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Monday, February 26, 2007

Going in - I may be some time...

I've sold an engine from the depths of my garage to a Cornish gentleman and it's going to take all week to extract it... It's a very large lump of not yet visible Chevrolet, which is the wrong side of tons of equally large things. The whole being locked in place by a Model A Fordor sedan with no rear axle blocking the doorway and any glimmer of natural light. I'm hoping to drag each piece, inch by inch in the manner of one of those impossible puzzles and then slide the engine out beneath the car....

If you haven't heard from me by next week, call an ambulance.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

A Sid Kipper Experience.

After a week minding the young ones; some, all and plenty, come one and all, I eventually succumbed to one of the many choices of nasty little lay y'down hard colds. Head bursting, bones aching, gave in and took to an icy, too weary to light the fire, bed.

Luckily, I surfaced in time to throw the kids, Jenny, some neighbours and the double bass into our bus, the "Skylark". Headed off to Ron's retirement party. Great bloke Ron. Friend to all.

As a special treat we had to be there early, and seated for the concert. Unspecified entertainment. If I'd felt better my intriguement gland would have kicked in. Suffice - just glad to be there.

And that entertaiment was our own Norfolk grown megostar - Sid Kipper. Kept making us forget about the groaning table of food within drooling distance in the room next door. And even forget the fact they had Buffy's on for the night behind the bar. Brilliant.

Food too. Scrumptious. Everyone brought a plate of food, not a single, dry, curly sandwich to be found. Loads of things prepared with love and passion. I took cheese straws - secret ingredient? Chilli powder.

Rest of the evening, a mix of ceilidh dancing, music sessions in the bar, various tributes to our man Ron, chatting with friends and suddenly. Time to go, tomorrow already here.


Monday, February 12, 2007


Nothing whatsoever.
In the mind? All a blank.
In my life? Each day, hour, minute - as it comes.

But for the most part, this is no bad thing. I feel like a blank canvas. Blank, except for a few sketchy lines. Outlines of hope for the future.

Did a bit of inking in over the weekend. Organising a bluegrass music session, bike riding in the woods with the kids, trailering cars around - oh, and teaching someone exquisite to drive my Model T...

Monday, February 05, 2007

Help the man out...

Well - driveway is full with this big ol' minibus. Was full. Friend in need, car died. Popped by in the frost to borrow one of ours. No problem.

Feels good helping people out. Sad case myself enough times, so it's a warm feeling inside to make others happy.
Always have.
Always will.
And most times, y'know it works out fine.

Loads planned for next week. Kids on half term, taking the week off. Splitting the time between them, the kitchen, and the Sedan in the garage. And maybe, just maybe, with the help of others, I'll tick a few more things off the list, get the car closer to the road, find some sanity time to fly a kite or whatever - move my world a little nearer to normal.

Thinking of the future - and memories.

Thought says I've been contemplating in a mostly forward direction.
Thought says, summer is coming, loads of things to do.
Thought says, clear the drive, and buy a minibus.

Which I have. With plans to sell the truck and the daily family estate, do some autojumbles, borrow a trailer to move and sell some other stuff, dispose of failed projects - but maybe not "future" projects. Not ready to sell the things that go together to make all the "one of these days" contraptions.

And fill it with people to go out for trips, bike rides, kite flying, camping, music sessions, giant picnics - whatever.

Yup, thoughts says I'm looking to the future.

But thought had me sitting in tears all alone earlier remembering those three, too short days, laying beside Kate, waiting for her to slip away. Vivid, full colour memories.

Thought is a dangerous friend on damp, cold to the bone, misty mornings.