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.

The Lenten Rose and dancing to someone else's tune

These were one of his favourite winter plants and are now filling the garden with their droopy flower heads. Amazingly, there are bees out, diving in and out frenetically trying to gather some pollen. So too, is Pebble out in the sunshine, diving in and out of the plants, following Banjo, then diving back in through the open door whenever an unfamiliar noise erupts.

It's good to feel the warmth of the sun on my back as I take photos and talk to the cats, encouraging Pebble to come further into the garden and explore. A builder shouts and Pebble dashes back indoors.

I go to the new Dance class and try my best to contort my body into the impossible positions the class teacher commands. She demonstrates some peculiar moves while spinning on her back on the floor with her legs over her head and asks us to do the same. I look at a woman next to me who raises her eyes to heaven, we all laugh and get down on the floor just to appease the instructor. What occurred next did not resemble in any way the moves of the instructor. I have not put my body in such positions since attempting a Yoga class years' ago, or since having a very active sex life! She ended the class by reminding us to wear something pink or red next week to celebrate Valentine's day, and that she wanted to do some even more complex moves along the same theme as tonights. Hmmm, I think I shall give it a miss and try a different class next week, one that doesn't require me to stare at my own backside with one leg over my shoulder and spin like a demented character out of a horror movie.

I'd like to try something a little less complex and contortionalist. Like the Lenten Rose, I prefer to move according to my mood and the weather, not to an ex-dancer's need to show off. Hence my love of swimming... to my own tune.

Expensive Hair-Do

'Too many have given up generosity in order to practice charity.' Albert Camus. This was the quote of the day on my Google Account and so very true of some ex-friends of mine who firmly shut the door on me over a dispute on the meaning of words , whilst I believe, they were living under the cloak of charity. Thank you Puddock for bringing Albert Camus to my attention.

Moving on ... decided to treat myself to a hair-do at great cost, only to be dissappointed with the end result. The cut is expertly done, but shorter than I wanted, and I didn't realise this until the final blow-drying when I at last put my glasses on. Highlights are good, but half of them have been cut out for the final style. Like most British women in this predicament we say lamely that it is shorter than expected only to be met with 'but it really suits your face shape.' So, I made the next appointment for two months down the line in the hope that my hair grows rapidly and must remember next time to be more assertive about how much is to be cut off. As for highlights, well they look good for 5 minutes, but think I shall return to doing-it-myself in future.

Moving on again... I am now joining more classes at the Gym, so meeting more people... a necessity before I lose the power of face-to-face communication skills and speak only in 'cat'. Speaking of which, the cats fights most of the time, or rather, Pebble tries to fight Banjo, (his testosterone levels are still high), while she fends him off; lots of hissing, spitting, growling and fur-flying. When his hormones aren't racing through his system, he tries to rub into Banjo and wash her face... she mistrusts him and hisses quietly until he backs off. I nearly bought a book on recognising and interpreting cat behaviour, but it was too expensive, and I thought, what would that knowledge do for me... except to enable me to exclaim, 'Ah, so that's what they're doing.'

At least animals don't let you down; their love is unconditional and forgiving. Wouldn't it be great if family and friends were so?