Homeward Bound

Dear Diary, the last few days have had a profound effect on my thinking. It was somewhat disconcerting to discover that I had not made a good choice in packing up and running to Anne's from the confusion reigning at Niece and Phil's place. Any woman, indeed any person worthy of being a human being, should have stayed until the situation sorted itself out.

With that in mind, earlier in the day I telephoned Hester. Her voice was guarded. Oh, Dear Diary, I sincerely think my sudden departure was hurtful. However, once I asked if my old room was still my home she responded enthusiastically.

At the moment I am sitting in a coach, one that stops at every small town between here and there which in effect makes the journey twice as long as it would by car, and will be home within the hour.

Hester is meeting me at the bus depot, and has some news.

Dear Diary, I am looking forward to going home. Yes, it was fun at Anne's and yes, we did have a few adventures, and laughs, but at the end of the day, home is home.

The wheels are turning, the scenery is racing by ... I am almost home, I am almost home. It is moments like this I wish I were riding on a train. Then one could hear the wheels clacking, I am almost home, I am almost home!

Not Exactly an Apology

Dear Diary, While Anne and I laughed about the obvious embarrassment written across Richard's face, deep down, I, a most sensitive creature, felt a disquiet. Was it entirely fair that we set the poor man up? Not for one moment do I think that Richard had any idea he was the victim of a silly plot by two equally silly women, but I do wonder if he is now wondering how the whole scenario acted out.

With the passing of a day I have had time to dissect the luncheon production, for it was a carefully stage-managed meal. The main proponents of the play had no idea of their starring role. As I sit, knitting laying on my lap, and Anne, her foot propped up on a pouffe and flicking pages of a magazine, it is obvious neither of us feel proud of our bit roles. What were we? It could be rightly concurred we were nothing but two old woman enjoying an incident at the expense of two innocent parties. I do feel guilty.

"Anne?" It was a tentative query. "Do you consider we were very naughty inviting Richard when we knew Hazel was coming?"

She blushed. There was no need for a reply; her look told all.

Suddenly Anne pulled herself up, picked up the telephone directory, and made a call. I listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Hello. Richard." Anne crossed her fingers behind her back as she issued another invitation. "Would you like to come over for a cuppa" There is only Alice and I here, and we have a small confession to make."

There was a silence, though I could hear a muffled reply echoing through the lines.

Anne smiled, and hanging up the receiver commented that Richard was on his way over. Dear Diary, what would happen next? I for one didn't feel that any thing much could be said to alter what had happened. Sometimes it is best to let a situation disappear with time, without further reference to it. It seems that Anne is made of different stuff than I.

There was a tap at the door; Anne made to get up, but Richard with his usual charm waltzed in, smiling a greeting and rubbing his hands together.

"I say," he said, "that was a jolly luncheon yesterday. I thoroughly enjoyed it!"

Dear Diary, here was this man, the one who we considered we owed an apology to admitting that what we considered a bad joke, had so enjoyed his day! I looked in surprise at Anne, who I will admit, had the grace to look dumbfounded. As Anne bustled around gathering food and drink for this little visit I was left to entertain Richard. Not quite sure what to say I began on the one safe topic we all rely on ... the weather. Richard, however, had other ideas.

"Alice, how long have you known Hazel?" he queried. "Fancy her being here yesterday! You know, I had thought her name was Hope! However could I have made such a mistake?"

At least I had a topic of conversation to speak about, and launched into a long story of how Hazel and I had known each other while schoolgirls, but hadn't kept in touch. And how it was such a surprise to meet her in a coffee shop. I almost gave the show away Dear Diary! I almost let it slip that Anne had only invited Richard and Hazel here for the same lunch as she wanted to see his reaction. I pulled myself up just in time!

Richard gushed on and on about Hazel. Surely the man realised she was spoken for?!

"Richard!" I spoke sternly. "Hazel is getting married early in the New Year. She is just waiting for a respectable time to pass since the death of her husband."

Richard stared at me. Oh no! That little snippet of information had not sunk into his consciousness at lunch. Obviously he was so wrapped up in his fantasy he had heard little of Hazel's comments. His colour heightened; he began to shake. For a moment I thought the man was going to burst into tears! As Anne handed around cups of tea and invited us to help ourselves to scones or cake, he pulled himself together.

"I have been a fool," he murmured. "I thought that a newly widowed woman would welcome the advances of an eligible man. It seems as though I read the situation entirely wrong."

Anne smiled, placed her hand on Richard's arm and replied, "We all make a fool of ourselves at some stage in life Richard. Please do not think your tiny mistake is serious. No harm was done, and no doubt you will get over what was little more than a schoolboy infatuation."

Dear Diary, I was proud of Anne. With a few short words she had made Richard feel better. What better time to begin a game of Scrabble than now? Engaging the brain in a constructive way righted what could have become an embarrassing moment.

A Luncheon Date

Dear Diary, If I hadn't been there I would never have believed it!

Moments before noon a gentle knock on the door announced Hazel's arrival. Anne had dusted and polished until the dining area and lounge sparkled. Those gorgeous perfumed stocks in shades of purple, deep pink, and dark red arranged in a cut crystal vase created a glorious scene on the side table. Anne had contemplated placing them on the dining table; their perfume permeated the room and she felt that their perfume might detract from the luncheon. Cushions were plumped, ornaments readjusted to their best advantage, and I rubbed all wooden surfaces with furniture polish until the room was simply perfect.

Hazel is a charming woman; had I not known her from childhood days when she often arrived at school not wearing shoes as the family had suffered some form of economic crisis, I would have been completely overwhelmed with her graciousness. Conversation flowed. Anne offered sherry, but Hazel declined. I was pleased. We needed to keep our heads if this afternoon was to go the way we hoped.

Lunch was simple. A quiche Lorraine and a salad served with fresh bread rolls. Anne somehow found time earlier in the morning to bake a carrot cake that took pride of place in the centre of the table, walnuts decorating the cream cheese icing looking delectable.

Another knock at the door; Dear Diary, Anne played her role so well. She had threatened me with banishment back to Niece's if I dared laugh, or even let on this lunch had ulterior motives.

Anne hurried to the door not giving Richard time to waltz in as normal. Chatting to Hazel about the paths our lives had meandered since schooldays I could hear Anne welcoming Richard.

"Richard," she gushed, how lovely to see you."

No mention Dear Diary, about his presence being prearranged. I am positive Hazel had no clue his arrival was by invitation.

Anne, chatting to Richard in an animated manner entered the dining room. Very cunningly, I thought, she hastily introduced Richard and Hazel, stressing 'Hazel', and hurried out to the kitchen, to check on the food, she said, when I was well aware all the food had been prepared and ready for the past half hour!

