Friday, 25 October 2013

Between September and October we had the most perfect holiday in the Scottish Highlands. We are lucky to have generous parents, my Mum paid for the cottage, while father-in-law paid for the hire car so that we could drive up there all the way from Cambridgeshire.
We couldn't get the Sat nav to work but it didn't matter because my map reading skills and husbands sense of direction were both good and we easily found our way up through to Letterfearn near Kyle of Lochalsh, after stopping over night at Grasmere in the Lake District.
Unfortunately we arrived after dark, luckily we had a torch. Because our letting agents instructions were rather vague, "drive down the unadopted road until you see the small red post box on your left, after this, the cottage will be the last one on your right."
 Ehm, the unadopted road went on for about five miles, around the mountain side, with the drop into the Loch Duich on your immediate right, so, I wondered how will we  know which is the last house? We found this out after passing a cluster of cottages and climbing up and then dropping down a very steep bit of lane which then began turning into a cart track. Half way down this steep track we decided that we had better turn around, couldn't do it as the clutch wouldn't hold on the steep incline in order to reverse up, so there was nothing for it but for me to take the torch and go ahead of the car, as a scout to see if we could find the cottage, I found a derelict croft next to the loch with enough of a turning circle for the car, I stood  between the car and the loch waving my torch, if the car had gone into the loch my life wouldn't have been worth living anyway! We drove back unscathed, only to find the gate to the cottage was indeed last in the line of the cottages only set at an angle so we couldn't see it, with cottage set further back than the others, so it couldn't be seen from the road either. We had our adventure, and we had a really relaxing week, the only problem was leaving, I didn't want to go, threatened to barricade myself in, hoped the lane would be blocked by a landslip, but to no avail. The journey back was equally lovely, we arrived in Grasmere again, at night, after stopping at Castlerigg Stone Circle outside Keswick to watch the sun set, a very beautiful and atmospheric place, the stones were on a hill surrounded by a ring of mountains, and there was a smaller stone circle within it, so I think it's probably a very magical place too.
Anyway, I wrote a poem about Letterfearn, the place I left my heart.


Please leave me in Letterfearn,
Where the air is nectar sweet.
While mountain birds are playing,
Loch Duich will wash my feet.
And smoothed pebbles are glittering,
Along the bejewelled shore,
I will have no cares there,
I will want for nothing more.
Peace drenches Letterfearn,
Sleep soaked me there,
As I listened to the tumbling Burn,
Cocooned in her mountains, so fair.

I nearly forgot to say, my hubby has just bought a very small piece of land for us in a conservation area in Glencoe and apparently under Scottish law I am now entitled to call myself Lady Andrea of Glencoe, I think it has a nice feel to it, perhaps one should rename ones blog.

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

Lady Wood

May saw the Lady in a mist of violet blue.
The air was soaked with bluebells,
a sweetly nectared hue.
While the nightingale sung a rain song,
of fragrant droplets.
And little dells of glittered light,
revealed glimpses of fairies,
all emerald winged and bright.

Monday, 22 April 2013

Not been very well, at all, last week. I've been trying to do too much, and the inevitable happened, the old C.F.S claimed me. Any way, having done as little as possible all week, I was well enough to attend the Taize service, a healing service, at our Cathedral on Saturday. It is such a wonderful service, I always feel better afterwards and this time I felt so much better that I was able to go for a swim the following day, with a reticent husband to keep an eye on me  (he was very concerned about his hairy back being on show, I told him men are mean't to be hairy, at least he doesn't have to shave his legs!)
But I digress!  The reason I mention my health is because I had been trying to do a poem a day for National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWrMo) but hey ho, that's the way the "cookie crumbles" I suppose, so I've got one I did earlier, much earlier.....

Chronic Fatigue

I'm waiting in the waiting room of my life,
I'm too tired
to notice the time.

I work when I can,
But my dreams are mine.
My fantasy is energy.

Just to walk, just to run,
just to ride horses,
and go partying,
when the day is done.

To swim twenty lengths,
to paint big pictures,
to throw big pots,
to eat big dinners,
Just to finish the housework,
it's asking lots.

I'm a part-time worker,
when I'm well.
When I'm not,
I lie in bed a lot
and the boss puts me
through hell.
I'm not skiving, I say,
But it doesn't matter either way,
because I'm not greasing the wheels of industry,
the fault must lie with me.

Chronic fatigue is not about getting out of work,
or about sponging off the state.
Its all about the length of  life lost,
to an endless wait.

Promises of a day,
which, may be years away.
When I can work full time,
go home, and still have
some energy to play.

Chronic fatigue isn't funny
Its about money.
How much won't I earn,
while my illness only allows
reduced work hours.

I have part-time lolly,
for a part-time life.
All savings are gone,
The "rainy day",
lasted too long.

I want to get well,
I tell the walls.
But I must have faith,
and wait for my redemption.
I look forward to my last day of waiting,
To get my life back,
To be able to earn my pension.

Sunday, 14 April 2013

Spring is coming

Walk slowly down the garden,
tread carefully on the lawn.
There are fairies in the daises,
they came here with the dawn.

A baby deer waits for his Mum,
under the apple tree,
while watching Fairies playing,
and eating Cow Parsley.

Squirrels scold the Fairies,
for having too much fun,
but they're too busy, burying nuts
to see what work they've done.

