Ok, just in case you don’t get my tenuous stab at a Halloween joke, that should be read as, ‘Action’, in a frightened and scary voice…
(All right, all right, it wasn’t thatbad!)
As reported here recently, my little village is proudly on the ‘Mulling it Over‘ list of Transition Towns and our monthly meetings to discuss ways of helping our village live more sustainably are going well.
6 weeks of no school has finally come to an end and as much as I love the short-Smiths, there’s only so much juggling a girl can take.
As I write my rubbish post for Wednesday morning, there’s a blessed veil of peace enveloping the house. It’s so silent you can hear the wind rustling past the razor-sharp creases of their new school trousers.
The phone rang a little after 5pm and it was the admission’s lady from the local hospital. They were offering me a cancellation slot for a bit of surgery I need – nothing serious I might add, before you reach for the phone to send flowers and fruit…
It’s my wisdom fangs you see, irritating extras so they are and this morning I’ll be donning one of those attractive little gowns that leave the spots on your bottom on show to the world and his wife and I’ll be off to have them whipped out.
Thankfully, yesterday was veg box delivery day and I have a selection of delicious yummies that will be either honey roasted or just plain chopped, cooked and blitzed into soups, because my poorly chops won’t feel up to much for a few days.