Such a shame she escaped! Richard's face was a picture. His complexion changed from a shocked white, to an embarrassed red, as he stuttered and stammered his greeting. Hazel had never met Richard, as we suspected, and had no idea that he admired her. However conversation didn't flag as Hazel was indeed a woman of the world and knew how to make anyone at ease.

As the meal got underway Anne, so innocently, enquired from Hazel what time of year she had planned to hold her wedding. At that query poor Richard, and by now I was beginning to feel rather sad about his obvious distress, swung around to face Hazel.

"You are planning marriage?" Richard enquired.

"Oh yes Richard, I have a lovely man friend and plan settling down with him. Of course there has to be a hiatus for decencies sake you know."

Richard didn't know where to look. I was watching Anne who clearly was enjoying his embarrassment. But Dear Diary, I am not one to allow a joke to go too far, and offered a salve to him.

"Richard," I began, Hazel's marriage was in name only. She has had a male companion for many years. Now that Mr Hardcastle, Garfield, has passed away, they are free to marry."

Much to my relief Anne obviously decided the joke had gone far enough, and steered the conversation in other directions. As Hazel had no idea that Richard fancied her, and Richard had no idea I knew of those fancies. All in all, Dear Diary, the afternoon concluded with no ill feelings on anyone's part, though I must confess Anne and I had a giggle in the kitchen once Hazel and Richard had departed, both going their separate ways, and both declaring the lunch very tasty and pleasurable.

A Revelation

Dear Diary, Anne is feeling much better and able to walk easier. As a small treat for ourselves, after our almost housebound few days, we decided to go on a shopping trip to town. Not that we need to purchase any particular item, other than a few essentials for our survival ... slippers were high on that list.

I forgot to bring slippers with me; one of the drawbacks of hasty packing! Tomorrow is the first of spring and wouldn't you know it! The shops are full of spring clothes; no slippers worth their name. Oh there was a pair of towelling slip-ons, eminently suitable for the short trip from bathroom to bedroom; but barely comfortable for wearing around the house during the day. A trip out the back door to the garden for a few flowers would see them reduced to a messy blob. While I was not rude or nasty to the shop assistant I did query why shops filled their shelves and racks with summery garments when it was raining outdoors. Evidently this practice is common place. I did express my disapproval, and walked out empty handed.

As we wandered along the street a craft shop caught my attention. An idea slipped into mind. Purposely we walked into the interior of this Aladdin's Cave of crafty wonders; I found a pattern for knitted slippers, purchased needles and wool. Dear Diary, there are more than one way to skin a cat! I will make a pair of slippers, and while they too will not stand the outdoors, at least they will be all my own effort.

Anne's ankle began to throb. Lunchtime was nigh. The heady aroma of coffee poured out of a busy cafe, and as the lunch crowd had not yet left offices and work places, an early lunch made a lot of sense. A seat in the corner beckoned; after seating Anne and ascertaining what she fancied I headed up to the counter to order toasted sandwiches and flat whites. While Anne hadn't mentioned sweets my roving eye noticed a cabinet of cakes. Not for many years have I bitten into Neenish tarts; we deserved a small treat; Neenish tarts fitted into the treat category. A lovely waitress offered to carry the tray to the table once the sandwiches were ready. Dear Diary while I was thankful as balancing a tray laden with food and full coffee cups can be a scary exercise, I did wonder if she thought I may be a little dottery and unable to carry the load. In such circumstances it is best to offer effusive thanks and allow the service be carried out.

By the time I rejoined Anne the cafe was filling up. Working folk from nearby businesses and factories pushed through the open door and lined up for coffees and teas. Hot food in the bain-marie appeared extremely popular. Anne whispered that a busy cafe is a good cafe; a statement I wholeheartedly agreed with.

A well-dressed woman stood gazing around the room looking for a suitable place to sit. I stared. Surely this elegant tall slender woman dressed in a trim dress and matching coat, clothes that were seldom seen in this day and age, was Hazel Bottomly? As I leaned to ask Anne, she nudged me. When I looked questioningly Anne nudged me and in a quiet voice said the lady was none other than the widow Richard was interested in. Dear Diary, my thoughts raced!

"Anne," I said, "is that Hazel Bottomly?"

Anne looked dubious. She wasn't sure, in fact didn't know Hazel Bottomly lived in the area.

No sooner had this little exchange taken place, than the lady in question looked our way, a frown crossing her forehead. A sudden recognition registered. As she reached our table she enquired if she could sit with us. Anne and I nodded. By then Dear Diary I was agog with curiosity.

Offering my hand I introduced myself, and Anne. A small laugh escaped the newcomer's lips.

"Alice! It is you!"

"Hazel Bottomly!" I exclaimed, and introduced Anne.

We chatted and caught up with the past decades until our sandwiches arrived. Hazel had ordered, her meal arriving shortly afterwards.

Dear Diary, I was most discreet. Not once did I mention Richard, though I was eager to know how her life was.

Anne broached the subject.

"Hazel," she said, "I am sorry to hear of the death of your husband. Please accept my condolences."

Adding my sympathies I was surprised to see a smile cross Hazel's features. This was the first newly widowed lady I had seen who didn't appear sad.

"Thank you both," Hazel replied. "While my husband and I lived under the same roof, we led separate lives for the last ten years. I actually have a man friend, and once a suitable time has elapsed Derek and I will marry."

Dear Diary, Anne and I stared at each other. Thank goodness neither of us had mentioned Richard. Now we have a lot of questions for that gentleman!

Up and Away

Dear Diary, If things need doing, 'tis best to do them fast! Maybe that is not the exact quote my Father used, but very close to it. Not that he ever decided a course of action quickly. It was his way to think, consider, think again, and then and only then, if the idea appeared to be suitable for the occasion, he acted. The fact that some of these actions took place months, or even years later was beside the point. A lesson told is a lesson learned.

Well things needed doing. Arrangements needed making. Actions were taken.

Dear Diary, here I am at the seaside home of my friend Anne, who was delighted to have me share her life for a time. At the moment no time limit has been placed on my visit; Anne is indeed a dear friend who understands the necessity I felt for getting away from the shambles at Niece's place.

I am too old to listen to ramblings of a pregnant girl, the rantings of the man who made her pregnant, and the fussing of the mother and her husband. Too much of a good thing!

In my naive innocence I blithely assumed the news of a pregnancy for a young couple, albeit unmarried, but promised, should be exciting and that planning for the arrival would fill the days with pleasure. Dear Diary, I am a fool, an old fool of a woman! Though deep inside I still feel my naive idea is how it should be. This poor child who will be born into a reasonably wealthy family, and therefore not poor in the normal expression of the word, will need to earn a place in the hearts of the parents. Unless of course, common sense rules.

