Pictorial blethers

By blethers

Treasure above our heads ...

Another foul day. Rain and darkness - I wouldn't have been surprised if a plague of frogs had joined in at some point. And after some heavy domesticity post-breakfast (well - stewing prunes in tea with star anise, washing a load of towels that then had to dry indoors, that sort of thing) there was really no excuse not to join Himself in the loft which we've been talking about tidying ever since we retired (and that's 15 years ago). Now, of course, with encroaching decrepitude, it's becoming a tad more pressing; access is via a Slingsby ladder with a slightly tricky manoeuvre off and onto the top step, and this morning was quite exhilarating with the sore knee (him) and dodgy foot (me). We made it. We're still here.

One thing we were doing was investigating the boxes filled by our #2 son one visit when he spent a whirlwind afternoon up there and threw out a load of his stuff. Much of what he left turned out to be mine, repurposed as his while he wanted it and then abandoned. And right at the bottom of the first box I found the story of Mayling. This was one of my very first books; published in 1945 it seemed to have been attached to my person from my fist consciousness. I remember my parents reading it to me, though I seem to recall always knowing what the words said. The little girl had pigtails and so did I, and I identified with her, even when she ended up covered in mud from a mishap with an ox. I cannot tell you how strange it made me feel to see it again.

This afternoon I got a cancellation appointment with the wonderful sports therapist who works in Dunoon, only 5 minutes hobbling from my house. She did some excruciatingly painful massage which did in fact seem to ease things somewhat, prescribed ice packs and physio-gel massage by me (unless I find a slave) and told me to come back next week. (She took my temperature before we began - it seemed low. What should it be in celsius?)

The day, however, has just been crowned by our sale of 24 copies of Advent Song (my words, Mr PB's music) to a church musician in the States. She came across it on YouTube and wants to use it. With the miracle of the internet, PDF files and PayPal, the whole deal took less than an hour. I feel strangely pleased ...

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