The Cornish Teapot

We have just returned from a splendid week in Cornwall on the Lizard staying at the most southerly hotel in England, enjoying the fare at the most southerly cafe in England and of course drinking the most southerly tea Teapot can find.

Teapot is very proud of her Cornish ancestry and her great grandfather who was a tin miner. Her grandmother's maiden name was Opie and the sight of the Opie garage in the centre of Redruth has the same kind of impact for her that the pigeon cote has to the homing pigeon.

We fly the Cornish flag in the garden and the Cornish emblem is now stuck on the car.

Knowing her all these years I am beginning to realise she was probably descended from some Cornish equivalent to Captain Jack Sparrow rather than, as her dad might make out, a Lancashire rose.

Methinks we will be hoisting the jolly roger before long.

Paddington no longer in a rut

Some of you out there are stuck in a rut.....

......when it comes to eating it is more and more curry; or if you are Mrs FLN, more and more sausage and mash; or perhaps if you are junior baddog more and more crispy creams. Tiger the cat can only think of mice and there are some people who will do anything for a haribo cola bottle.

So I was thrilled to see this week that my good friend Paddington had managed to break out of a lifetime of slavery to the marmalade sandwich with his first taste of marmite.

All of us eventually learn to appreciate the finer things in life: the tastes that defeat all other cravings, the aromas that overpower the most exotic of spices, and all in one easy to use upside down squeezy jar that even a bear can open.

Watch the link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaJ154r77EU

But curiously Paddington sent me to the shop this morning for another jar of Frank Cooper's original Oxford coarse cut marmalade and instructions for more of those marmalade muffins.

May be once tasted......

Narnia

Once upon a time there was a land where Aslan sang and even a lamp-post came to life and grew. Uncle Andrew could not work out the kind of seed from which lamp-posts grew.
(for the story read CS Lewis "the Magician's Nephew")

So I am pleased to say the mystery is now solved.

The powers that be have been laying more tarmac to create parking laybys to make it easier for parents to bring children to school by car. (How mad is that by the way!). As part of all this we needed a new lamp-post to replace the one which has shone its closy glow over the road all these years.

So late one night when the cloud hid the moon I went across the road with Al to plant a lamp-post seed. (Timelords know where to source these things).

I had hoped that a song from Al would send the lamp-post shooting up but nothing happened. A burst on the sonic screw driver however did the trick but it has been a trial these last few weeks keeping it watered.

At last it is in full bloom. Just in time for the men from Eon to come and fill in our hole before school starts again.

You are Martha Jones......

........we timelords are nothing without someone to journey with us.

Sometimes I am asked how I have coped these past 12 months. It has often been relentless. More so these last few months.

"...hard pressed on every side, but not crushed...". But there have been times when it has felt close to it. These last few days I have kept reminding myself of the advice to:

"fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

And trying to grasp the long view, life beyond and outside this one and its reality is part of the coping.

But Martha Jones?

This Timelord has been gifted with lots of Martha Jones (not all young ladies I should add although there are some!). You know who you are or perhaps in some cases not. You send cards, you send me texts, I sit next to you and you listen, I send my own texts at odd times because I know I am safe with you. I give you a call. You make me a cop of coffee or you give me a lift in the car.

Losing FLN is not something you can handle just in the family.

I went to a dinner at the International Convention Centre in Birmingham in July and saw an old work colleague who mentioned someone we both knew from those days. He told me how Tony was still missing his father in law since his death and quite badly. When I asked how long that had been he said 3 years and I gulped inwardly.

So unlike the Doctor I will not be leaving you Martha Jones behind. As I enter year 2 I still need to journey with you and your sticking with me thus far has meant more than I could ever say.