Tag Archives: country living

Diplomacy. Or possibly not.

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Wow!  I’m having to steer a careful course through the shoals of diplomacy.  My book Tales from a Stone Cottage has released my stories of village life to a whole new audience – the actual villagers!  The ones who wouldn’t necessarily buy a copy of Country Living magazine to read the articles but have (after careful thought, because £15 is serious money) invested in a copy of Book to see what I’ve been going on about all these years.

The first distant rumbling came to me this morning, when I bounced into the post office full of the joys of Autumn.  Mr Addington was there, buying something difficult and healthy.  “I’ve seen your photograph in the newspaper,” he said disapprovingly.  “M’wife thought it was glamorous.”  This was not a compliment, the Addingtons don’t do glamorous.

I apologised and slunk around the back of the aisle selling bread and biscuits and met the proto type for Frank.  “I’ve bought a copy of your book,” he said.  “Yes I have.  It’s my second book.  I want to see what you’ve written in it.”  Oh great.  I told him I’d written about his ferrets, which cheered him up because he loves his ferrets.  I just hope that he’s OK with what I’ve written about somebody who is not him, but funnily enough has a great deal in common with him.  I’m sure I’ll find out soon what he makes of it, and if I’m still alive I’ll report back.

On my way out I met a very, very old lady who hardly ever comes out of her house.  “I have purchased a copy of your book,” she said in a distant and very old voice.  “Oh!  I do hope you liked it!”  The old lady stared at me wordlessly, and her carer gave me a warm smile.  “I’ve bought it too,” she said encouragingly, “and I thought it was very funny!”  There was a lot of emphasis on the ‘I’, inference being that the very old lady didn’t.  I looked at the door, which wasn’t far away – one bound and I would be free.  The very, very old lady skewered me with a gimlet stare.  “One thing I will say for you,” she said and stopped again.  I paused, nearly at the door but not quite.  “You write very nice English.”  That was all I was getting – I thanked her, finally reached the shop door and escaped into the wild.

I’ve always trodden so carefully with my neighbours (hi there if you’re a neighbour and reading this!)  Now I’m going to find out if I’ve trodden carefully enough.

Just so you know …

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My broadband has been down.  Last time that happened it was because a snail had got into the box that matters (honestly, I’m not making this up) and got wedged.  No broadband.  This time it was because the cat Scarab, who has a prosperous figure and likes his sleep, climbed into the computer cupboard, spent several happy hours kipping among the cables and dreaming about anchovies and pulled a wire out.  Anyway, we’re up and running again but I haven’t done a blog.

London was surprisingly good fun, by the way.  It was raining when I left Wiltshire, but when I arrived in London the sun was hot and everybody was strolling around in T shirts, looking relaxed.  It was like being in another country entirely.  I had a great meeting with Country Living, and it was lovely to look through the proofs of the ‘Tales from a Stone Cottage book’ with them and have some ideas.  Then home again and guess what?  it was raining, and people were trudging about in waterproofs.  As always though, I went and stood on the bridge over our little stream and rejoiced about being back in the deep countryside.  And the animals were most welcoming, though they had a vested interest in that they all wanted to be fed.

The chicks seemed to have grown in just a day, they are getting the most outrageous hairstyles (nice one, Wenceslas!)  The chick I am calling Pippa (Middleton) because she always looks perfect in any situation, is golden with a pure white hat.  Very striking.  Dolly (Parton) is a mass of golden curls and Camilla (Duchess of Cornwall) – you may notice that we have a royal theme in the hen run at the moment – has a most sumptous feather headdress.  The sort you wouldn’t want to sit behind at an opera.

And this is very nearly a full-length blog now.  But I must race away because we have 8 for supper and they are arriving any moment now.  Have a wonderful weekend, and it’s great to be back online.

My proofs are in – huzzah!

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An UPS parcel delivery man arrived today, ran the gauntlet of dogs/cat/geese and delivered the proofs for my ‘Tales from a Stone Cottage’ book.  Mega excitement!  So far I’ve only been sent the pages that have colour illustrations on them, but as that covers just about every page I can get a really good idea of the shape and feel of the book.

And I really, really like it.

I’ve said it before, but Celia’s illustrations are so good.  I find them funny, and true to life, and spookily accurate.  She’s never visited my stone cottage on purpose, so she can use imagination rather than slavish copying, but you would never know it. She’s even got my sheep right.  And pictures like the time the washing line blew down and the geese got involved – honestly, she could have been leaning over the wall with her drawing pad and taking it down from life.

I’ve written some extra bits for the end of each chapter – villager’s handy hints for Food from the Wild etc, and I love the way those have been done.  And most of all it’s great to have the articles under one heading, collected together.

Anyway, I won’t go on about it (much) but it’s an exciting moment.  Tomorrow I venture up to London to have a chat with Country Living, which will be fun.  Apart from anything else, it’ll be great to wear something other than wellies and a harassed expression as I trudge around the quagmire that my previously beautiful section of England has become.  Funnily enough it’s a great year for roses here, I’ve never known them so good.  I was smelling them blissfully with my eyes closed yesterday and very nearly sniffed up a bumblebee, which would have been a shock for both of us.

Other news:  the sheep are feeling light and airy without their wool, and have taken to galloping about in packs.  I was worried at first, thought they were being chased, but then they started bouncing like pogo sticks and I realised it was girlish high spirits.  The horses are high maintenance regarding rugs, which need changing constantly as it rains, then doesn’t rain, then gets intensely hot, then rains again.  And Frillz wants everybody to know that she’s lovin’ it in the hen run now, and spends most of her time up the ladder in the ark having girlie chats with her new mates.

 

 

Tales from a Stone Cottage: Guest blog by Mr Addington

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This is actually the edited highlights.  I cut out the bit where he really got going on fireworks.

Aly has asked me to write a few words about Bonfire Night (or Guy Fawkes Night as it should properly be called) in a ‘blog’.  Blog!  Ridiculous word.  If you want to write a diary, call it a diary I say!

Where was I?  Ah yes, Bonfire Night.  In my humble opinion, this is an overrated festival nowadays, just an opportunity for hooligans to hurl dangerous fireworks around.  People just seem to lose all sense of proportion.  Maurice lit an enormous bonfire on his farm on Saturday night and all the village were wandering around in the dark eating saturated fats and drinking stimulants.  I saw the vicar, who is normally a sensible man, waving a sparkler around – could have put somebody’s eye out.  I went to find Maurice to ask him, quite politely, if he had carried out a proper risk assessment.  Though he assured me he had, I didn’t like the tone of his voice at all.  And when he found me doing my own risk assessment, just to make sure, he was quite frankly offensive.  Of course parking in his field was a complete shambles, cars all over the place.  I offered to officiate but he wasn’t having any of it.  You just can’t help some people.  Then with everybody trampling about the place, the field became a sea of mud and he had to drag cars out with his tractor.  I’d have laughed, except my car was stuck too and that wasn’t funny at all.  Bonfire nights should be organised properly according to official guide lines, keeping well-meaning amateurs well away from potential fire hazards.  I can tell people this, but they just won’t listen.  Hah!