Deciding upon a little subterfuge I announced I was cycling to the shop for the morning paper and disregarded Hester's astonished stare. No doubt she wondered why I needed a newspaper when one was delivered daily to the house. Each morning a cheerful lad tossed a plastic wrapped newspaper onto the lawn, often missing the garden, and sometimes even missing the property; instead loping it into the neighbour's tall tree that overhung our boundary fence. I had no desire to purchase a newspaper. I simply needed to use the public telephone box and blurt my troubles into Anne's sympathetic ear. Halfway through my tale Anne broke in with a suggestion; the suggestion I fervently wished for. And Dear Diary, here I am, at Anne's where life is calm.

Travelling down in the coach I peered out the smudgy window, though the scenery outside that window remained a mystery for much of the journey. My mind was not on the journey; my mind was not on the journey. Tumultuous thoughts tumbled through my mind; and for a moment Dear Diary, I feared for my sanity.

Once I arrived at the seaside Anne's cheerful presence immediately calmed my anxiety. A welcome cup of coffee combined with ham and mustard sandwiches helped ease my apprehension. Gradually a feeling of peace flowed over me, as I relaxed in quiet company. Dear Diary, I am here for I know not how long, but Dear Diary, already I am appreciating the absence of turmoil.

In the Morning

Dear Diary, I have a confession. The 'episode' in the dead of night upset my sleep. I tossed. I turned. Sleep evaded me until dawn when I fell into a fitful sleep punctuated by nightmares.

My life in this household has always been pleasant; small skirmishes quickly resolved, and relative peace reigned for years. The arguing, the midnight niggling, and a feeling that war is about to break out at any moment are upsetting. How Niece is coping is beyond thinking about. Phil will ensure life remains calm; he has a calming influence, but over recent days even Phil has shown signs of impatience. As I lay in bed, my thoughts racing, a headache developed. I did stagger to the bathroom for an Aspirin, which helped the head, and no doubt relaxed me enough to enable the fitful sleep.

As I awoke an idea sprung to mind. Escape! Take a break.

No sooner had the thought surfaced than Karen hurried to the bathroom. This morning sickness is dragging her down.

Dear Diary, I took it upon myself to offer assistance. From the depths of my subconscious a remedy emerged. A cup of sweet tea and a dry biscuit is an unusual combination if you give it any thought, and not one that I knew to be a positive cure. Still, better to try than to ignore the poor girl. By the time she entered the kitchen the 'remedy' was ready. Sitting her down at the table I insisted she try it. Admittedly Milk Arrowroot biscuits, without the addition of butter and honey as I prefer them, is rather boring. However, give Karen her due, she sipped and nibbled. Slowly she recovered, though whether it was the tea and biscuit or just that the sickness had passed I am not sure.

Niece came into the room ... she had set the washing machine going for a load of washing. As we all sat around the table the discussion centred on the row we had inadvertently heard during the night. Karen was apologetic. Jake was not sure he was ready to be a father; Karen desired this baby. The fact they had no home, and now Karen's hopes of finding a job in the short term were lessening by the day, we agreed things were not looking good.

Hester, egged on by an earlier conversation with Phil, enquired how long Karen and Jake would stay in this house.

Karen look shocked. Clearly the idea of moving out in the meantime had not crossed her mind. It appeared to me that a young couple expecting their first child, whether it was 100% welcome this early in the pregnancy, would prefer their own home; a place to raise a child. The look on Karen's face showed otherwise. Oh dear, I fear my nightmare is coming to fruition.

There are arrangements to be made!

Midnight Matters

Dear Diary, My last entry began, 'it almost beggars belief'. Once again that is the only suitable phrase to begin today's entry.

Men! I was flabbergasted to wake in the middle of the night to hear the sound of raised voices and sobbing. Honestly I didn't intend listening, but when no other noises break the darkness, and because the night was not that warm I had no desire to pull the blankets over my head to diminish the sound, I slowly wakened and listened. Dear Diary, I am not proud of that fact, and I implore you not to reveal this distasteful side of my nature, a side that seldom shows, because in all honesty I am nearly always a reasonably respectable quiet natured woman.

As the sounds became clearer it became obvious Karen and Jake were involved in a full-scale quarrel. Poor Karen! A girl in such a delicate situation should take care of her mental health. Sobbing inconsolably is not good. Jake was sounding forth about Karen's pregnancy!

"How!" he demanded, "did Karen manage to get pregnant?"

Dear Diary, I have to confess to smothering an escaping giggle. Did her have no idea at all? Or perhaps he had assumed that Karen was in the same category as the Virgin Mary? Immaculate conception or the like! From snippets of conversations between young school age children I thought everyone today knew about sex. [Sorry Dear Diary, I can find no other word, but I did whisper it.]

Jake was ranting on and on about how it would be impossible for him to support a wife and a child. Yet Dear Diary, I was of the impression the wedding was postponed. Let us hope it isn't cancelled! It struck me as humorous as there were Karen and Jake living with Karen's long lost and only recently found birth mother, and Jake was concerned about supporting others! He had made no effort to find a house for the pair of them, and by the way this conversation was heading it appeared as though a move would not be in the offing!

Just as I had decided to roll over and go back to sleep, closing my mind to the row that was now being carried on in quieter tones, the hallway light switched on.

Phil's voice boomed towards Karen and Jake, demanding they keep the din down, as he had to work in the morning. His last words were, "Things are always better in the light of day!" Wise words Phil! Thankfully Karen and Jake took the hint; their discussion died down; Karen's sobbing diminished. Peace descended upon the household, though heaven only knows what the morning will bring!

On the Baby's knuckle?

Dear Diary, It almost beggars belief that a modern miss of today's generation failed to consider pregnancy as a possible reason for her morning sickness. And that this girl's mother also failed to put two and two together. Dear Diary, it appears that some of the older generation do serve a useful purpose in a family! Not that I am suggesting I was on the lookout for a pregnancy, but honestly ... vomiting every morning does, surely, lead one to suspect pregnancy.

All is well now. Karen had a doctor's appointment this morning and arrived home full of smiles. We have left her to make the official announcement to the prospective Dad. It does seem that a wedding will be postponed until after the event. While this is not the solution I would have come up with, it ill behooves me to suggest an immediate wedding. Times have changed! No longer are unwed mothers frowned upon by the rest of society, and thankfully children born before nuptials do not need to be introduced to society as a little brother or sister. There is a lot to be said for today's open acceptance of children arriving into a family.

I did show Karen the lemon knitting wool and she is thrilled to think I am knitting already for the newborn. Frankly, Dear Diary, I would love if after her scan she would drop a hint as to the sex of the babe, but am loathe to suggest that as well. There are sometimes when an older relative should, as the young ones say, 'butt out'.

