A Funeral for a Bullfinch

Thursday rolls around again and today we had three collections. First was Ben, just finished the very first of his GCSEs. Bert collected him, took him for a hearty breakfast, then they both picked Evie up from playgroup.

She arrived back here in very bad form. Apparently there had been some sort of difficulty with a boy named Kai. It must have been bad for she was inconsolable for at least ten minutes. He had 'noyed' her by looking at her from under the table. Doesn't sound like much but a three-year-old looks at the world differently than we do. Cuddles, a sausage roll, red sauce and a glass of milk set her on her feet again.

We sorted out the hens, collected eggs and passed the time very pleasantly until it was time to collect Martha from school. We all checked out a charity shop in Harryville where I bought a bunch of books for 60p, some bright pink Crocs for £1 (real ones and I promise I'll only wear them for gardening) and the girls added to the dressing up box.

We weren't long back when Bert discovered this poor bullfinch that had flown into one of the sun room windows. That meant there had to be - A Funeral.

Martha collects the poor wee thing in an environmentally friendly open casket - half an egg box. Sort of appropriate, eggs, birds....

 Ben was chief grave-digger. Note girls' tragic stance. Note Young Loveheart's dog Phoenix, a part of the funeral party. Our dogs did not attend.

Left alone at the grave side, Phoenix cannot help wondering why perfectly good food has been buried in the ground and a piece of concrete slab placed on it. Little does she know that the slab is there to prevent her from digging the bird up.

The girls lay flowers on the grave while Phoenix watches. I have to say that her owner was almost as bemused as she by the proceedings. I had to explain to Young Loveheart that the game of Playing Funerals is useful for helping young children to accept the cycle of life and death.

The posy that the girls gathered. I think it looks very pretty even though it too will soon wither and die.

Thursday is turning out to be Nellybert's favourite day of the week.

New Stuff

There are people who love getting new stuff. Sometimes I am one of them. I love new clothes, especially pants and socks and I love new pens and books and stuff for the kitchen and duvet covers and plants and other things like that.

And while I like the idea of new cameras, TVs, phones, computers and so on I am not so keen on the reality. I am the kind of person who could buy a new peripheral for my computer and leave it in its box for six weeks because the dread of setting it up and getting it to work paralyses me.

Today I got a new phone and a new TV. The new phone was because I put my old one in the sink with the dishes and attempted to wash it. I did not mean to do it but I was in a terrible tizzy because I had had a lot of company staying over for more than a week and I was in this robotic trance of must wash dishes, must wash dishes.

Anyways the phone is up and running although my contacts have disappeared. The TV is a different matter. It is unlike any I had before. It is out of its box but that is because Young Loveheart tuned it in for me and did lots of other complicated stuff involving the attic and swearing at McSquirter (Hannah will know what that means). I was even able to watch New Tricks and News at Ten but changing the channel fucked it up. It's OK because Young Loveheart is coming back tomorrow to tweak something after Bert buys some other thing from the electrical shop in Cully.

I'm very confident that the TV will be up and running by Thursday so that if one of Bert's annoying friends turns up to talk about matters horticultural, I will be able to escape upstairs and not miss The Killing.

Then later on, when he feels like it and I feel like it, Young Loveheart is going to show me how to work the electric sewing machine that has been sitting unopened in its box for three months. Then I can make a start on that patchwork quilt for Miss Martha.

In other news I have decided not to drink for a month. I'll let you know how that goes.

Too Tired To Blog...

...which is what happens if you don't leave off the hard labour on the Sabbath Day.

I laboured mightily at the coalface Monday and Tuesday. And I walked hard as well. On the second walk (Cullybackey to Gillies) I spotted what looked like a drowned sheep on the riverbank but I did not investigate further as it was nearly dark. Bert was cooking a leg of lamb last night and this sighting took the edge of my appetite. Swisser joined us for supper so there would definitely be no blogging. After we'd eaten, Bert, as usual, was fishing for compliments and only then he told us that the leg of lamb had belonged to one of those gorgeous Jacob's sheep. I don't know if I'd have eaten it if I'd known that.

Afterwards, Young Loveheart turned up. He was looking pretty skinny and was sporting a neat wee beard. I thought he looked like a male model. Sort of pale and interesting. The first thing he said was "I'm dying. I have a brain virus." It's not often I'm rendered speechless. Just what do you say to a 26-year-old who has just announced he's terminally ill? It was quite a relief when we established that 'dying' was a figure of speech and he meant that he'd been rather poorly.

Natch Young Loveheart's pale and interesting look intrigued Swisser who hadn't met him before. "So who's Young Loveheart then?" she coyly enquired. I answered, "Old Loveheart's son," and left it at that. Then the next thing she's quizzing him about his recent illness and trying to pass herself off as a real doctor. But I soon put the young fellow right by telling him that she's only a PhD with a midwifery qualification and not to be paying any heed to her.