April Showers

It was early morning, around 7am, when glancing out of the window, I witnessed a delightful sight: A family of Greenfinches, fluttering in the still bare boughs of my apple tree. It's raw, snow has fallen in the past few days, hail storms wreaked havoc and Jack Frost has been keeping a nightly vigil. Despite the weather, this happy, colourful, little band of Greenfinches were enjoying a family outing. The first fledglings of the year.



Often I had gone this way before:

But now it seemed I never could be

And never had been anywhere else;

'Twas home, one nationality

We had, I and the birds that sang,

One memory....

(from Home by Edward Thomas 1878-1917)



Back to the subject of hail storms, we drove into an horrendous one on Sunday. Only minutes before, we had been parked on the verge of a delightful and scenic country lane. Sunshine poured into the car, as we sat and ate our lunch of sandwiches and bananas, washed down with a cup of strong coffee; followed by a welcome cigarette and a read of the local rag. It had been so relaxing, but it was time to hit the road home. Looking into the interior mirror, as I pulled away, the sky behind us had turned to the colour of ink. Just a couple miles on, the inky skies caught up with us and the heavens opened. As huge hailstones smashed into the car, we heard what sounded like a gunshot......a large hailstone had cracked the car windscreen! I'm still waiting for Autoglass to come and fix it, they were coming today, but it's been raining cats and dogs and the car is on the driveway. It needs to be dry, when the new windscreen is put in, otherwise the glue doesn't set and the new screen would likely blow out!




The bluebells with the grasses mingle;

But soon their azure will be scrolled,

Upon the primrose cloth-of-gold.

Yes, those are early lady-smocks,

The children crumple in their frocks,

And carry many a zig-zag mile,

O'er meadow, footpath, gate and stile;

To stick in pots and jugs to dress

Their cottage sills and lattices.....

(from A Defence of English Spring by Robert Bridges (1844-1930)

Updates from the geriatric ward:

Hubby is much improved, his confusion less (probably 'cause I aint bin nagging 'im so much!) Me? I be ready for the knackers yard: Still have that dratted bursa on me elbow and since this mornin' I be 'aving a job standing and walking - I got pain in me groin and leg. Sore lumps under me arm are nothing to the pain in me neck though; given to me by folks who were going to wave wands and actually get me some 'elp and support wiv hubby. Looks like I be back to square one, as they 'ave done nothing, 'cept chops about it and push the whole issue back onto my shoulders. The National Health Service be a disgrace to the Nation. The local Mental Health Team seem to be giving 'emselves a permanent holiday - trouble at the mill, so I bin informed. No support at all for hubby now, so it seems.



Our daughter's turned up trumps though. She's coming over on a reg'lar basis to change bed linen and keep the upstairs cleaned. I'm so thankful to her, but feel guilty, 'aving to admit I can't cope with the physical work. If I was a dog they 'ud put me down and give everyone a break; as I aint, yer'll 'ave ter put up wiv me moans and groans occasionally. Promise not to lose me humour though - am takin that ter 'eaven wiv me, when the time comes. 'Ere's me epitaph, for those of you who haven't read it afore: "Here lies a poet, no blood in 'er veins; Please? - cover the grave, whenever it rains!"





Time to go and check the "minced beef special", that's simmering on the hob; put the kettle on for a cuppa and stop hubby's snoring! Take care folks, thanks for dropping in; there's always a welcome on the mat and time for a natter at my place.