What's normal?

The deep crags, swirls and lines of the bark of an old tree shows the effect of time, weather and growth over many years. So too does a person's face, and with that in mind, I have discounted many a picture that pops up on the dating website, having seen no depth, experience or feeling therein.

Now, I'm not saying that I'm looking for a very lined and weather-beaten face along the Tommy Lee Jones variety, although I really don't mind. But I would like to see experience, compassion and openness in a face - which, so far, I haven't.

Then there's the profile blurb; all-important because it is a first indication of whether a person is boring, self-centred, bullish, wimpish or just looking for any female who 'will do'. My renewed interest in the website is due to having posted three new photos, taken one morning last week with my long arm outstretched, in a good light and while in a good mood. Hence, the emails have come flooding in, along with many winks and offers of all sorts from all ages of men, eg 32 to 84 years' of age. I have been called beautiful, gorgeous and sexy; this is a good indication of the type of fifty-something man and his idea of how to chat up a woman. Whereas the thirty and forty-somethings are much better at talking to a woman in an equal and adult way. Some have given me their email addresses and phone numbers during the first contact... while I do not wish to divulge my private contact number with any Tom, Dick or Dirty Harry. I open up my emails each day in the hope that there will be someone out there who is just normal, attractive and of my age and not living in the outer Hebrides. You see... as an eternal optimist I am constantly being disappointed by my own unreasonable expectations.

However, talking about 'normal' - today I saw a man in his thirties walking along Witney High Street, pulling a banana on a dog lead; he even stopped at a litter bin and waited a few seconds before moving on. No-one commented, all ignored him as if his behaviour was perfectly normal. Perhaps I shall have to re-think my idea of normal and go back to the website for a second, less critical look.

Ancient stones

There's something very serene, solid and calming about ancient rocks and stones that have been in place since the last ice-age. They weather the storms and ever-changing climate, yet still look beautiful and strong. The stones in this photo are The Plumpton Stones near Weatherby in Yorkshire where my friends and I took a long walk over and around the stones and along the edge of the lake. It was eerily quiet with just the birds singing as though Spring had sprung. A man sat at the edge of the lake with his foot idly placed on his fishing rod while smoking and reading his newspaper. (Multi-tasking - me thinks!)

If only we all could look as calm, serene, beautiful and strong after weathering the storms of what life thows at us. Perhaps if we too, lived as long as The Plumpton Stones we would also be calm, serene, beautiful and strong. But, in such a short life time, we have not the temperament; rather, we want to get in as much living, loving, laughing, crying and wailing as possible before we disappear.

Short breaks, acting and politeness

I am still basking in the relaxing thoughts of staying at 'Goddards' despite coming home to a missing and traumatised kitten who has now relaxed and is no longer permanently attached to my chest for safety.

Tomorrow I'm off to Yorkshire for two days and this time, my daughter is coming over to feed the cats. My friends live in Spofforth, not pronounced as you'd think, and it took me a little practice to master it. Two very good, loyal friends they are too, having been through some dark and some happy days with me and my dear departed. We have often shared our anguished thoughts when going through divorce, financial settlements and poverty; also some very good times celebrating happy events and being there for each other providing either broad or puny shoulders to cry on. I will be able to relax and enjoy their company, knowing that I can speak without carefully watching my words, and that I can be open with them about my circumstances without them taking offence. This is so refreshing in a world where so many proud and ignorant people have their swollen heads firmly stuck up their own backsides and hence unable to see the real world around them. We have all met them sometime or other in our lives, and unfortunately, often at our place of work where we can't avoid them.

Whenever my lovely man and I went on holiday, we could remove ourselves from the pretence and workplace crap that turns us into shadows of what we really are; meeting deadlines and being polite to the impolite and stupid. When in this frame of mind, I really don't want to join the high octane world of corporate business again and so, being a costumed historical character at Oxford Castle might be what I'm looking for now. I so enjoyed dressing up for the Murder, Mystery Dinner at Goddards and found myself really getting into the part of the Marchioness DuChamps, so much so that my daughter remarked afterwards that she thought my acting was exceptional - I think she was being kind, (or polite)!

Murder, Mystery and missing kitten

For the past week I have entered a pre-existing world where there was no TV, no music centres, no convenience stores, video shops or petrol stations. I have stayed at a large old-fashioned English house called Goddards, near Dorking in Surrey. The house was built by Edwin Lutyens in 1900 and the garden was planted by Gertrude Jeykyll. All remains as it was then. The house is looked after by the Landmark Trust and the Lutyens Trust, and can be rented for short periods for people to stay. I highly recommend it, and other Landmark Trust sites, some of which are authentic Castles within the British Isles. My bed was so warm, deep and comfortable that I wafted off to a wonderful sleep each night, despite tooth problems - still! I spent the week with lovely people; close family of my daughter's partner, whose 40th birthday it was, and who very generously paid for us all to join them.

During the week we walked to remote Pubs, watched Deer in the 7 acres of woodland, saw pheasants in the frosty early mornings and enjoyed good company together doing jigsaws, drinking fine wine and enjoying a Mystery Murder Dinner whereby we all dressed up according to our characters. I was Marchioness Duchamps who scandalised two continents... I never did find out in what way, but I dressed up in period style and did my best to be as scandalous as possible wearing a red feather boa and a 'fu fu' in my hair. I'm not sure that 'fu fu' is correct, but it is a feather construction clipped into hair. The overall effect was good and made me look scandalous, along with tight skirt, velvet blouse and very red lipstick, not to mention high heels and green tights.

