The science of Bra Making

The bras I bought a few weeks ago don't seem to fit me anymore... have I changed shape? Or did they not fit me perfectly when I first bought them, or have they changed shape in the wash?

So off I ventured again; buying bras in the size I think I am; namely: unusual and unique... in white cotton with adequate straps that can support a seemingly ever-changing pair of mammary glands.

I tried on nine bras in the fitting room and came away with one. I bought two of the same and came home; changing into one along with a new T-shirt. After half an hour, I was chafed and uncomfortable and just took the thing off. Is it me? Do I have ever-changing bosoms?

There must be a way of replicating my one and only well-fitting, fifteen year old, black lace, balconette bra. The science must be in place, surely? It was an M & S bra, which they don't seem to have reproduced at all. If I were famous, like Jeremy Paxman who managed to get Marks and Sparks to review their men's underpants upon his complaint, then they would no doubt listen to me. But who am I? Just an ordinary middle-aged widow with no clout. It all reinforces my current low self-esteem and frustration with my lot.

A well-fitted bra would not only lift my tits, but lift my spirits too.

Dry Stone Walling in the heat

A two-day course in an exquisite expanse of Cotswold countryside in heat of over 31 degrees was exhausting, sweaty, mind-numbing, but satisfying when you look at the results. A team of three women - we did our best! Not a job for the hottest weekend of this year, nor is it recommended for anyone physically limited, weak in stature or for those who hate jig-saw puzzles with the picture missing! I now know how to build a Cotswold Dry Stone Wall; a handy skill if ever I should have the opportunity to build one. In short - an excellent course, just a pity the weather was so relentlessly hot and oppressive. There was a written test at the end for anyone who wanted to gain a certificate. Our team declined as we staggered to our sun-baked cars where the smell of melting plastic and foam engulfed us as we opened the doors. Our brains were not at their best; due to heat exhaustion and sun stroke, no doubt.

During this last week I have also constructed a large wood-store with the help of my two grandsons. We moved large pots, wood pallets and a small shed in order to begin the construction. It's not bad... despite my snapping a drill bit while trying to screw holes in the thick tannelised wood; despite having to use plastic ties to join pallets together, and despite my lack of skill at using an electric drill. I can see a definite change in the shape of my biceps, and my shoulders seem to be bigger. How feminine.

Another month nearly gone, as I edge closer to the third anniversary of his death. What have I achieved, apart from dry stone-walling and building a wood store? Bigger muscles? Making a few friends with the Green Gym? I think that what I've gained most is inner calm, less anxiety over what will happen to me and a feeling that if I never, ever again find a really nice man to fall in love with, I can at least, survive reasonably well, physically and emotionally. I will somehow have to get used to the loneliness.

Headbutting is no cure

I know how she feels... my cat Banjo will be ten years' old this September, while the new addition - Pebble, will be just one year old. Just when Banjo thinks he has calmed down and she can wash him thoroughly without him swiping her with his immature paw, he attacks her playfully and being an elderly cat, she hisses and growls until he backs off. It's not easy for her and I admire her patience with him. He is confused as to how he should behave... he wants to 'rough and tumble' and chase her upstairs and in the garden while she prefers a more sedate existence.

I, on the other hand, wouldn't mind a bit of 'rough and tumble', or being chased upstairs... or, come to think of it, even the garden would be good! Enough of that!

I've been looking again at the courses on offer at Oxford College of Continuing Education... and there are three possibles; archaeology, psychology and epistomology - the latter being something I know a little of, having studied how people acquire knowledge, whilst doing my Masters in Education. I just need to work out my finances so that I could possibly do all three courses. As for finding a job, well I've scoured the papers again this week and there's nothing I can do... not unless I have an NVQ in English, Media Studies or Caring for the Elderly. Each week I feel more and more useless. You'd think that someone with an armful of qualifications, years of experience and a trunkload of training certificates could find something!

Little amourous man was swimming in the pool alongside me yesterday; powerfully doing the crawl, muscles rippling in the water, glancing at me now and then as I tried to powerfully do the breast stroke alongside him. I got out of the pool and languished in the jacuzzi, looking out of the window at the ducks on the little man-made lake. Why doesn't he get the message? As for doing the breast stoke; I have been to 'Bravissimo' to try and get a proper fitting bra. Four years' ago a woman at M&S measured me and said I was definitely a 38B. So having spent a fortune on lots of bras that don't fit, I wasn't surprised to learn that I am in fact, a 34DD. So now I have spent more money on bras that fit me for five minutes and then seem uncomfortable. I think I shall just burn the lot and go 'free', in the hope that I don't frighten the horses!

Just to add to my feeling of becoming useless, old and invisible, I read today that women's nipples shrink once past fifty-ish! So going bra-less won't be a problem - even in cold weather!

