Friday, 19 September 2014

Wearing Purple

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple

 by Jenny Joseph

Me at the Steam Rally

When we went to the Steam Rally on the last Bank Holiday, it tipped down with rain on the Monday. So much so that I bought a hat off the hat stall. I've always fancied wearing a red hat and had a bit of a laugh with the stall holder about the saying that goes with it.  Growing old? Yep. I've arrived and loving every minute.

Friday, 12 September 2014

Aberystwyth Re-visited

At the beginning of the year, all along the south and west coasts Britain was battered by storms. Seems such a long time ago now. Hard to imagine that only nine months ago, it was all like this.
Aberystwyth on the South Wales coastline was one of the many little towns and hamlets to feel the brunt ....

We live inland about 60 miles away. Last Monday we went out on a day trip. It's funny, when it's winter you can't imagine the summer and in the summer time, winter seems a million light years away.

The sun was shining, but most the holiday makers had packed up and gone home. The children, back in school. The uni and college students not yet back. The boats in the harbour, hunkered down and not a fisherman in sight. The walkway through the castle ruins all but deserted. The last remnants of the wild little pink thrift growing in clumps by the castle wall. Rock pools with fronds of trailing red and green algae and limpets. The sea endlessly swishing as the tide idly ebbed and flowed. You could breathe in the pungent smell of  seaweed trapped on the shore. Just a few of us and the seagulls and I loved it.