If anyone asks me to do anything I generally say yes. It’s a curse. Tomorrow I have put myself in the frame for sitting in as a kind of invigilator on auditions for the next play The Railway Children – the auditions tomorrow are specifically for the children.

Now you can see why I am starting to wish I didn’t always agree to things so easily. The full horror of a day full of children stumbling and fumbling their way painfully through their pieces is just beginning to really come home to me. OMG what have I let myself in for.

My collecting for my Molly outfit is going well but lime green and turquoise are quite popular in the shops at the moment so there is just too much choice. I keep finding better and whackier things to wear and there is a danger that I will have to buy an entire new wardrobe to house all my Morris and Molly kit.

We danced out last night at a pub out in the country. It was a very pleasant evening, nice weather, good atmosphere. We have another gig on Sunday and there is an unofficial doodah on Tuesday with the other Side but the weather forecast isn’t looking too promising so they might be a washout.

When I was a girl, much shorter and considerably younger, I used to have ballet lessons – I was crap but I suppose one has to try these things out. One of the things I remember very well was having my hair tied up in a bun on top of my head. It was pinned in with a thousand kirbigrips which were jabbed right into my scalp. I felt every single one and it was such a wonderful feeling afterwards as each grip was removed and the associated tiny ache vanished. Gradually my head stopped being a mass of prickly hurts and went back to normal. But only until the next time of course.

And life is like that sometimes. There are little irritations in life that gradually get cleared out and you breathe a satisfied sigh of pleasant relief, until the new lot of irritations come along. At the moment I am in the breathing a small sigh of relief period because something I have been hoping would happen has finally come to pass. There is always the possibly of it being out of the frying pan and into the fire but I fully intend to enjoy the present state of affairs.

Do you ever get days when you suddenly feel someone is going to call you and they do – it happened at least twice yesterday. Spooky stuff.

I got up ridiculously early today; I could have laid a-bed a little cat-nap longer. I really don’t want to have to use this time profitably as I’m not really an early-morning person so I am frittering away some minutes here.

I have reached the summertime of poor correspondence.

Last week was full of pleasant little things. We had a trip to Glyndebourne to see La Cenerentola (final dress rehearsal night so freebie tickets) which was as always a great day out. There was some sort of crisis with Cenerentola’s straps, I didn’t notice it myself but there was a long and earnest discussion going on near us about this calamitous eventuality. It was nice though to spend some time as a family which is a rare treat these days. Sadly the rain, half-hearted though it was, made sitting out on the lawn to have our picnic a vastly less attractive proposition so we curled up in the car – which I know is a bit on the wussy side but I just keep feeling so cold all the time.

On Saturday we went to see something completely different in style, ‘Anything Goes’, as performed by the local light operatic society. It was also a pleasant evening.
There are quite a few songs I like in Anything Goes but as a story it doesn’t have much of a plot – and why on earth does the guy want to marry the drippy debutante anyway when she’s as wet as a fish’s wet bits. But that’s men for you!

Maybe it’s just me. I think I must have too much imagination but see what you make of it. On arrival at our rehearsal room (an old barn that we lease from the council) there was a parcel left outside the door – being too large for the letter box. Addressed to the society along with a totally unknown person’s name and sent by an established parcel company, it contained a jiffy bag with a large bag of dried ‘herb’ mixture, a note in an envelope about the price of £160 and some business cards describing how best to use the mildly psychotropic herb mix – important not to drive under it’s influence btw. I mean, is it just me or does that sound just a little bit fishy. Probably some completely rational and innocent explanation?

Had an excellent evening yesterday. We did our dance practice on the promenade in kit, with bells and everything, amidst the evening promenaders of the town. It was great. I even got a solo spot with the jig, Nutting Girl, so I was quite chuffed. And after that we trundled off to a nearby restaurant and had a slap up meal to celebrate the group’s birthday, we are two years old now. I know it’s seriously uncool and boring to talk about food but I had the sea bass in brandy and cream with prawns – which is sooooo nice.

I like a nice bit of fish. However, even I don’t think I could have coped with that whole fishy escapade in BB. I’ve played sardines in my time but not with real ones. Eugh.

Suddenly I fancy some chips.

Yesterday at our dancing out we were suddenly invited to join the other groups to dance a final dance which three of the six of our group didn’t actually know. As we were just about to start our leader said (and demonstrated with wavers) ‘just remember, with the wavers it’s round the balls and up the willy’. You’d think I would have at least a small idea how to do that but somehow the whole picture seemed to put me off my stroke completely. It kept running through my head – round the balls and up the willy – but I guess I just never tried it with wavers. My technique is definitely in need of work I’m afraid.

