Tag: English Summer

#1357 theoldmortuary ponders.

On By theoldmortuary.designIn domestica1 Comment
Tidal Pool at Firestone Bay

Another chores day with a calming picture. The chores were just a list of things that needed to be done. Brightened  by the promise of a bowl of cherries for lunch.

Not just any cherries. King Cherries.

But as it happened the day was brightened  by meeting a bobber, Helen, during my Farm Shop phase and by not missing the parcel delivery which was only scheduled half an hour after I had left home. I figured I could be super efficient and be at home for 50% of the time slot. Time that I also scheduled for this blog.

But back to the bowl of cherries.

I helped with an end of term tennis club for children last night. The weather was perfect, the children were happy and the snacks were healthy. Which is where I met King Cherries from Lidl.

As luck would have it my early morning chores  were very close to Lidl. The cherries called me, I answered and two boxes came home with me.

Cherries posing.

Serendipitous friends and cherries very much lightened my load this morning. No sign of the parcel, but powered by a bowl of cherries the afternoon chores will fly by.

#1358 theoldmortuary ponders.

On By theoldmortuary.designIn Serendipity1 Comment

When your back yard feels like this at 9 am and the sea is just 5 minutes away it would be silly not to swap.

Of course even at 9 am the swim zone is busy, but the steps to this aquatic spot are a little bit concealed.

I can’t say we had this to ourselves, maybe 20 or so people found their way here in the hour or so it took for two separate swims and dog care in the shade.  Seeking shade at 10am is the behaviour of holidays, not quite normal for our tiny part of Devon. Long may it last.

#1344 theoldmortuary ponders.

On By theoldmortuary.designIn Words1 Comment
©Glastonbury 2025

I pinched this poster from a Glastonbury Festival web page. Something about it caught my eye, but for the life of me I can’t quite identify what it is.

My best guess is the stylised butterfly and the designs similarity to a Brasso tin.

Brasso was my paternal grandparents idea of a good time for their only grandchild.

“What shall we do with her while she is here?”

“Lets get the Brasso out and then after that we can play Scrabble”

Hours passed, spoons were shined. Scrabble was played with no consideration given to the differences in our ages or vocabularies. Beyond that I read books that I had brought with me or lost myself in the concise encyclopaedias on their bookshelves. They had a television, I never experienced it being turned on. At the end of their period of caring I was either collected by my dad or sent home to walk home via the roads or via the fields of two conjoined farms that were between their home and mine.

I was taught to achieve this journey, safely by my grandfather who would accompany me to start with and then gradually once he was confident that I knew where I was going he did less and less of the journey with me. Ultimately just waving me off either at the front gate or the style at the top of their property which led to the meadows and pastures of the countryside that circled the small market town where we all lived.

Their ‘no frills’ grandparenting style taught me the power of one.

I can’t say that beyond that I have achieved the promise of the poster. I have only ever made little things happen and any movements I have started have not changed the world significantly. But also I don’t think I have done too much harm. Which is a good thing, but hardly the sort of statement that sits well on a poster.