Hollyhocks and people

I have been growing hollyhocks for several years and love the surprise of their colour, for it never seems to stay the same. I'm not one for meticulously labelling everything in latin and love the surprise of an unexpected colour. Hollyhocks are like some people; flowers that can take some time to emerge and seem beautiful, but one or two plants despite their beauty can have an affliction of fungus that detracts from their overall beauty. Yep, it's good old human nature again... just when you think you have found someone 'nice', they say or do something that makes you back off.

One or two of my fellow Green Gymmers have surprised me in their abruptness, rudeness, thoughtlessness or selfishness. Such is the nature of human beings. But, for every one afflicted with a bit of fungal rust, there is another who is without blemish and who shines through.

Mama Mia... I sat with two of my daughters and laughed my socks off! It was a delight from start to finish and who'd have thought that Didcot on a Tuesday evening could be full of laughing, happy, mainly women, tumbling out of the new cinema complex talking animatedly about the film that was made on a budget and was ten years in the making due to the reluctance of Producers to take it seriously! Who cares if Mr Brosnan and Co didn't hit every note perfectly... it didn't matter because the sentiment was there, and people in the audience were shedding tears of sorrow one minute, and tears of laughter the next. Forget the critics, the film is a must... a 'feel-good' film that lifts the spirits. Highly recommended.

I wish some of my 'hollyhock' acquaintances in The Green Gym could 'let go' and just be themselves instead of making other's lives just a little less enjoyable.

A Petunia in an Onion Patch

Just like the song, 'I'm a poor little petunia in an onion patch', this opium poppy has shot up in the midst of my lavender and just like me seems so out of place amongst everyone else. I, like my fellow bereaved Puddock, am at the stage... three years almost, when I have proved too, that I can survive living in my home, I can hold conversations (of a sort) with others, can provide myself with food and entertain myself with the help of some good books, DVDs and two crazy cats who give me cuddles when I most need them. So what's the problem? I need more than DVDs and books. I too, need to be loved and cared for and have someone else to care for. The thought of spending perhaps another thirty years living in this sort of twilight world, not knowing where I fit in with society, the world or anything, is making me depressed... something I have fought against since he died.

Tomorrow night I am actually going out. Yes, to the cinema to see Mama Mia. I have roped in my daughters to accompany me; they agreed because their partners don't really fancy the film. I haven't been outside the house after eight o'clock for a very long time, except to empty the bin, and hope I can stay awake long enough to see the entire film. I'm hoping it will lift my spirits and keep me going for another week or two until I can find something else to look forward to.

On the subject of finding someone to care for and who will care for and love me ... is it all too much to hope for? I've surely had my ten years of true love, do we get another chance?

The Postman's legs get wet.

It's not easy trying to walk up my garden path with soaking wet lavender almost meeting, and even worse for the Postman who insists on wearing shorts in the rain. Any day I expect to see him with Machete in hand and shouting something from Kung Fu as he battles up my path with his bag of mail.

Today was the first fine day for a long time, but it didn't lift my low mood. It's coming up to three years since he went and I still don't know why I'm on this planet... nothing seems to have changed! My usual optimistic approach is deserting me and I look at all the couples ( who are just about everywhere), and feel happy for them, but then feel even lonelier than before. I hurt myself today while lifting the heavy lawn-mower over the gravel, and just dissolved into tears. Is this what it's going to be like... struggling with heavy objects; trying to work the electric drill without it speeding off in another direction; wondering how I'm going to paint the top of the stair well; wanting to go on holiday, but can't bear the loneliness of being alone with all those other couples. It's a day of feeling sorry for myself, but I don't care... I'm allowed! So I don't care if the Postman's legs get wet, the lavender looks lovely.

The sound of Gulls

I pulled weeds out of my West Oxfordshire windswept garden yesterday, idly letting my mind wander where it wanted, I thought about the sound of Sea-gulls or rather, the lack of! Having spent a great deal of my life living near the sea, I now find that in my land-locked area the sound of Gulls is something I miss; that and the light in the sky, which is always brighter due to the reflection off the expanse of sea. I also miss the beach walks and beach-combing, along with the salty air. I suppose it's the time of year when others around me are preparing to go on holiday and I am unable to afford a holiday this year. And, when we can't have something we crave it more.

Perhaps I could drive down to the south coast sometime soon; it's only two hours; spend the day on the beach with a picnic, paddle in the cold water and breathe in the salty air. That's the thing with being single and out of a job... if I can afford the petrol, I have the freedom to do whatever I want.

A Pigeon sat on the overhead wire above my car, so I clapped my hands loudly to scare it away. I prefer Gulls any day, although come to think of it; excrement from either can really mess up my car.