The Hideaway

every morning I sit in my Hideaway in my garden reading books to relax.  At present I’m reading The Inheritance Cycle, four books about Eragon and the Dragon Riders.  I’m on to 3 ‘Brisingr’

My garden is my refuge from every day stresses.  Not even my partner sits out here… Just occasionally I have one, or both of the dogs for company.  This then is my private place. My oasis. Somedays people are so horrible in my job that this is the only place I want to be.  With no web, no computers, no complaining.

I’m creating a woodland in half of it.  Ferns on the floor and bushes and trees, with a small path running through it.  It’s a shady place where not much grows, so choosing things that like it in here can be hit and miss and I’m not getting it right all the time.  But it’s getting there and, hopefully next year, I’ll have the semblance of a glade.

My den is a small gazebo I’ve covered in waterproofing and will add netting to when I’ve made it, for flowers to climb.  I have a honeysuckle that seems to live it in here, already trying to find it’s way up my plastic shed.  Living in rented accommodation means nothing I add can be permanent, but for now I’m living my dream.

I’m getting older now and my dream of a home of my own is just that, a dream that will never take shape.  I’ll never raise enough money and the bank would not give me a mortgage.  So I play the lottery like millions of others, and until then I create my own paradise.

As I write this in my phone, tiny birds are watching me as they hunt for bugs.  Until my dream is reality I’ve built them a home also.  Secluded and quietness, in the middle of a housing estate.  Lots of bugs and food for babies to eat.N

Now I’m going to read more and then go in for breakfast and to start a new day of work.  If I get stressed I’ll be out here again soon enough.  Until then, adieu.



Whale Watch

Charlie rubbed his eyes and stared out across the undulating water. He had spotted a movement portside but it was now gone. Brought up on tales of monsters from the deep he had sworn never to step aboard anything with water underneath. Jeez, he even had problems with baths… or was that just being lazy?!  The fear had kept him from visiting many places over the years but he was here… watching this expanse of ocean.  The sky clear apart from a few clouds.  The sea was calm, gently splashing against the boat.   Nothing to frighten him here.

He shivered however, and his hairs stood up on end as he screwed up his eyes, leaning forward to scan the water.  For as far as his eyes could see, the boat was the only thing out here, gently rocking on the calm swell.  A cup of tea, he thought, would go down really well.  No sea sickness here!

A movement alerted him again and …..THERE! He knew he had seen something! OMG was it a mermaid? SIREN? or, and he shuddered now, Kraken?

Before him, not too far away, the water moved in a graceful swoosh upwards as something dark and large broke through the surface and flew into the air, making Charlie almost wet himself in fear. The boat rocked and moved back as the water pushed against it.

Crashing back down, the creature disappeared for a minute and then, suddenly,  parted the waves again, swimming lazily past Charlie’s view, spurting a white splash high into the air as it breathed deeply before sliding down again and disappearing from view.  Spray landed in the boat and everything was covered in salt water.

Charlie stood motionless, stock still, waiting for it to come again.  His heart beat in his chest so hard he thought it was going to burst out.  His knees were weak but he felt a strange exhilaration.  Would it show itself again?

After a few moments he sighed and walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, leaving the big TV on behind him.

Painting is such sweet sorrow

You know, I always make promises to myself that I will paint something EVERY DAY and, every day I make excuses not to paint something.

Too busy
Not enough time
Cannot be bothered to clear up the mess it makes .. er I make
blah blah blah

I think many of us make excuses not to do something in our lives and for the most silly reasons. There are 24 hours in a day and, if something is encroaching onto your, ‘YOU’ time, then it needs to stop.

We all have to have hobbies. Something that takes our mind off the grinding reality of jobs, life, and the universe. We all have to take stock that in all honesty this is it. You have one life and you have to do what makes you happy in it…. unless you’re a serial killer. That is not one of those things. Just getting that out there.

So, no more procrastination as the constant breaking of my own promise to me is causing me to constantly fail, Constant failure brings me down and makes me depressed and sad.

Actually…. I worked it out whilst writing this. Gosh I am slow.

I will not make promises I will probably break. Then no failures and no sadness.

IF I get time and can be bothered to clear up the mess I make, I will paint this afternoon. If not….. ah what the hell!

Custard Tries Meditation

Custard Tries Meditation

Custard opened one eye and stared very hard at the fisherman who was hauling the baskets full of fish off the trawler. The man was making FAR too much noise!

Custard was on a diet and was learning meditation a way to hold off the hunger.  That man was not helping… AT ALL!

“Ommmmmm” he repeated in his head.



Dagnabit!  He was Custard. He was above all of this. He was a meditating, slim bird….

Custard opened the other eye and stared very hard at the fisherman.

Giving up he flew over to the fisherman and joined the others begging for scraps.

The Air Ambulance

A screech of brakes and a soft thud are the only signs of the turmoil to come in the young boys life. His mother stands to one side with the policewoman’s arm around her, heads bent in together softly talking.

Men feel arms and legs and get out sharp needles calling out names long and confusing to anyone without a medical degree.

Gentle voices murmur around them discussing what they saw. Nobody looks at the driver hunched down at the side of the road, keys clutched tightly in his hand as he throws up in the gutter.

A policeman stands next to him, hand on his shoulder whilst quietly talking into the black box attached to his collar.

Under the wheels of the car is a small red bicycle. Handlebars bent and twisted and a wheel softly rolled to the kerb, wobbled a while and now lies alone and discarded.

The helicopter rises with instructions being sent on to the hospital ahead and the mother is led to a police car to begin the hospital chapter in her life.

The driver hunches down in the back of the police car, feeling sick, and headed for a year of nightmares, as the onlookers now nudge each other and point.

Only later would it emerge the child had just pedalled off the road, straight under the wheels of an innocent driver in the wrong place, at the wrong time.