There must be a seagull baby on the roof at the moment. A parent gull warned the girlie and I about using the drive as we walked back from our evening’s rehearsal. We went ahead against the warning and it is very fortunate that we can get up the drive before the bird can get off the roof. Otherwise there would definitely have been two people with seagull hair this evening. The front of the house is considerably easier to patrol than the back because the back garden is more enclosed and densely foliaged so the birds get very much more agitated if we go out there. How they think we can steal the baby from the nest on a simple trip to our shed I don’t know, after all these years they must surely have worked out we don’t have wings.

I still feel very much of a bird myself at rehearsals. Nothing makes me feel more feminine than trying to play a man on stage with a whole bunch of men - the real McCoy that is. It is challenging for sure. And I haven’t even started learning the lines yet.

We are dancing out today and it is another of those occasions when I feel about as welcome as a boil on a backside on a long bumpy drive. The fact that I have on occasions made the numbers up so that there is a full set to dance is of no account against the heinous crime I committed by joining in the first place. A long and complicated story! For a long time I thought I was just a smidge paranoid until I began to uncover all the internal politics and came to realise that I was not imagining things. But it is just a political point and they are all nice to me on a personal level so most of the time I ignore the undercurrent and just enjoy the dancing. I feel the fact that I still turn up week after week must surely one day count as some sort of testament to my commitment. As I am not a maker of waves I accept, with a sad sigh sometimes, that this is the way it is.

Yesterday was excellent. It didn’t rain. We didn’t run out of scones. And everyone said the garden was lovely. Open Gardens done and done. But it leaves with me without incentive to tidy the garden anymore this year so within a few weeks it will be looking wonderfully wild again. I think not-quite-tamed is definitely more ‘me’.

I made a whole pile of money for the causes I set out to raise money for and I think I found a home at last for my scooter. A 17 year old in search of a scooter saw in my garage a scooter in search of a 17 year old to take it on. So I offered it to him. You don’t get much offered free to you in this life so it is nice to offer someone the chance to enjoy a ‘gift’. I will never ride it myself because too many people would worry and that would taint each moment I was on it. I learnt to ride a scooter though and I have a certificate to prove it but until I wear my legs out I am happy on foot. In fact I actually very happy on foot, it is probably the only time in each day when I just ‘am’.

Some pics from today - taken by my wee one.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jojopixie/sets/72157600331617004

I uploaded a couple or three photos (free) to a site (that sells the image for you) donkey’s ages ago and yesterday I got an email saying they had sold one of them. I had forgotten I had even done it so it was a bit of a surprise and even though it isn’t much money it was kind of nice that someone liked one of my photos enough to pay for it. So that was a nice thing.

Every morning I am expecting to wake up see my Acer denuded but so far, and with only another two days to go until the next Open Thingy, there is still enough foliage on the tree to make it look like a tree. It’s sparse but it is at least leafed. The shock of the long hot April was too much and it has been shedding for a few weeks. It is tough enough to recover I think but the timing is a bit off. But then all the other things in the garden that are usually looking grand at this time of the year have been and gone. You just can’t predict nature and shouldn’t try.

I had not expected to get into BB (well wasn’t Emily a silly girl! That won’t help advance her career much) this year. By that I don’t mean into the house, I wouldn’t last five minutes, I just mean into watching it. It’s the time of year though when I am out every night – rehearsing or dancing – and BB is the only thing that is easy to follow at any time of the day and requires no mental exercise. Chewing gum for the eyes. Mind you the harsh and strident tones of Charley and Shabnam make for not altogether pain free viewing. Yesterday as I was watching them all lying in a row cooking themselves in the sun I felt suddenly claustrophobic and thought how awful I would find that to have nothing else to do other than be TV toast. *shivers*. And how do women manage to talk for hours about hair straighteners – or any of that stuff – I am with Tracey and Lesley on that one.

For some unknown reason - and presumably because they haven’t done their market research properly - Sainsbury’s have sent me a copy of Grazia. Well, it saves me buying toilet paper. What a load of rubbish. I turned the pages in a mixture of irritation and disbelief at the so-called celebrities of our time. I do wonder what Mrs Becks will do when she is old and ugly, or ugli-er, as she has no substance. Apart from being an even more unattractive clothes horse I can’t see that she has much to fall back on. I should never have opened it in the first place, I does no good to dwell on the sad and pathetic emptiness of the lives of those with too much money. The gold of my nature will be immeasurably tarnished if allow myself to think any longer about such trivia.

I ordered a pound of clotted cream today but obviously I don’t indeed to eat it all myself.