There is one problem that does cause me some concern. Where will the new arrival sleep? Will Karen and Jake still go house hunting, or will they simply dig in with Niece and Phil? No doubt a solution will be found, and once again I do not consider I should be asking such a question; well not at the moment anyway! Let this exciting piece of information have time to sink in with the others.

I am contemplating suggesting Phil built another bathroom! But hopefully Karen will soon pass this early stage and bloom.

In the meantime, I am sitting on the patio, in a sheltered corner where the sun is shining and the breeze is diverted, knitting the lemon wool.

Curious

Dear Diary, the past few days have flown, no excuses offered for my apparent lack of attention.

While life is moving slowly onwards, or should one say 'going forward', and with no visible signs of disruptions in the household, perhaps my tumultuous thoughts were misplaced? It is difficult to say.

Niece is rummaging through old bridal magazines determined that etiquette will be followed to a 'T' while Karen shows a marked lack of interest. Thankfully Jake has found employment, which means the house is devoid of male dominance during the day. In the evening Jake and Phil prefer to take off down to the public house down the road. They appear to enjoy each other's company. Or, as I secretly wonder, are they just thankful to escape from all the females at home!

In the meantime I have disbanded ideas of moving; a small niggling doubt lies in the dark recess of my mind. I try to avoid allowing it to tumble into the forefront. At least I have given the idea some growing space, and should the need ever arise, at least I won't be thrown into turmoil.

It does seem rather strange that Karen has made no effort to find employment, and her frequent visits to the bathroom have left me wondering. Niece has not queried their frequency, so why should I? But I am most suspicious!

As for that huge dog! Dear Diary, I put my foot down. Even though this house is in a strict legal sense not mine, I do live here. The risk of being completely bowled over has did not escape my attention. I protested loud and long! That brings me to another strange co-incidence ... Karen sided with me. She stated, firmly, and being Niece's child firm is indeed firm, that no walloping lump of a dog should be indoors anyway. This, in spite of the fact, this creature had lived indoors in their previous abode! As Alice would say, Curiouser and curiouser?

On my last trip to town as I meandered around the shops, not having anything particular purchase in mind, for some inexplicable reason I was drawn to the little craft shop across the street from the butchery, which incidentally often has a pig's head, with an apple thrust into its mouth, as the central window display. For all those children who believe pork is a type of meat you buy and serve with apple sauce, perhaps this little display might jog their memories as to its source! Dear Diary, a small bubble of laughter sprung to my lips as my fingers almost typed sauce. Still as my old mother always said, Laughter is better than medicine.

This small craft shop is jam-packed with treasures, each housed in their own special corner. While one thinks of a room with four corners, this shop has cunningly devised rooms within rooms, all separated by displays, thus giving a corner to each display. Quite ingenious for such a small space! I always greet the owner with a cheery "How are you today?" She sits in a small corner [yet another one!] a little back from the counter, where she has clear visibility of shoppers entering, and should she spy them looking puzzled she is there to help or advise.

Dear Diary, I have no idea why, but I ended up at the section that houses knitting wool, where I was drawn to a pretty lemon baby wool.

Sad Thoughts

Dear Diary, As soon as I left the room a hubbub of talk echoed around those walls. Niece's tones, strident today, protested that she had not intended to stop me from having a puppy, which Dear Diary I knew to be a bit of political expediency. She had no desire to be cast in the role of a bossy witch! Karen loves animals and would happily have a menagerie living within these hallowed walls! I sincerely trust that Hester does not encourage that particular fancy!

As I sat quietly in my room, with I have to admit, my ear close to the living room wall, several thoughts raced through my mind.

It appears to me that if Karen and Jake continue to stay here, and from their noticeable lack of house hunting that does seem a logical conclusion, then someone has to go. I feel that someone must be me.

As I looked around what had been my haven for more years than I cared to remember, it struck me that I had little to show for my many decades. I suppose that living in another's home, even though it has been made your home, does counter any tendencies to hoard. Hester is a hoarder ... she must take that from the other side of the family! Several cupboards throughout this amply endowed cupboard house are full of what an unkind person could classify as junk. Of course the old adage 'another's junk is someone else's treasure' sprung to mind, but just the same, junk is junk!

I was a child of the depression and as such possessions were few and far between. Presents were invariably useful; books were treasured, and often borrowed from the library. Today possessions are valued in a way that I fail to understand.

I do have several bookshelves full to over brimming with treasured tomes, some which have moved with me throughout my life, some accepted with pleasure on a birthday or at Christmas. Looking around I realised that my treasures were few, but treasured never-the-less. Should I shift it would not be difficult to pack all my belongings into a few tea chests.

A lone tear rolled down my cheeks. I love living here, and have no desire to move. Where would I go? Why should I move?

Slowly my sense of survival kicked in as I thrust all sad thoughts about shifting out of my mind.

Dear Diary, surely this situation will resolve itself ... won't it?

A Kerfluffle

Dear Diary, A tornado has swept through this household! I have spent the last few days hiding in my room, where hopefully, I can escape the worst of the storm.

It all began with a loud knock on the door, and a voice calling out. Not taking all that much notice I carried on doing what captured my attention for that moment; exactly what escapes me. I suppose some would say I was aging, and with that aging undoubtedly comes a little memory loss. Not with me! Not this time anyway. My poor old brain doth protest at the upheaval, the noise, and shuts down from taking further information on board.

It soon became apparent what caused the kerfluffle. Jake and Karen had returned. Their property sold quickly and not wishing to waste a moment they gave vacant possession at the end of 10 days, packed up some of their belongings, leaving the rest in a storage shed, and headed to Niece's. It's alright for them Dear Diary, but honestly, surprises of that magnitude do little to balance my equilibrium.

Niece bustled around, making up a bed, finding space for the numerous suitcases and bags full of essentials. Why couldn't they have stored more in that shed? Why couldn't have they found a place of their own first?

But, Dear Diary, there was worse to come. A huge slobbering dog bounded around like an elephant in a china shop. And yes, Dear Diary, I know it should be a bull in a china shop ... this creature is larger, and more destructive than a bull! I did enquire as to its breeding. To date I have had no positive reply. It not only licks anybody and everybody, it sniffs crutches, especially female ones, and once I caught it lifting its leg near the end of the arm chair. For that little action it received a good swift kick that sent it yapping outdoors.

To say I am unhappy is an understatement!

After several hours of skulking in the background it was time for me to make a statement. I waited until I had an audience; the dinner table seemed suitable. Not finding a quiet moment in which to make my announcement I banged the rim of my water glass with a spoon. That movement had the desired effect! Silence reigned for a moment; a moment I grasped.

"Family," I began, " I have something important to say!"