The little folk are so worn out,
by the afternoon,
they have to nap in Honeysuckle's leaves,
while waiting for her to bloom,

They are waiting for blossom time,
as they tend to Daisy posies.
Then they can drink
Honesuckle wine,
and sleep among the Roses.

Saturday, 13 April 2013

View of the Fens

From Bluntisham's pit,
Little London,
I climbed.
Actually I ambled,
Squinting in spring sunlight.
Sharp air in lungs,
and cooling,
I bumbled up,
to the Heath's heady heights,
and fresh air delights.

Views of open farmland.
Orchards of dark twisted
military tree trunks.
Tall gravel pit sheds,
level with my feet.

Millennium wood,
copse I think.
Naked Silver Birches,
Young Hornbeams
bustling, rustling, paper leaves,
bejewelled Hazel catkins,
Silkily swaying tassels,
corkscrew willows,
golden crinkles
threading through,
Brightest blue.
pussy willow,

Sunlight on a mad March day,
Strobes through hedge trees
Highlights the winter wheat,
and soil furrows,
The water towers,
all sharp and neat.

A plume of smoke crosses the land below,
A veiled backdrop,
to the layers of trees
orange and red tinged foliage
blue-greys, and khakis,
in tight,

A red tractor rumbles past,
and the bird scarer fires,
a sudden

Friday, 12 April 2013

A Beach Hut

I'd like to have a beach hut,
Anchored in Holkam Bay.
With a big veranda,
from which to view the day.

It would stand among the sand dunes,
Pink and glittered, with patterned shells,
In waves of rose-bay-willow herb,
and edged with Canterbury Bells.

Inside there'd be a kettle,
a fridge for champagne
and two comfy chairs
should it decide to rain.

A tray of pretty china,
from which to take high tea,
and refreshing conversation,
between my cat and me.

Thursday, 11 April 2013


Embattled walls of ancient rock
Keep me in towers
I'd abide in bartizans,
peering through tiny windows
looking for arrows
running up spiral staircases
winding to the roof
on slip worn treads
grab a shaky hand rail
or, a rope that slides when you stumble,
Memories lurk in thick stone walls.
A place of safety
for perpetuity,
time and space apart,
defencive mountains,
moated not Loched,
made to last forever,
by history's craftsmen.

Wednesday, 10 April 2013

Memories of Scotland

Fresh dark air at an emptying train station.
Feeling the strength of the mountains around me,
at midnight.
Waking up to see Ben Nevis for the first time
Riding a penduluming gondola,
to Ben's summit in a February gale,
very scary, without a parachute.

Travelling past Loch Eil
and meeting the mountains there.
They glow golden in the low light
with skirts of
rust bright bracken,
and ruby birch tree buds.

Such beautiful mountains must be female.
with their memories,
alluring and strong,
They thumped at my heart,
like a begger at a rich mans door,
 I had to let them in.

Whenever I am relaxed
it's because I'm with them.
Feeling Loch water wash my feet.
Hearing the waves
rustle their pebbles.
As the waters of the Loch breath out, so do I,
as the Loch breaths in,
so do I.

I am with the mountains in the moon light,
as I fall asleep, and an eagle watches over us.
I'll keep these golden mountains in my heart,
and they will keep it beating strongly,
so that I may be with them soon, once again.

A stag stood proudly,
saluting us,
like a figurine in a shaken snow globe.
But the train hurried past,
we had to go.

Monday, 8 April 2013

The Healing Box

I will make the box
with golden light,
Pulsing with a trillion diamonds,
energy bright.
Wishes and dreams,
my souls guardians
Dragonflies and Hummingbirds,
in iridescent flight.
I will put into the box
Love and joy
Too precious to loose,
Hate and distrust,
Too painful to keep.
Out of the box
lighter than incense,
I take my health, and
Balance it,
A white flower,
growing at my finger tips,

Sunday, 7 April 2013


Flaunting, haunting daffodils.
Dancing for joy,
Full of frills.
Gasping, wide open mouths,
Pronounce the glory
of these wondrous hours.
Sacred light through golden curls,
Joyous, ephemeral, petal swirls.
Stars in the daylight
and ghosts in the twilight.
Released, twirling, spring dervishes.
Risen from wet soil,
Uncoiling into the blue,
Talking gaily of clouds
Sunshine and spring rain,
Remembering the blackbird's song,
Above a blossom counterpane.

Saturday, 6 April 2013

The Charity Shop

Delicate and blue
Papery glass pitchers
Old pearl necklaces
Frivolous feathery Fascinaters
Glass preserved dandelion clocks
Pretty china crockery
Pink patterned jam pots
and a baby brass elephant.

Those once loved things
Were idolised in their day.
Precious and polished,
and carefully cupboarded.
Hoarded and dusted,
and lovingly fingered.
Sitting now on a shabby shelf,
at the back of a store.
Waiting in a sordid tangle,
of many other,
once loved,
in a stuffy shop,
for charity,
to be redistributed,
and make others happy,
to be loved once more,
to clothe the needy
and feed the poor.

Friday, 5 April 2013

On holiday in Donegal

Honeyed peace,
trickling gently.
Seeping into long forgotten DNA.
From the mountains,
to the Lochs,
and sea,
Washing my worries,

Thursday, 4 April 2013

The Female Menopause (a simple explanation for men)

The Menopause


Don't get in my way!
I'm THE Change
Do not make me angry!
I am a tsunami!