Happy adventures…

Today has been a happy day, or perhaps contented day is better.

I dealt with emails and invitations, and then contacted the gardener who is making alterations is my garden. He was caught up with his son, so I decided to grasp the time and visit my godmother.

I haven’t seen her for a while, for one reason or another. The bus journey is not long, but takes me to lanes that see more tractors than cars. I took the wrong turning to her house, a problem I have whether driving or on the bus. It is pleasant though, so I did not mind.

She did not know I was coming, as she naps every afternoon. I love her company because she is so positive and adores me. It’s lovely to be with people who think the world of you, isn’t it?

I often have no reason to visit, but I have been wanting to give her a book of poetry. She is one of my greatest fans, which is another lovely thing.

Her cottage, which about four hundred years old, is on the estate that her nephew now owns, and just a bit further north is the estate of Antony Rockley (Lord) who is a really lovely man.

At the bottom of my godmother’s garden is the Beech tree I planted for my Dad. I tried to spot it from the lane, but failed as I’m not familiar with her garden’s gaps in the hedge. I will have a plaque made soon, to be visible on the lane side of the hedge.

We spent a couple of happy hours drinking tea and chatting, and talking about my Dad, whom she also adored (everyone loved my Dad), my English home town, where she has lived also.

When I left, I turned down the lane, although it’s name is road, and found myself in pitch-black. It was hard to avoid the ditches on either side, though I did, because otherwise I’d probably still be there. I took the correct fork in the road, and tried to stay in the middle. A runner frightened me as he overtook me. He was wearing a head torch which seemed to come out of nowhere.

The light pollution from where I live was shocking. I’ve not seen it so starkly in a long time. The bus came on time.

I was thrown back a couple of decades as there was a young guy sitting opposite who looked just like a boyfriend I had. I burnt my leg on his brother’s motorbike exhaust (skirts on motorbike are not recommended), and I used to change gear for him when we were out. Once we took my sister out, and she suddenly said, ‘I feel sick’. He said to hang on for a moment, but knowing my sister, I told him to stop at once. Too late. My sister had thrown up on the back of my seat. Thankfully, there was one of my sweaters in the boot, and a blanket. So I protected her modesty as she put on the sweater and then turned the blanket into a skirt.

I spoke on the phone to this ex relatively recently. He said I don’t laugh like I used too. Well, I laugh a lot.

I am finding the rain resistant jacket that Mike left behind very useful. It is lighter than my Dad’s which great for dog walking, but this reaches my knees, like Dad’s, and doesn’t get to too hot.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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