To make clotted cream you need to heat the creamier portion of full fat milk to a little below boiling point and keep it at that temperature for an hour then skim off the top, etc. etc. - which is why I have ordered it to be delivered. It sounds like something fun to try one day though when I have a few spare hours. My great aunt used to make her own clotted cream but then she was a Cornish woman….with a farm....and a country woman’s kitchen expertise.

I have also been hunting all over the internet for some funky turquoise tights and I found a pair that were sooooo cool, turquoise paisley design, but they are on a US site and that is so much more complicated. It’s to go with a shorty gold skirt and it’s for our new departure at Morris dancing into Molly dancing. Molly dancing doesn’t require bells, sticks, hankies or co-ordinated outfits but we are going to stick with our own kit colours in whatever form and combination we want. Hence the gold and turquoise but there is also lime green and white to call on. Nice white bra perhaps and worn over a lime green shirt, à la Carol on BB the other day. Now I may be a few years younger than that but I don’t see why I couldn’t pull it off!

I am bushed. That is two words by the way, I didn’t ambush anyone today. And when I say bushed I mean tired, not beaten by a bush or even a collection of bushes.

Would that necessarily be ‘bushed’ anyway, might it not be shrubbed. ‘I was shrubbed in the park today’ – one might say.

Unless of course it was by a tree in which case it should be treed. There are quite a few treeing incidents going on in our parks and gardens which we never get to hear about. I blame the media. How many more treeing incidents will it take for this to be taken seriously by the press? A major shrubbing disaster is around the corner – take my word for it.

Anyway I am weary. I preceded a full evening of energetic dancing with a full day at work – unusually – but it is good tired not bad tired. I swapped a long day and a short day round this week to be accommodating – all for no purpose as it turned out – and it is nice to have the flexibility to be able to do so - just so long as it occasionally works to my advantage!

Non illigitamus carborundum!

However, I had the rare treat of a little time spent with my boy today. I made us both a bacon buttie and a brew for lunch and we sat on the sun-drenched patio and chatted – a little oasis of pleasure in the middle of the day.

There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep (Homer)

Time for some shut eye.

I promised to post a pic of my baby when it finally burst forth and here it is - four years of waiting and nurturing. The timing was absolutely stunning as it was at this point for the Open Garden.

I was shattered yesterday. At one point there were about 40 people all sitting in my garden eating a cream tea - it was amazing. I started planning this Open Garden thing this time last year so there was a huge sense of satisfaction to see it finally take place. Not only that but I had no expectation of that many people coming so it was quite overwhelming. We raised plenty of funds for the Church as well so all in all it was grand finale to my weeks holiday.

And it's all to do again next Saturday - for a different cause though! - so I am hoping for a day without torrential downpours. I only wish I had had time to take a photo but I didn't have time to blow my nose all afternoon - hey ho, next time maybe!

This morning I made 76 scones. The final 9 are Rose Sprinkle scones which I really want to try out but I can’t. Anyway I haven’t got the clotted cream yet. So instead I have had toast & marmite and milk for lunch, which has to last me until after I’ve had my filling done plus the ‘two hours before you eat anything’ rule.

I have had some very dodgy bouts of garden hair this week. Every overhead branch pulls my hair around until I end up with a Worzel Gummidge effect. Coming in from the garden I have to restrain and re-train the mess and usually I need someone to groom the sticks, buds and petals out. There was a whole bunch of tiny rose buds yesterday from the Rambling Rector which kept dropping out whenever I turned my head. Some sort of hat would seem to be in order really and I found one yesterday but it just sprang off again within five minutes. Hey ho at least the garden looks nice.

Yesterday I made my parachute tent. 13 metres of nylon parachute material can quickly dominate a room and there were times I thought of tipping it out of the attic window to see what kind of a parachute it would make – with me attached to it. But eventually mastery was mine and the folds and billows were constructed into a cover for the old greenhouse frame. It now looks like a secret military bunker. I just need a couple of dashing film star types to dress in military uniform and pop in and out of the tent at various strategic times tomorrow afternoon. Now that is what I call a garden feature!

Having belonged to a theatrical society for more years than I care to remember I have got used to the histrionics of many thespian types over the years – and I’m not saying I don’t have a tendency to be a bit over-dramatic at times – but I thought Morris Dancing was a much more casual affair…..No, it isn’t. There are as many Prima Donnas and prickly egos there as there are anywhere. Last night one of the gentleman musicians upped and walked out, huffily, because it took us a longer time than usual to get on and get started. And this is not an isolated instance nor is he the only person to do so.