Four faces stared at me. It was at that stage I wished I had a song to sing, just to create a slight distraction, but all the songs I know are from a vintage of which they have no knowledge.

"Niece," I said, "I have made a decision about owning a puppy."

This had the desired effect Dear Diary. Niece looked chastened, and it fleetingly crossed my mind she may be having an attack of the guilts. Karen and Jake just stared at me, for they had no idea I had contemplated owing a dog.

"All the noise, all the bumbling antics from that [and here I hesitated as the word that sprang to mind was useless] huge slobbering creature has put me off dogs! How I ever thought a dog could enhance my life is a mystery."

Hester joined the conversation at that point and suggested that perhaps once Karen and Jake had their own place a little puppy would be welcome.

Dear Diary, I know those words were a platitude made because she knew my comments about that slobbering huge mutt were correct.

I made my point, finished my meal and washed up before heading, once again, back to the sanctuary of my quarters.

Decision Time

Dear Diary, I must apologise for my absence. Other pastimes captured my attention. As well the atmosphere has been, shall we say, cool.

My announcement about a puppy did not go down well. Niece screwed up her nose; in disgust I thought, whilst that man of hers declared that no dog was coming into his domain. Dear Diary, I kept out of their way for days, but decided that as I was quite within my rights in desiring a puppy, and as they were the ones showing a complete lack of regard of others' wishes, there was no reason for me to hide. Not that I scrambled under the bed whenever I heard them nearing my room ... that would have been childish, plus as I have a bed base it would be impossible to scramble there.

Last night as we sat at the dining table that Niece had spent some time prettying up; a crystal bowl filled with colourful blooms, the second best dinner set that is decorated with huge leaves that overpower most meals, damask tablecloth and matching napkins, which proved to me she had an attack of the guilts as to her ungenerous behaviour. I was a lady Dear Diary. Politely I asked for the salt and pepper, offered the gravy boat to Phil, and cleared the table between courses. Now that I look back it was almost amusing; excepting I was not amused; not that I consider I have anything in common with Queen Victoria.

The meal was a gourmet delight; Hester had taken endless trouble not only in the cooking but in presentation. To show my appreciation for her efforts I complimented the cook. But Dear Diary, I did let them suffer a while longer. At the moment I am contemplating the wisdom of bringing Briar home. How dreadful it would be if she was made unwelcome.

There were no recriminations over Greensmith and Redshaw, but then again they were confined to a small watery space. While they were colourful their lives did not truly add much to mine. Swimming around and around the glass bowl day in and day out must have been boring. The water plants swaying in the bowl were soothing to the soul, the flash of gold behind a larger plant did please the eye, but overall their existence added little to make my day exciting.

A puppy ... now that would add another dimension. I picture a windy morning, the sun not too high in the sky, with a puppy and I running [sedately] across the hilltop, my hair flying in the breeze, and a puppy chasing leaves in a surge of excitement. I could even knit a little jacket for the cold days of mid-winter; perhaps a rose pink cable version? That would definitely be different.

Would I be allowed to bring a puppy indoors? Would Niece allow a dog flap to be fitted to the door? If not I would need to get up in the night should she need toileting. No Dear Diary, I am not wholly convinced owning a puppy is such a good idea. However, I will not let on to Niece and that man of hers for a day or three ... let them stew!

The Letter

Dear Diary, Today was a red letter day. Perhaps not a red-letter day, but certainly a letter day.

Niece came bouncing into the lounge where I sat trying to concentrate on a particularly obscure Cryptic Crossword, and wondering at the same time why I just couldn't put it away and forget all about it. But ... these things are sent to try us! The dictionary lay on the floor, pieces of paper and a pen and a pencil near the chair, all in readiness for an inspired thought. They were few and far between.

Hester hurried in, waving in obvious delight a letter. I looked! Letters in this day and age are an oddity. Some days I wonder if the art of letter writing has disappeared with the turn of the century. This letter appeared to particularly magnificent. Just imagine, Dear Diary, a magnificent letter. The mind boggles! Not only could it be called magnificent, but also elegant. Two pages closely penned ~ in ink ~ on parchment-like paper.

For a moment this epistle reminded me of the aerogramme of last century. These small letters, while important for keeping in touch particularly with family overseas, invariably had one serious downfall. The writer began the aerogramme with carefully spaced words, telling of their latest adventure. As they reached the final space it seemed they always remembered another scintillating piece of news. It was at that stage the writing became smaller, and cramped, and often the last sentence was glued down upon sealing. When the recipient opened the mail words were missing.

But this letter today was no aerogramme. This letter came in a matching envelope and it was obvious Niece was excited.

Not wishing to hold her up on imparting its contents, I placed my pen on the floor near the dictionary ~ I had no inspiration for the remaining clues and wondered why I bothered.

Looking expectantly towards Hester I waited for her news. She was clearly thrilled with its contents.

"Aunt Alice", she trilled, this is the most wonderful news!"

I waited.

"This letter is from Karen and Jake! After their visit they decided to put their little flat on the market. It sold almost immediately!"

"Where are they going to live?"

"That's the most wonderful part Aunt," Hester replied. "Just before take over date they are both handing in notice at their work and are coming to live in our town! Oh isn't it just marvellous?"

I agreed, thinking that Karen and Hester had a lot of catching up to do, but deep down had a small reservation. Karen and her mother were very much alike in their ways. While this move is lovely for them both, I do wonder.

A Tea Party

Dear Diary, Niece and I arrived the customary ten minutes after the official starting time for the afternoon tea. We were last! There was a silence as we walked into the room of Mrs Over-the-street's living room.

Women, of the mature generation, sat around in oversized chairs, small occasional tables scattered around and pens and paper in an organised pile in the centre of the room. I am not a fan of off-white shag pile carpet. This room had off-white shag pile carpet. A large red rug under the larger table made a blood red blotch to the decor! Chairs were upholstered in apricot chintz, which it must be said, clashed terribly with the red rug. Later I managed a sneak peep under that rug. This house must have had someone with a dreadful flu as I am positive the orange stain, covered carefully by the rug, was vomit that disdained all attempts at eradication.

Niece and I looked around, smiled our welcome, and were directed to a small two-seater couch that stood forlorn under the window. We did as bid, sat down on what was a saggy sofa bed! Obviously the other guests had been there before!

A plate of hors d'oeuvre was passed around. Hester looked at me in surprise. We anticipated afternoon tea with scrummy sandwiches and cream cakes, perhaps a centre piece of mud-cake. Tiny glasses of some alcoholic beverage, we guessed, were to wash the angels on horseback down. We nibbled and sipped.

Conversation, so voluble as we entered the house, was stilted. Dear Diary it felt like a false calm before a terrible storm. I am not physic, but that room had a 'presence'; a presence that did not impress me one little bit.

