If it's not one thing it's another three.

I thought I was going to do a lot of useful things today but instead I started reading Hy Brasil by Margaret Elphinstone. It's delightful.

There used to be swathe of Wood Anemones along the bank up the road and then they cut down the trees, dragged the hedge away and left the place bare of anenemones. this annoyed me a lot because I've always wanted to have wild anemones in the garden but sternly refused to dig any up and plant them at home because a) I have brown fingers and b) it's illegal. Now, not only do I have none but there are only a dozen or so left where once there were hundreds. They don't like being disturbed and I don't think they'll come back. Bah!

This looks inviting. One day I shall explore it.


Once, I had three small children (now they are older and not children any more. Well done all of us).

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When I was pregnant with the third, one afternoon I indulged in a little rest while the two older ones watched the telly (yes, yes I know, dreadful). After a while two small people came and woke me up with expressions full of something a bit ominous. Come and look Mummy they caroled. I came and looked and they had very very kindly washed the kitchen for me (floor to work top inclusive) with neat washing up liquid. Of which there was none left. There was a lot of foam and sliminess. Did I laugh or howl!! Yes. and then we all wiped it off with kitchen paper. and damp cloths. And teatowels and bath towels.

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Youngest had a small friend and when they were about 14, they spent long happy hours in youngest's room, doing whatever they do at that age, talking about boys, tidying, untidying, leaving half empty mugs and glasses around. All that sort of thing. And trying out perfume a lot it seemed to me. Particularly something awful called tobacco flower. After a while I became convinced that this tobacco flower was in fact a smoke screen. Now I knew Youngest didn't smoke because she'd told me often how disgusting it was and how she'd never do it. So it had to be the little friend. And I thought her mum must know, really, she ought to do something about it and is she A Bad Influence. But was too embarrassed to mention it.
Some years later, I mentioned this smoking friend to Youngest and she said Oh no mum, H never smoked...it was me. So all that time, H's mum must have been thinking, how awful that yougest's mum doesn't stop her smoking, and worrying about the bad influence that Youngest was having on H.

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One afternoon, Youngest vanished into the bathroom for a long time and there were noises of taps and water and splashing followed by long silences and scurries of activity. I was next door sorting out some paperwork. Vaguely wondering what youngest was doing in there and how much longer she would be. The bathroom door opened and there was the sound of youngest going next door to middle one's room. There was muffled conversation and then both of them went back into the bathroom and the door closed. A brief silence and then "Oh My God!!!" from middle one. More muffled conversation and scurrying.
All this gradually permeated into my consciousness and suddenly I put it all together in my head and the words Hair Dye came into my mind. I really don't want to know, I thought. Has she gone green? Has she lost all of it? I waited.
Middle one came into the room, cautiously. Mum, she said, you'd better come and look. you mustn't be cross with her, she didn't mean to do it!!!
Actually the bright red hair looked pretty good. It was the bright rust coloured spots on the cream carpet, each neatly surrounded by a freshly bleached white patch that left me speechless. For a moment.

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Eldest was a curious little boy...always liked trying things out. He liked to do practical experiments. So if he was quiet for a long time I would suddenly be galvanised into urgent investigation. One day I couldn't find him. After searching most of the rooms in the house I went back to his room and this time found him....underneath his bed, carefully nurturing a small fire in a tin lid and making wild and wonderful shapes with candle wax into it.

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The amazing thing is, we all live to tell these tales.