It's coming

The crocuses are well and truly out! It's official... Spring is coming and soon we shall all feel more optimistic, happier and have a spring in our step... well, I would say that wouldn't I... I am, after all, an eternal optimist.

The dining room is now painted; ceiling was a bit of a bugger... they usually are. I am covered in lots of tiny specks of matt white emulsion... mainly in the hair, so have decided to give the Gym a miss tonight and instead have an early bath and Gin and Tonic, then bed. Wow, do I know how to live?

Although, I did visit the Gym last night and had a good session on the treadmill, followed by weights - half-heartedly, but thankfully no-one was remotely interested or watching, then I had a leisurely swim in the pool. I think swimming is 'my thing'. I love the feeling of gliding through the water, stretching out my limbs and torso; it's something I've always been rather good at and have always enjoyed. I can lose myself in the water and think of all sorts of things... my lovely man, my life as it was and as it is now. I watch other people and love the interaction of strangers as they sit in the almost boiling Jacuzzi, trying to be sociable while enjoying the sheer indulgence of warm pleasurable bubbles as they pummel various parts of the body... a massage without human contact!

I walked into the local Post Office today to pick up my paper that is always put aside for me... there was a tall man with nice eyes wearing jeans, jacket and a woollen hat who smiled at me. He was rather nice and of my age. I smiled and looked away... I really don't know how to handle these situations. He left and got into his Land Rover as I looked wistfully through the glass door at him. I remembered my black eye and the old decorating overalls I was wearing and thought he was probably smiling at the apparition of an eccentric villager. Ahh well, I can dream.

If nothing else is about to happen, we can know for certain that Spring is just around the corner... so too is Valentine's day. Good luck to all those lucky enough to have a Valentine... may they enjoy every moment of their lives together.

To jump or not

At last the sun came out today and I spent a few hours outside tidying up the garden while builders worked on a house near by. Their voices carried across in the still air... one was talking about his proposed holiday at Easter, while one was singing along to the radio. One looked across at me, stared for a while and carried on working. Perhaps he could see my black eye from where he was standing on some scaffolding. Who cares?

Pebble sat at the open window gazing out, very interested in the birds, but too timid to actually jump out. For a wild cat he definitely likes to stay indoors. He and Banjo are currently in the throes of sorting out the hierarchy, so they fight at every opportunity, staring each other down, as cats do. I haven't a clue who is winning, but when the fighting becomes too violent, I step in, sending them running in opposite directions, just to let them know that I am at the top of the hierarchy in this household.

Hectic weekend coming up; stitches out at the Dentist in Oxford on Saturday, daughter number two staying the weekend and daughter number three calling in for lunch, along with her two boys. Hopefully, between us, we can mend the dishwasher with the plunger I've just bought.

No men on the dating horizon... I think all prospects have dried up... literally. Oh well, at least I tried. As for meeting someone face to face... they would really have to like purple, black and brown, especially around the eyes.

When I stood next to Niagra Falls, the torrent of water gushing over the falls just a few feet away, mesmerised me and drew me nearer and nearer; hypnotically pulling me closer to the edge. I was not alone... other people including my lovely man said the same... there was something about the pull of the water that took away rational thought.

Today I felt much better and proudly looked people in the eye as they gazed at my black eye as I shopped in the local market town of Witney. The bruising is turning nicely black, and before long will diminish to a yellowy brown. The pain has subsided and I now feel human again. This must be how it feels to have cosmetic surgery I suppose! No matter how awlful I look and feel, my cats love me, and I them.

As for the dating site... advice to anyone thinking of trying it... don't!! Perhaps it's me... or perhaps the type of man I'm looking for is not on any dating website... or perhaps my photo and profile attracts a certain type of man who has no finesse, and jumps straight into the personal or sexual type of dialogue. Or, perhaps the problem is me... perhaps I'm just too picky. Or, maybe, it's the age range... older men may be too set in their ways and still have the neanderthal approach to chat-up lines. As a friend said to me recently... why not try for someone younger? Now, I ask myself, why on earth would a younger man be in the least interested in me when there are so many gorgeous young women around? Unless, I suppose, they thought I had pots of money! And, just supposing I managed to attract a younger man, what on earth would I do with him? Hmmm, I could think of something!

Just like Niagra, the dating site pulled me in and took away rational thought. I have just deleted a 'wink' from a very short sixty-something man who keeps lots of dogs who 'could show me a good time'. Is it me? I'm tempted to post a photo of me, complete with a black eye... that should put them off.

Bleak goings on

Today I intended to photograph some snowdrops or crocuses to cheer myself up on this, the most depressing day of the year, (according to The Daily Mail). Not a crocus or snowdrop in sight - just some unassuming House Leeks that are placed outside the front door to ward off evil (some say).

In just one week since my last post, I have decorated the large sitting room; battling with the ceiling and getting myself and Pebble covered in paint, and eventually painting the walls in 'Egyptian Sand', of which a little blob seems to be permanently on Pebble's nose. I ached from head to toe from moving furniture in and out of rooms and continually stepping up and down on chairs. I washed two sets of lined curtains; supposedly washable, but which have in fact shrunk to be 3 inches shorter!

