one hundred and eight

Stratford-upon-Avon

Outside Shakespeare's birthplace. We walked past just as the sun was setting, making the windows glitter and gleam.

We sat by the river Avon and drank strawberry cider (well, I tried some of Jen's and made a face something like this. I am not a cider fan).

Not Stratford-upon-Avon

There is a very small clump of woodland roundabout where I live, so we wondered there one lazy, sleep-deprived Sunday (after staying up the night before watching Neverwhere until silly hours).

Victorian explorers; it felt especially appropriate as our walk took us to the old house of W. S. Gilbert.

I was held up for half an hour when my train was cancelled (lack of a driver). Fast trains often rush through this station, not-stopping, on their way to the north, creating waves of turbulent air and a slight ringing as the wheels speed on the metal of the tracks. I was so scared of them as a child, and I still automatically stick my fingers in my ears and tense up when one passes.

one hundred and six

Animals that I have recently encountered in the street

the friendliest cat, my street

A white rabbit, Stratford upon Avon

eighty-five

that day it was almost like summer.

One

Mae West once said: 'Keep a diary, and someday it'll keep you'. Whilst my Harry-Potterised brain reacts with a 'What, LIKE VOLDEMORT'S DID, EH, EH?? Roosters DIED because of that shit!', the more sensible bit (sadly not a good deal larger) thinks old Mae had a point. A few weeks ago, gathered round the table for a festive lunch, it transpired that my sister's memories of the previous family christmas was far clearer than mine.

My sister hadn't actually spent that christmas with us.

In order to prevent my life becoming a series of 'eh?' moments, and to save my siblings the bother of having to remember my life for me, I have decided to dip my toes into blogland. Hallo.