Not being one to arrive at a destination for a particular reason only to find no evidence of the occasion does not feature in either Niece or my book. In another quiet moment, of which there were several where no one appeared to engage in conversation, I enquired of Mrs Over-the-Street which charity she intended to support.

"My dear," she gushed, "no decision has been made yet. That is up for discussion."

"Really!" Hester interrupted as if astounded. "Then I suggest the local school committee."

A peal of laughter echoed around the room. Hester flushed. She had not intended to be the object of such laughter.

"Oh Hester, we don't support schools!"

At least that outburst loosened tongues. A babble of voices vied with each other for attention. Quite frankly Dear Diary, some of their suggestions were hardly charities! I had no idea that women in our neighbourhood were such snobs.

Miss Smythe-Jones, who lives around the corner pushed her horn-rimmed spectacles up her nose, and in a confidential way queried Niece as to whom her visitor was earlier in the week.

"Such a striking girl! She does so resemble you Hester, but we all know that you and Phil, that is your husband's name isn't it, have no children."

I opened my mouth to reply, guessing at how embarrassed Niece must feel. This afternoon tea party was an inquisition! The nosey old women! How dare they interfere with other people's business!

Before my dumbfounded brain had time to assemble a suitable retort, Niece stood up, picked up her handbag and tugged me to my feet.

"Aunt", she intoned in a hurt voice, "we are going home."

I was not arguing Dear Diary! This afternoon tea was rigged!

Hester continued, "I wish to inform you ladies, though why I use the title lady I cannot imagine, because you are definitely not, the young girl of whom you are so curious is my daughter. She is a wonderful young lass. We may not have had much contact over the years, but blood is blood. Who her father is does not concern you. Now I wish you all a good day, and am sorry that this meeting was convened for the wrong reasons."

Dear Diary we never did find out what the pens and paper were for! Perhaps theyintended playing beetles?

Welcome Home

Dear Diary, Turning into our street my eyes opened wide; I almost lost my balance, and thanked my lucky stars I was riding a three-wheeler, as a two-wheeler would surely have turned me onto my tail. The street was a hive of activity. Mrs Over-the-street, wearing a quirky apron with apples appliquéd along the bottom their leaves forming a hem [I bet that took a lot of work], and an apple shape for the pocket, hurried from Niece's home, her face red from exertion, or was it embarrassment or anger? Not hearing any foul language I hoped it was only from her fast running gait, which was abnormal as Mrs Over-the-street usually ambled along in complete oblivion of cars that may drive faster than the speed limit along our quiet street.

The window cleaner chap who lives at the end of the street had his ladder perched up the jacaranda tree that grows just inside Niece's gate; the tree that I simply adore when it is in full bloom with its unusual shade of blue flowers, and the tree that Niece's man detests as he insists it drops leaves onto the lawn clogging up the lawnmower. Men are not content to admire an object for its beauty; they must bring some boring practical side-line into the equation. Niece stood inside the gate her distressed features staring into the tree. Karen and Jake were not in sight.

Dear Diary, perhaps Karen had climbed the tree in an effort to find a little peace and quietness away from Jake's perpetual complaining. He wasn't the first man I had seen with a pulled leg muscle, but I am positive no others ever moaned like he did. I feel certain he is angling for an Oscar!

This place was where I live, and I had every right to turn into the driveway! Ignoring stares from those who didn't recognise me on my new machine, I nonchalantly strolled over to Niece.

"What's going on?" I enquired.

"Aunt Alice," she gasped. "I am so pleased you are back. I do hope you won't be angry!"

Angry? What was she speaking of?

"Why should I be angry?" I replied.

"Aunt," she began, "I don't know how to tell you. But the neighbour's cat [that pesky cat that forever sneaks into the house when our backs are turned] jumped into your room through the partially open window, pranced onto the table where those goldfish are [obviously Niece has forgotten those goldfish have names ... Greensmith and Redshaw ... but I let that slip by. Who was I to stop her in the middle of an explanation?], put its paws into the water and in the process of trying to take those fish out of their tank, knocked the aquarium over, spilling water all over the carpet."

"What happened to Greensmith and Redshaw," I asked, in a rather shaky voice. This little tale was not boding well for my pets.

"That's part of the problem," Niece mumbled, suddenly realising she was to be the bearer of bad news. "That cat ate them both! I heard the commotion, ran up the hallway, but the cat scuttled past me out the back door and ran up the tree, and now it can't get down."

In a calm voice I asked where was Phil's gun! There was only one outcome of this fiasco; the cat had to be shot before it caused any more problems.

Niece looked horrified. "Aunt, you wouldn't ... would you?"

I would! Commonsense took over. We live in a built-up area. Guns are forbidden unless one has a licence, and had I thought for more than half a second about it, I would have remembered that Phil did not own a gun.

"Is that why the window cleaner is up his ladder?" I asked.

Niece looked embarrassed. Oh no Dear Diary. Hester in a rush of sudden silliness had called the only person she knew with a long ladder, the window cleaner from the end of the street, to rescue a cat that had killed and eaten my pets!

I marched over to the base of the tree.

"Window cleaner!" I bellowed. "Come down instantly! That cat can stay there until it dies of starvation, or it can find it's own way down."

The window cleaner, give him his due, looked baffled, his shifty eyes sliding from Niece to myself. Niece had shrunk in size under my commanding tone.

He knew who was calling the tune now, and hurriedly began his descent. The cat was high in the leafy canopy, but edging its way towards the fence through which it had arrived. There was no doubt about its intentions; to evade captivity, and what fate I might dream up, in haste.

Dear Diary, I was not happy. Had I not put the deposit on a new aquarium for my dearest fish? I suppose there is only one solution, though whether I dare suggest it to Niece, remains a quandary ... I would phone the Pet Shop, cancel the order, and enquire as to the availability of a puppy, one that would be trained to chase cats!

Cycling to the Shops

Dear Diary, Today is another day. Jake is bored with his enforced inactivity, Karen's wedding plans are on the back boiler. Phil has no bikes to fix, and Niece is cooking, which is her way of avoiding conflict. Because the air is thick with angst today.

Greensmith and Redshaw have grown taking up too much space in the aquarium. The Pet Shop has a display of aquariums in their window, and I am in two minds to inquire the price of a larger model. Greensmith and Redshaw provide an oasis of peace in my small world as they swim around and around their home, long fronds of pond plants hiding them from view for seconds on end. Sometimes, when I stand and watch these two gold fish, I wonder if they are playing peek-a-boo with me. I know Dear Diary that skeptics imagine fish have no idea of games, but from my observation they are capable of playing.

With an atmosphere pervading the house today would be the day to go shopping at the Pet Shop. Not wishing to attract the attention of the others, I sneaked out the side door, trundled my tricycle down the side lane and out onto the street.

