A happy photo to cheer up a bad year

As some of those who know me personally will know, this year has been pretty horrible so far, with the timely - even overdue - death of someone who had suffered for too long, and the untimely loss of one who hadn't even been born.

So I thought I'd post this photo, because it cheers me up. It is my youngest son and my youngest grandson (his nephew) taking a stroll together. It was taken last week-end, (and in case you wonder, Youngest Son nearly always dresses like that, even in the depths of winter).

A bargain for your Kindle!

Times are hard, competition is fierce, so I am delighted that I have finally persuaded my publisher to reduce the Kindle price of my two novels, Dead Ernest and The Birds, the Bees and Other Secrets.

At £2.50 each they're a bargain....aren't they? That's less than a pint of beer in our local pub, and guaranteed to last longer! And if you don't enjoy them I promise to buy you that pint next time you're in Wiltshire (okay. Orange juice, then, if you're driving).

Playing My Little Pony

Ghastly, isn't it? Titch was appalled when I showed it to him. "Purple! With WINGS! Are you out of your mind?" Yes. I probably am. But the whole My Little Pony thing is what drives a lot of horsey women.

Not the toy, of course, but the whole brushing and polishing and dressing up thing. It's why girls outnumber boys in the "I want a pony" stakes. We just love doing things to our horses.

So while with my daughter-in-law, it's shoe shops, and my daughter, clothes, with me, it's tack shops. Horsey Heaven. The smell of leather, the shiny new bits(I don't need a new bit. I've got one), the glossy bridles, the lovely colourful rugs, which stay lovely and colourful for just as long as it takes their new wearers to get out into a field and roll in the mud (ie about ten minutes); they are like magnets.

This week, I went to get a new back protector; dull, but sensible. They hadn't one that fitted, so I bought a beautiful new head collar; black and red, to go with Titch's colouring. I didn't need it - I have several dirty old ones, that do the job perfectly - but I wanted it. I really wanted it. With a shiny black rope to match.

I was quite excited when I put it on Titch to try it out, but it didn't fit (it had looked small, but I'd been assured that it was the right size).
"Serves you right," said Titch, as I struggled to get it off again. "Think of all the carrots you could have bought with that money!"

He's right, of course. For once. But what he doesn't know is that I shall have to go back to Horsey Heaven to change it. What a shame. And who knows what I may find there?

There may even be a pair of wings in just the right size...

Magie 108

A twitcher in his leafy hide
Saw wildfowl lesser, spotted, pied.
But one day, this glad cry was heard:
Oh boy! That's what I CALL a bird!”


(With thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for the photo)

A letter from Death Row

At last my new correspondent has repied to my letters (my last one decided he no longer wished to write). This is the man on Texas Death Row, and he is obviously creative and intelligent. He paints and writes, and would like to compose music, but isn't allowed an instrument to play on. His letter is bleak and hopeless Here is an extract:

"Everyone needs a friend. Being condemned to die. Being told by a jury that my life is so worthless that I must be wiped from existence has been at the front of my mind. To have it compounded by people who write* but don't let me be human to let me experience love, desire, indignation, sorrow, the full spectrum of emotions - well it doesn't make sense. I live and dream. I am here and I'll listen. All I ask for is a chance."

*I'm not sure whom he's referring to here.

He has been abandoned by family and friends, even his twin brother. He has no access to news or newpapers, and has no idea what's going on in the world. He is totally isolated, and it seems that the system offers not a shred of chance for any kind of redemption. His life is an ongoing punishment until he suffers the ultimate one (Texas executes inmates at a frightening rate; two already in the last month).

"Over fifty"

Yep, that's me. Over fifty, and then some. And when you get to be my age, you get sent, among other things, offers of life insurance, health insurance, advance funeral arrangments/payment, and horrible, horrible clothes.

I received a catalogue of the latter this morning.

There are bras like twin buckets and knickers like small baths; there are awful crimplene trousers and knee-length skirts; clumpy shoes (because we older folk might fall over if we walk in anything glamorous), things in awful bridesmaid colours (lemon, aqua, peach...you get the idea) and - joy of joys - lots of elasticated waists.

Now, I have a waist. Not, it must be admitted, the "tiny waist" of the romantic heroine (after four babies, I don't expect one), but I go in in the middle, and out again at the hips, and I call it a waist. I like to have belts and zips and buttons. I wear hipster jeans. I DO NOT NEED AN ELASTICATED WAIST. Neither, I suspect, do lots of my contemporaries.

To add insult to injury, the women modelling these revolting clothes all look suspiciously young (presumably because they couldn't get any older women to do the job. We've got more sense).

So please, please, please will clothing manufacturers start treating us like ordinary, normal women, with taste and a little vanity (still) and, above all, a SHAPE?

Technophobia

It's not that I can't manage digital technology; it's that I am the wrong generation. When something complicated confronts me on, say, the computer, there is this huge barrier lowered like the old theatre safety curtains, and on it is printed, in large letters: YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO DO THIS. SMALL CHILDREN CAN, BUT NOT, REPEAT NOT, YOU. BECAUSE ARE TOO STUPID.

I remember years ago trying to persuade my grandmother to use a phone box. Just a receiver, and button A and button B. Simple. But no. Not simple at all. Brought up at a time when there were no cars or phones, Granny had come a long way, but that was as far as she was prepared to go. Button A and button B were far too complicated. She wasn't going near them, thank you very much. What was the world coming to?

Now, at last, I know how she felt. She was feeling exactly the same as I do when people talk about servers and widgets. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. I get stuck. I get frustrated. And I feel like a total idiot.

Fortunately, I have a very patient husband, technical wizards for sons, and some very helpful blogging friend ( step forward, Jinksy and Dr. FTSE). But will I ever be able to go,it alone?

I think of Granny, trembling outside the telephone box, rigid with fear.

I don't hold out a lot of hope.