What can I say?

It's been a long time since I've been lost for an idea about what to write upon this here blog. What can I say? Every day for the past couple of weeks I've logged in, stared at the screen and tried to think of something witty and interesting to say. But it's been a bit of a hopeless case, this activity. Had me worried, too. What sort of a writer can't write? Ah, that'll be Katie Price, won't it? Ahahahaha!!

I thought I had something yesterday. Yesterday, the park next to which we live, was full of ladies dressed in pink attending the 'Race for Life' event which, for those of you who don't know, is an annual occurence in Britain where ladies are encouraged to don pink clothes, and funny little headbands decorated in pompoms (if one feels so inclined - I understand these are optional forms of attire) and run and/ or walk either 5 or 10 km to raise money for a cancer research charity.

And as usual, because our road is near the park, it gets clogged up with people trying to park in places they shouldn't be parking and chaos reigns for three or four hours, not helped by the road being fairly narrow and people ignoring the yellow line parking restrictions.

Any how, I stayed in and did the ironing and marvelled at the irony of it all (the running event outside, not the ironing) as I watched a succession of women wander away from their freshly parked cars, puffing away on cigarettes (presumably to get rid of their pre-race nerves) and then returning to their parked cars puffing away on even more cigarettes, presumably in relief of having made it all the way through their race without falling over and breaking a leg.

Smoking? Cancer charity? Come on! I wanted to shout through the front window. Don't you GET it???

What else can I say?

It's been raining a lot.

'Let's go to Hastings and eat chips,' I said to Andy on Saturday, which was really a thinly veiled excuse to go out for a ride in our new car which has an enormous space-age windscreen which extends way over your head and means you can see all the trees silhouetted against the sky as you pass under them, which is fab!

So, despite the ominous looking clouds and the slight chill factor, we scooted off to Hastings, parking in the furthest away beach car park we could find which meant after we'd had a spot of lunch and headed into the Old Town, and got caught in a complete stair-rod of a storm, we were sodden as we arrived back at the car and it wasn't that funny really, especially as we had taken a brolly with us but left it on the back seat as I'd had a burst of optimism and said, 'Oh, we won't be needing that,' when actually, we did.

And Hastings was full of Morris dancers, which freaked me out, because I hated them as a child ( all those clashing pig bladders and scary wooden horses clacking their scary wooden mouths in your seven year old face) and clearly I haven't got over the horror some forty years later.

But the chips were nice.

I'm not going to mention work because work has been hideous and does not deserve any more of my time than is necessary.

Lord knows what the bees are doing.

Still no chickens.

The apples are plummeting from the tree like plummeting is going out of fashion. There are two beetroot that need pulling up and I predict we shall be swamped with courgettes in ten days' time.

And I got bitten by some hideous insect, right on my collar bone, and it swelled up and was feffing painful.

But I have done two hours of novel writing this evening. Which always cheers me up and really I ought to do it more often and maybe, just maybe, it would stop me from being such a miserable old bat.

What can I say?

Nothing much else, really.