After my last suggestion that the weather might be improving, Mother Nature took that as a hint to stop being so predictable and promptly turned to grey skies and rain. And cold. There were pyjamas to be seen in our house in the last few days.
However, today the sun shines again and spirits are cheered rather than drunk. So I’ve been for a walk, and am now reporting back.
Firstly, I had to drop in on Deirdre, since several advertisers don’t seem to have realised yet that she’s taken back her newsletter duties and are still sending their cheques to me. It might be easier to take them straight to the bank, but that’s in town and I have no intention of walking that far because I don’t trust Mother Nature. Or my knees. Deirdre was either not in or not answering her door still, because there was no answer, so I scribbled ‘Please tell them to write to you in future’ on one of the envelopes and then shoved the handful through her letterbox. Whether she does or not, I will let you know.
Then I went for a wander round our little wood. The hawthorn is busily doing its thing, brightening up the hedgerows with cloudbursts of white, and I might try to use it for inspiration for my poem – more of which later. I also ran into Sylvia, who must be about 80 and yet seems fitter than me, probably in part due to the fact that she looks after elderly greyhounds and has to take them for regular walks, even if the sun isn’t shining. She had just acquired a new resident so was keeping him on a tight leash as he sniffed at everything in sight. I had to stand still while he checked me out too, but apparently I’ve passed the test, provided I don’t take Sylvia any biscuits with chocolate in, as apparently he has a real penchant for biscuits but the chocolate does him no favours.
Then it was down to the post office, to buy some stamps. I should have gone last week before the price went up, but as ever, I didn’t need to post anything last week so I forgot. It was quite busy with people holding e-bay parcels under their arms, ready for redistribution, and headphones on, doubtless listening to some motivational speech about making money from nothing. Not a single person speaking! I didn’t recognise any of them, so perhaps they didn’t know each other either, but it was rather spooky and more like a hospital waiting area, but without the smell of disinfectant.
After posting the birthday card to my god-daughter in Leeds, I headed home, because as I mentioned, I have a poem to write. Verity took me along to the meeting on Monday, and somewhat to my surprise, it was in the village. For some reason, I’d thought it was going to be in town, but although there were some people from town there, about half the group live in walking distance. Obviously, I didn’t have anything to share this time, but the other nine people had all brought something, a mixture of short and long poems, that they’d written on the subject of the royal wedding. I’m quite glad I didn’t have to do that one, because I’m not sure yet what I’d say, but some of them were interesting and Verity was right, they didn’t all rhyme. I won’t comment here on Verity’s poem but it was more about the dress than the wedding. I can’t remember all the names, but an Elizabeth who lives only a few doors down is hosting the next meeting, at the beginning of May. By which time, I need to try and write a calendar poem. Something about April, in eight lines. It doesn’t sound very many, but my attempts so far have been dominated by April Showers which even I realise is a little cliché.