salt to his ego, was asked; none too politely, to move down wind. The tension was broken and the platoon’s disposition restored.

The hearing and retelling of this story cements at the very core of my understanding how important, people like Joe are in life. As for Mr Spring, who knew Joe it was an Honour. Joe hated airplanes and he would chunter to himself incessantly, while they climbed to the desired height and area for the drop; when asked if he was prying he would reply ‘Hell no, I’m cursing my bloody mates who incited me to volunteer in the first bloody place’. This statement I’m sure was cleaned up for the sake of my very young ears. Joe would have to be pushed all the way to the door and out.

Mr Spring said that they could smell his fear and that Joe would assure them that weren’t the only thing they could smell! I vividly remember thinking how could one man be so brave. After his fight with fear of flying and jumping, when his feet hit the ground he had to face death on the run.

When asked how on earth had they kept going; Mr Spring would tell me for a young man who came from the background he did (poor and harsh) he was heading for a life of crime, but meeting the people he had in the war had given him respect and a humility, that had made him the person he was. His humility came from the people in his platoon and the ones he passed on the way through all the towns, that had been destroyed by wars incessant and all devouring needs.


When I had my first child I went to visit Mr. Spring; he had always questioned the war and said that politicians and those with power at the top, were the same whichever side they were on and how England would be the same if Hitler had won. Although I can see where he was coming from and that he probably knew better than me, I could not agree and still don’t. I had always wanted to personally thank him for the life I have and up until then had not known how to. On that visit I handed Mr. Spring my first born not knowing what his reaction would be. That day was the first time I had seen Mr Spring hold a baby and I must say he took to it like a duck to water. As Axl looked intently into those old globes, I’m sure I saw a tear filled tenderness glisten as I thanked him. I thanked him for the sacrifice of his comrades and for his sleepless nights; hearing and seeing again the atrocities that are produced by war.

Shortly after that day he went back to Oosterbeek where he was given a hero’s welcome; Mr Spring had saved many of his men that had been burnt and injured badly. Only on one occasion did he mention the Arnham drop by name and the Anger of the inadequate gliders that put his men in such danger and the total miss calculations of the whole affair, vibrate through my soul even today and as I hear the same opinions expressed with today's wars, I feel so sad; will we never learn, can things ever change?


Joe died in Holland and is laid to rest in Oosterbeek cemetery. Though I have never met Joe or any of his family, through Mr Springs tattoo and his story telling, I will never forget him.
Mr Spring’s lungs sprang a leak and he took me and others to one side asking not to be revived if he was found unconscious, he spent his last years on oxygen and this; for him, was a living hell. When he asked me just to close the door if I ever found him on the floor, I said I could not, but I promised to hold him until I was sure he had slipped from this life. I would like to think I would have the courage to carry out my promise, I know I would have given it my best shot, but unlike Mr Spring and all the brave people out there that have been put to the test of their resolve; I never had to stand up and be counted.

Mr Spring died in 2002 and at his funeral, food and drink were free and an expressed wish from the grave was made, that a good time was to be had by all.

I got to meet and personally thank J D Vervoorn for taking care of Mr Spring and all the men the Dutch resistance fighters got out and back to England. I explained how he had touched my life over the sea and after many years had passed.

One day I would like to go to Oosterbeek and say a thank you, personally to Joe. I can see Mr Spring’s face light up with a captivating smile and his voice reverberates through me ‘He won’t hear you, you know!’ No Mr Spring, perhaps not, but I will know I have honoured him and the people you felt guilty about, the ones you thought we had let down. I want to keep these unknown people in my heart and never forget them and yes pass them on; through the stories you told me, when I was very young, churning honey taking that golden thread, while you watched on with your dew drop eyes.

Sweet Amber eyes herself



Tinkerbell Getting ready!!!



Grace Her Sweet Amber eyes still make me smile



Wish my two girls could have met; they would’ve had so much fun together. They have made me walk and through walking I have gained so much.

It was not my Idea to put the tiara on Grace and I thought she would claw it off within a matter of seconds but she never did, she wore it proudly and her pink top has Princess written on it. Now some of you will say a dog is a dog and I won’t and can’t argue with that, but fun and cute are good for the soul. I have yet to find a totally frivolous outfit for Tink but rest assured I will and will post a pic on my blog when I do.

Off for a walk to see how this year’s buds are coming along and for a spot of contemplation. Have a go yourself take a wonder and a gander. It makes you feel good!

Have fun Tilly x

Tilly Moments: Sweet Amber Eyes

Tilly Moments: Sweet Amber Eyes

Sweet Amber Eyes

Again Granny Connie inspired ' Sweet Amber Eyes' s. She worked in an architect’s office and every day one architect would pass her desk and comment ‘you have the most heavenly southern apexes and glorious northern aspects’. What a chat up line! When she told me this anecdote, her eyes would sparkle like a young girl’s.

The joy for me as a writer, is the reaction I get when people read my work. The reaction from this story, however - has perplexed me a little, for they ask the question ‘did you really get stuck in the window?’ I would like to think this is because my writing is realistic, though it is more likely the fact that I have found myself in similar predicaments and my friends are only too used to it all.