Not only did we celebrate my daughter's partner's 40th birthday, but on the last evening he proposed to my daughter and she of course, accepted. So, another wedding to look forward, but this time I will not have to bake 120 sodding cup cakes!

I did, I admit, shed a few tears, wishing that my lovely man, my daughter's step-dad was still here to celebrate too. It's moments like these that I miss him most and when I feel most lonely.

I returned feeling thoroughly relaxed and pleased with life in general only to find that my lovely little kitten had 'bolted' and was nowhere to be seen.

My neighbours had been feeding my cats early morning and evening, but for some reason had decided to hunt down my kitten just to look at him... their son visited unbeknown to his mother who was at work, and he moved furniture to get to the kitten who was traumatised enough to leave home. Is it me? Or, do some people not 'get' frightened animals? Anyway, after many hours of walking up and down the lane calling him, I gave up and went indoors, very upset wondering if he would survive on his own or if something terrible had happened. I sat down on the sofa and cried. Then I heard him cry as he crept in the room with large scared eyes. He saw me and jumped onto my lap, and that is where he has more or less stayed for the last three days, not letting me out of his sight. Hopefully, lessons have been learnt. While I am grateful for my neighbours' willingness to feed my cats, I do wish they would just do the job and not let their son and his friends access my house at their convenience and terrorise my pets for their own gratification. I have often done the same for them, but have never thought of wandering around their upstairs rooms seeking out their cat. Again, I ask, is it me?

Dreams and Trebuchets

It must be the antibiotics; I dozed between sleep and wakefulness this morning dreaming of being kept prisoner in a damp, cold stone room with large flagstones on the floor and some hay in the corner for my bed. I had no window, just an arrow slit in the thick walls where I could hear hammering and knocking and men shouting. There was a rumbling sound as if heavy machinery was being moved along a gravel road... I awoke. The hammering was still there, so too the sound of heavy machinery; the builders had started work early, and the dust-cart was emptying the bins outside. Not a flagstone in sight and my bed was not made of hay.

I lay there for a while, reaffirming the reality of my life, time and place. I was not a maiden in distress locked away in a castle tower, nor were there Trebuchets on the horizon ready to hurl fireballs. Perhaps my subconscience was saying that I need to be rescued from my current situation... who knows? In my mind I rattled off all the good things about my existence; I am secure, have a nice home, have wonderful daughters, two peculiar but loveable cats, am in good health, (apart from my inflamed teeth), I have a car and live in a particularly beautiful part of England. This is more than a lot of people have, so why the dream?

Some of my weirdest dreams have materialised whilst under medication or with a high temperature. Years ago, I lay in a hospital bed, recuperating from a major operation; dosed up with Pethadine and coming round from a deep sleep, when I imagined a fire engine speeding towards me and about to run me down. I remember my heart thumping in my chest and woke up suddenly to see the Tea Trolley coming to a stop by my bed. "Cup of tea, Love?"

Sunshine and Teeth

Another glorious day, so again, no decorating while the sun shines. Pruning the Buddleia and Lavatera as the sun's rays warmed my cheeks while Nat King Cole's warm, chocolatey tones drifted out through the open window, was sheer heaven.

The cats joined me, although Banjo kept her back to Pebble as if to reject his intrusion upon her up-till-now, sole domain of the garden. Each sudden noise sent him scurrying back indoors, only to creep outside again when perceived danger had passed.

I'm so tired... antibiotics the reason. Teeth have reacted to recent treatment, or bacteria has crept into new wounds, leaving me with tooth, gum and jaw-ache. I've been so careful with rinsing and cleaning too. Told to rest to let antibiotics work, no gym, no heavy work, no swimming or lifting. A little light pruning should be okay though.

The weather will change tomorrow. Who knows what else tomorrow will bring...

A Taste of Spring and Cream Teas

What to do on a sunny Sunday in February after a miserable grey winter so far? Not the decorating that's for sure! So out and about I went; going wherever the car took me and I ended up at Stow-on-the-Wold along with the world and his wife. Eventually found a parking space and then spent a couple of hours wandering around in and out of tourist shops and basking in the warm-ish sun rays.

I can't help but notice that on days such as these, there are couples everywhere and singletons like me are definitely in the minority. So where do all the other singletons go on a sunny weekend day I ask myself? Is there a venue somewhere that I'm not aware of where I could perhaps find someone to have a general conversation with, without tying myself down to an actual 'date'? Someone suggested I embark on a lot of late-night shopping trips... well, I don't have the money to keep shopping and I'm not convinced that this is where all the other singletons hang out.

Getting back to the day out... From Stow I drove around the Cotswolds, ending up in Bibury; nowhere to park so continued along roads never travelled before and came across some exquisite little villages with their butter-coloured stone houses; profusions of crocuses and snowdrops and everywhere birds were singing. I fancied a Cotwold Cream Tea and headed east until I found a remote sign to Burford, passing some travellers in ancient Gypsy caravans along the way. I couldn't understand the congested traffic as I crossed the A40 towards Burford, then I saw the reason; a horse had broken loose and was standing in the middle of the main road. Passers-by and police officers were trying to coax him onto the grass verge, one holding on to his mane with trepidation. I drove down into the village parking alongside the river Windrush where an abundance of ducks fought for a child's handful of bread.

I sat in the Priory Tea Rooms, warm, relaxed and enjoyed my scone, clotted cream and hot Tea.

So much better than painting the kitchen.