It was another wonderful day; ownership of this tricycle has added another dimension to my existence. I no longer rely on others if I wish to 'travel'. I consider myself to be of an age when I can choose what I do, and when.

I was not quite so happy with the raucous laughter of a group of schoolboys hanging around the shopping centre. They were obviously wagging school; and the packet they suspiciously hid when I came into view did look very much like a cigarette packet. I suppose their parents know they are not at school? It wasn't the fact that these boys were avoiding attaining an education; that is their business. I was not amused when the larger of the trio let out a cat call, followed by the comment, "Granny, I can see your knobby knees!"

I am not their Granny! Dear Diary, have the young of today no respect for the older generation?

Knobby knees? My knees were once one of my greatest assets, set as they are in the middle of a well-shaped ankle and slinky thighs. Often, whilst swimming at the local pool, admittedly several years ago, the male contingent that congregated near the diving board greatly admired my knees. That petty comment distressed me! Cycling in a skirt, even one with several gores, is not the easiest of skill to manage. The skirt tends to creep up, upsetting my balance when I pluck it down again. There is nothing for it, Dear Diary, I am buying a pair of trousers. Niece will have a fit! She is firmly against a lady of my years wearing trousers, which she insists are uncouth.

The Sports Shop has a huge array of cycling gear, but after a quick perusal I decided against lycra bike shorts, even though they do come in lime green, which would make me resemble Shrek. In a corner, and on a rack marked 'Special ~ Half Price today only' I noticed a pair of soft-blue, cotton track pants, the bottom of the legs pulled in with a darker blue band, and a matching three-quarter sleeve top. I tried them on. Yes! Dear Diary, they were made for me. Not wishing those boys to call unkind comments again, I had the young shop assistant place my skirt and blouse in their labelled plastic bag, which I pushed well into the basket on the tricycle.

Next stop was the Pet Shop. I am rather taken with the substantial oblong aquarium that will give Greensmith and Redshaw plenty of room to grow. Perhaps a few coloured pebbles for the bottom? Not wishing to carry them home, and not actually having the space to carry them home, I paid a deposit, promising to return to pick the aquarium up, and finalising the account.

Dear Diary, I wonder if the air has cleared at home?

Square Dancing

Dear Diary, I should have popped you into my handbag to keep up to date with the action.

The Square dancing was an experience; one which left me gasping with exertion. It did cross my mind that dancing so energetically could be more worthwhile than going to the gym, or aerobics. Not that I indulge in either! Shopping is strenuous enough.

Many people of diverse ages gathered in the hall. The regulars were easily picked out; the girls wore swirling skirts, and the guys all wore a bright coloured waistcoat. I hadn't realised there was a uniform for such an occasion. In spite of not wearing the correct dress I had a fabulous time. And the supper Dear Diary! Sandwiches, savouries and home made cakes; one in particular a three-layered sponge filled with strawberries and cream was irresistible. [I had two pieces Dear Diary ... what an admission!]

Shortly after supper, which fell in the second-third of the evening, Jake had an accident. He was promenading with Karen when he slipped, on what we later found out was a small piece of ham dropped from those delicious ham, cream cheese and pineapple sandwiches. There was no warning. One moment he was moving on the floor, and the next he was sitting on the floor with a surprised look on his face. I smothered my mirth ... well it was funny! There was Jake in his skin-tight jeans, a T-shirt with a silly slogan across his chest, his hair dishevelled from the exertion, sitting on the floor with his feet towards the sky. His look of surprise changed to one of agony as he tried to stand up. His foot gave out. For one moment it appeared he had broken a leg. There was a rush of dancers to help him to his feet, and half-held him up to take him to one of the hard wooden seats scattered around the edge of the hall. Jake grimaced, rolled up his jeans with the greatest of difficulty, to expose a leg rapidly beginning to swell.

I think it was the shock of it all that made me call out, "Is there a doctor in the house?" When everyone stared at me I knew I had made a boo-boo. Dear Diary, why does my tongue run away with me in times like this? There was one advantage ... a few laughed, lightening the mood. However, it became obvious that Jake did need medical treatment.

Niece and her man, aided by Karen, and supervised by myself, helped Jake into the car before hurrying to the local medical centre. After X-rays, and a long wait, it emerged that Jake had not broken a bone. Thank goodness Dear Diary. He did have serious bruising and had pulled a muscle, which will heal if he doesn't use that leg too much.

We are all home again. Karen is fussing over Jake, Niece is baking a cake to help build him up, and I ... I am staying in my room recovering from a huge night out.

Manipulation?

Dear Diary, With a little gentle persuasion, and a suggestion that Karen didn't mean what she said, slowly Niece calmed. Dimly I recalled the wedding dress in question; it had been the talk of the town with its designer appeal. I enquired as to the exact whereabouts of the said wedding dress. Niece smiled, reminiscing about how wonderful her wedding had been with aunts, uncles, great aunts and uncles, cousins and friends who had gathered to join in the happy occasion. Dear Diary I felt I had achieved something; even it was only a settled Niece.

Later in the morning Niece had regained enough composure to bring the wedding dress out of its wrappings. It was as glorious as I remembered ... Chantilly lace and satin in a classic, never to date style, with a tiny coronet that set the dress of exactly with its circle of pearls and artificial flowers. Apart from one tiny stain the dress was as good as new.

An idea glimmered in my mind. I suggested Niece do her grocery shopping ... I had other plans.

Niece shut the door not as quietly as normal, and safe in the knowledge that it was safe to come into the kitchen, and have breakfast, though by now the meal should have been called brunch, Karen and Jake, sheepishly, padded in and proceeded to cook toast. I could have cooked them bacon and eggs, except that such an action could have been taken as manipulation. Dear Diary, I did have manipulation on my mind; subtle manipulation. So subtle that Karen would not realise the path along which I was heading.

Once Karen and Jake had eaten we washed up. Karen hadn't asked where her mother was, and I never volunteered, though I did murmur something about this might be just the right time to have a little chat. Immediately Karen visibly closed; her eyes became far away as if she was silently saying that she wasn't interested in what I might say. Too bad! Jake, sensing a serious situation was developing headed out into the garden. He had plans, he said, of tidying the garden. That was an excuse! Niece kept a wonderful garden, and apart from a small patch near the shed, the garden resembled an entry in the Chelsea Flower Show.

"Jake," I said. "I wish to speak to you both; in the lounge if you don't mind."

They looked at each other. I had spoken forcefully. They could see there was no escape.

Settled in the lounge I casually fingered Niece's wedding dress, which at this stage was carefully folded into a white bundle.

"Karen, have a feel of this fabric", I said.