Both Granny Connie and Grace are no longer with us, but their spirit; I like to think are in
my words.
Sweet Amber Eyes: -

I’ve always wondered how potholers pot hole; What I mean is, how do they move their bodies? Do they alter their breathing to manoeuvre and navigate out of the tight situations they must find themselves in? At this present moment in time this information would be jolly handy to know. Come to think of it; they must know by experience what size hole their bum will fit. I on the other hand, may put a pair of jeans on and think, will my bum fit into these, but I don’t normally navigate through small spaces.

You see, I seem to be stuck in my kitchen window. The crates I was standing on have fallen away and I’m just left dangling here. Grace is wining again; Grace being my dog and any minute soon the builders will return I shouldn’t wonder, knowing my luck. They forgot to replace my keys in the allotted plant pot so I could get back in after our walk; I looked at the window and thought; I should just be able to climb in. I soon found out that windows don’t stretch like jeans do.

My face is hot with exhaustion. Being of short stature with legs of the same proportion, I’m finding it difficult to swing them anywhere to give me a little extra grip to heave my rather rotund, motherly body through the now knowingly too small hole. My southern aspects sag in the outer extremities for the entire world to see.

Out of the reflection of the window I can see Grace’s face. A little bemused over her owner’s predicament, though I have to confess she is rather used to my behaviour, though is kind enough not to make too much fuss. She takes herself off to the back door again, leans her head upon the first step, whines and waits for my next move.

As I’m dangling here contemplating whether breathing in would lift my rib cage enough for me to lever myself a little farther into the window or could I unhook my prized appendages; which are now stuck due to the fact my bra has latched itself onto the hook of the window catch and fall to the ground. Indeed could my rib cage take the weight of my bulk? Grace interrupts my contemplations with her bark that signals the arrival of a vehicle.

With a heavy groan I brace my self for the next event of this day. She scampers around to the side gate barks and races back to the back door. This is a little odd, as she always comes back to my side, enough to say, did you realise there is someone at the door? I feel sure my face is now the colour of beetroot when boiled for a fortnight. The extra exertion and embarrassment is not conducive to my mood, which was pretty bad this morning and is now at such steaming point that I could alone produce enough power to light up a small town.

Alas not enough force to break free from my humiliating situation. Grace starts scratching the door and before I can engage my brain I shout at her to stop, drawing the attention of the two builders, builders mate, postman and would you believe it the milk man, who incidentally, is late! Grace is now scratching the door with vigour, as I fear my humiliation is about to go public.

Thankful that my audience are all male and that they don’t immediately concern themselves with the fact that something was out of place. Having enough presence of mind; after my little outburst, I place the herb pot in front of my offending curving mounds of my best kept secret. They look at me, but busy in conversation can’t see my problem, so giving me a little extra scramble time with a vain hope to set myself free.

Alas Stephen’s eyes keep fixed on me and as I try to smile at him, he could not quite take in the sights that befell his widening eyes. Unfortunately his mind processed what his eyes were telling him and rushed to my aid via the back door. The door I had locked? The one that Grace had been whining at before I got stuck and the one she had been frantically scratching on. My head cleared the mists of confusion and I met the warm amber eyes, like soft sweet toffee, which held a tinge of humour to them saying I told ya it was open. My faithful and intelligent soul mate panted at me with concern from inside the kitchen.

I can’t convey my reaction, as there are not enough expletives to do full justice to my thoughts. Stephen’s burly arms wrap around my form. The others still hadn’t realised that something was an awry. My prize appendages are finally released and my northern aspects thank heavens, have only been seen by one. Red faced, I thank Stephen for his help. I hear his soft chuckle and I’m grateful for his restraint, which I know I would be incapable of, if the roles had been reversed.

A lick of comfort was the best medicine and with that lick came the ability to see the humour of it all. I lean down and give my wise girl a well-earned pat, as I lovingly promise to listen to her in future.

The Day my Daughter Learnt to Skip

As leafs on the trees begin to change into their warm amber colour of autumn, this season dramatic change always remindeds me of the transitions we make as humans. I watched a mothers frustrations of getting her children to school fade, as the sun shone on her daughters instant change from small child into young girl. I wanted to hold onto this moment and share it with you.  

I’ve had enough of shouting,

My head

It’s pounding.

And time is lost.

Too late, far too late

To get a toy to take

My head now exploding.

We walk to school,

And as the children run ahead

The milky autumn sun

Floods thought the auburn leaves

Giving a dappled glow

And as they run,

My daughter’s legs begin to skip

Just for that second or two

Time stops

The morning’s frustrations disappear.

And as a warm smile glows on my face,

The autumn's very own

Colour extravaganza,

Shines down

Upon my ever changing world.

She turns with a beam

To match the sun,

At the skipping she had just done.

　

She runs back to me,

"Did you see Mum, did you see!

What I have just done"?

"Yes my love I saw, I saw".

I think to myself

And I want that moment to live with me

Forever

More!