The dishwasher has ceased to pump out water... (annoying as it's hardly been used), and so I've
been ladeling out water using a plastic cup, tea-towels and attempting to suck out the outlet pump with the 'crevice nozzle' of my vacuum cleaner, (with electrics switched off). It will no doubt cost me 'an arm and a leg' to get mended.

The week ended with a visit with daughter number one, down to the south coast to see daughters two and four and baby Fin and all have lunch together - another milestone in family entente cordial! Then just to ensure I exhausted myself to the limit; I had a tooth removed late on Saturday in order for some fancy bridgework to commence. The tooth broke off, stitches abound and I now have a black eye and puffy cheeks, resulting in getting some peculiar looks from the village shop as I walked in on the bleakest, darkest day of the year, wearing dark glasses and no smile.

It can only get better from here...

Pink and elegant

The Cotswold Wildlife Park has something for everyone... like our local Post Office and the Co-op! No matter what your interests or inclinations, there is something to interest everyone. It is a great place to take the family, with enough to cater for a whole day out. No... they're not paying me for advertising. It's where I take my grandchildren when I've exhausted everything else! The cost is worth it!

I used to have a Sister-in-law who, like the flamingoes pictured was pink and elegant. I never saw her without make-up or with unkempt hair like mine first thing in the morning. She was perfect in her appearance, but not so in her manners. In fact, she was pink, perfect, and pretentious. I no longer am subjected to her pretentiousness of which I am grateful. Unlike me, she has no grandchildren, that I know of, although she would dearly love some. Unlike me, I don't believe she was truly loved and in love. And, unlike me, she didn't like other women very much. I endured visits to her house to please my beloved, as we all do when in a loving relationship. Would I do the same again? No. I was falsely wooed into believing she liked me, only to be rejected when we invited her and her husband to our wedding, and to which they staunchly refused to come. Pink, perfect and pretentious, just like aloof flamingoes. Although I think I would trust a flamingo any day.

No stitches required!

I love the bright light on a clear January day; it is different to any other time of the year and full of promise. Fresh green shoots from dormant bulbs push their way up through the earth, knowing that just around the corner comes the warmth and longer days of spring. Being an eternal optimist I love Spring - it's my favourite season; full of promise, freshness and the beginnings of life.

Pebble was still drowsy when I picked him up from the Cat Clinic. No stitches required! I asked how his testicles were removed without stitches and was given a very detailed account. It was micro-surgery at its best; tiny hole in each sac, then the little testicle is literally 'popped' out. The skin then shrinks down upon itself and closes up without the need for stitches. Very clever! Why had I envisaged it being such a big deal? Probably because so much emphasis is put upon male genitalia? Hmm, mainly by men me thinks? Anyway, Pebble didn't seem to notice their absence and he still races around the house, attacking Banjo at every opportunity to practice his male skills. I haven't the heart to tell him that he is not so male any more and he can stop the pretence. Banjo seems to have noticed a change in his physiology and is now getting tough with him. Pebble has been investigating his rear end, but still doesn't seem to notice the absence of two little marbles. I wonder what the vets do with them all?

He went back to the Vet today to have what's left of his genitalia checked out, ie no infection or resultant soreness. He was so terrified he wet the blanket in the Cat carrier - poor mite. Then when we arrived home he proceeded to act male again and attacked Banjo, who calmly swiped him round the head with her paw.

As for the online dating; today no emails or interest... perhaps I've now seen all there is in my age range and area of Oxfordshire. I have had to block one... he kept asking about my interest in erotic movies and couldn't wait to 'get it together' with me. He may be in his early fifties but he looked as if he was seventy at least; yes, youv'e guessed it, teeth were not good, hair combed over his head to hide the bald bit and eyes hidden by thick lensed glasses. Oh how I wish I could just walk into a pub or bar on my own and get talking to a nice man without him thinking I was on the prowl. Is Britain still old-fashioned in its views about single mature women out in bars? Or is it me?

Another... an amateur photographer said he could 'do me some very flattering photos' if I liked! How kind! I must ask the Vet for more details about testicle removal... preferably with stitches!

Young Stags

Poor Pebble; he is, as we speak, having his little pebbles removed at the Cat Clinic. I called him this morning; he came running, hoping for his breakfast and chirping with tail in the air. He was grabbed and stuffed into the Cat Carrier not knowing what fate awaited him. He cried all the way and hid under his blanket as we entered the Clinic. I had to sign a consent form as I was told that sometimes anaesthetic can be a problem. Now I'm worried and await a phone call.

Another email from the online dating agency; they seem to be getting younger... a very dishy twenty-seven year old seems to like me... I have children older than he! He is Spanish, so there has probably been a misunderstanding during translation. Where are all the well-balanced, not-to-bad looking, strong and not too short men in their early fifties? The trouble is, I am still probably comparing potential dates with my lovely deceased man, and in my mind, none have so far matched up. I know... I can hear you say that I must not compare anyone else to him... but he was so bloody perfect, he is a hard act to follow. I think I must resign myself to never finding anyone. Not a bad thing perhaps... I shall turn into an old widow, along with cats and knitting by the fireside. In fact, I'm already there!

Meanwhile, I can gaze at the few gorgeous young stags who are making contact... I know a good optician who can sort out their short-sightedness, and I also know a therapist who can help with their 'mother' fixation.