In a spell of belligerency Karen scowled. I reminded her of the old adage my Mother had instilled in my childhood brain, 'Screw up your face and you will get wrinkles.' It worked. Karen didn't want to have wedding photos taken with wrinkles in her face!

With a little more persuasion she reached forward to touch the satin. I watched her face as the cool smoothness of the wedding dress captured her attention.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Just your Mother's wedding dress," I replied. "You called it an old rag, I was told."

Karen had the grace to blush as she mumbled that she hadn't meant what she said. She hadn't expected Niece to take over her wedding. A fair statement I thought, and told her so.

"Karen, would you like to look at this dress? You don't have to wear it, but don't you think you should actually see what is on offer? And think of how much money you will save if you like it, and of course if it fits you. Your mother was very dainty at your age."

At this stage I looked coy, hoping Karen would take the implication on board that her mother may have been smaller than she at the same age. Throughout my life I deduced that no-one likes the implication that their mother was better than them, be it size or looks.

Begrudgingly Karen revealed the wedding dress. She gasped!

"Aunt Alice!" she cried. "This is a gorgeous dress!"

I nodded, smiling smugly, and asked if perhaps she would like to try it on for size. Not that she was expected to wear it of course.

Five minutes late, after I had shooed Jake from the room [after all Dear Diary the prospective groom should not the his bride-to-be in her wedding dress until the big day], Karen entered the lounge. She looked beautiful Dear Diary, and it was clear her mind was made up.

A 'Phone Call

Dear Diary, those dratted crochet squares! While we did our utmost to complete them there are several needing tails sewn in. Anne tried to keep up the cracking pace I set ... I was determined to finish that rug.

But ... Life had other ideas! Or rather Niece had other ideas.

Whilst sitting at the tea table the telephoned rang. Nothing unusual in that I thought, except it hadn't registered before, but Anne's telephone hadn't rung once all the time I have been here. [Memo to myself ... I must make the effort to call her at least once a month. A friendship that has lasted as long as ours could wither with lack of attention.]

"Alice," called Anne from the passageway where the telephone rested on a small circular table covered with a doily. "Telephone is for you!"

Wondering who would be calling I hurried to take the receiver.

"Hallo?" I was hesitant in my speech. Only Niece knew I was here, and if she was calling then it must be urgent. All types of scary thoughts raced through my mind. Perhaps Karen and Jake had left, never to darken Niece's door again? Perhaps Niece was ill and it was Karen requesting my urgent return home? Perhaps, and at this point a smile crossed my face, though I hurriedly removed it, Harold was ill and needed expert care? Ha! He could hire a nurse!

Niece was almost incoherent as she stumbled through a miserable story. Karen and Jake did not agree to her taking over the wedding. Words had been spoken! [By that I presumed Niece had been given a ticking off for putting her nose into their affair.]

"Please, please Dear Aunt Alice, would you come home. We need your calm presence to help sort this mess out!"

Oh Dear Diary, I was not surprised. Niece can be ruthless in her ways and while that man of hers appears to be meek and mild, he has learned how to keep the peace. He goes out. If Niece becomes high-handed with me I retire to my room. We have found, from experience, that Niece and a quiet hour or two is all that is required. It fleetingly crossed my mind that Karen and her mother were very much alike!

I agreed to return. The coach is relatively quiet during the week and a seat would be easily secured. With that thought in the back of my mind, I replied, "Of course I will come home! And please, however good your intentions are, please do not rile Karen and Jake up anymore! You have just discovered them. Imagine how it would feel if they left never to return!"

A small gasp down the telephone told me my words had hit their mark.

And so Dear Diary, here I am, sitting on the almost empty coach, filling you in with the details.

What awaits me?

The Shed

Dear Diary, Not only is my nose red, but also my arms. I should have taken notice of what my Mother always said, "Cover up! Do not let the sun's rays on your skin in the middle of the day!" [Yes Mother.] And that Dear Diary was a million years before slip slop slap became a mantra.

We decided to have a quiet day, what with the exertion of the long walk yesterday, and our increasing maturity. Both Anne and I admitted, rather ruefully, that neither are as fit as we once were. Not having any particular activity in mind I thought I would take a look in the shed near the rear wall of the garden. Anne keeps an old fashioned garden; roses grow prolifically, though heaven only knows how many hours she puts into their keep. There is a rather wonderful vegetable garden, which explains the abundance of fresh vegetables on the table, and a herb garden in the shape of a wagon wheel. Anne is a gardener. I am not envious. I love looking at gardens, but ... Dear Diary, I am not keen on the hard physical labour.

The shed is rather ancient, oiled wood and extremely rickety, cobwebs covered the exterior giving it a rather spooky appearance. The window appeared to be from an old bathroom and thus gave me no view into the interior. There was nothing for it ... I would walk around the side for the door, which was always closed. I did wonder why, but not being nosy never inquired. Anne had hinted old things were kept there, but what constituted old things in her vocabulary? Ah well, Dear Diary, if I don't look I will never know.

The door was heavy and slid sideways, much to my surprise, as I spent at least five minutes trying to find a door knob. A small block of wood acted as a sort of handle. I grabbed it, pushed with all my might; the door remained static. More strength is required. Squaring my shoulders I pulled on the handle, and suddenly the door moved to the left. A proverbial Pandora's Box came into view. Boxes of books, some had evidence of being a mouse home at one stage. Dear Diary I do hope there are no rats here! I do not like rats!

Not that far inside the door stood a battered tin chest; the type that hold pride of place in a small town Museum that has a section devoted to early settlers. These tin chests provided safe and dry storage for blankets and household essentials when ancestors left the 'old country' for a new life across the ocean. Just as well the door was difficult to open. If word had got out the treasure trove in this old shed I feel that Anne's relatively quiet existence might be tarnished with visitations of burglars.

While I didn't see anything else that attracted my attention; an old rusty push-lawnmower, lengths of green binder twine that may be used in the garden but which originally wrapped hay bales, tools that I am positive had been willed to Anne, otherwise why would she own them, the tin chest had me extremely curious. Cautiously I pulled on the lid, and to my utmost amazement it swung open without the smallest squeak. Dear Diary, it was full of crafts in various stages of completion.

An old shoe box held plaster of Paris moulds and half a dozen unpainted ladies in crinoline dresses. They must be at least 50 years old! The surprising fact was that the red rubber moulds hadn't perished. An old flour bag, and I haven't seen them since last century, held a huge number of crochet squares, some of which were crocheted together, and none of which had that ungainly threads sewn it. How could Anne leave a task uncompleted Dear Diary! I abhor slackness! Not bothering to look any further, I hauled the flour bag out, shut the lid down, closed the door, and marched towards the house. We have a project for the rest of the day ... Anne and I will sit and crochet those squares together, add a border, and sew in those confounded tails.