There are four ships lying in the English channel not too far from here. Their home port is full of furloughed vessels. It’s because the crew have been on board for a year or more due to the pandemic. The poor crew need time on land and will maybe be flown home and other crew will take over when they are cleared to sail again.
Amazingly, cruises are booked up already even though they are a hot house for infectious disease. I can’t think of anything worse than a cruise. Give me a train journey any day.
My harbour is cluttered still, and perhaps more. I watch the tugs and pilots go out to bring in vessels as well as seeing them out. The huge Russian one has left and smaller ones are in it’s place.
Work has stopped at the site. I can only pray. Please pray with me. The ombudsman has my case now.
I am sleeping well. 99% of the time I wake refreshed. Pain is still minimal but my mood is low.
My garden is full of delights. Flowers I did not expect. My tomato plants need resurrecting after the rain, so I am going to do that now and finish painting my gate.
So this morning I heard activity on the houses going up opposite me. I went over to protest. They are so incompetent that I easily got inside the site. No one objected. There was a saw lying on the ground. I picked it up and pointed out that I could get hurt with this thing lying around. (One of them later told police that I had threatened to cut my wrists.)
I called out to people and told them the effect it would have on my life. Some people really cared and others laughed and sneered. I stopped a bus, and they were lovely which I appreciated. Then, moving off, they became putrid.
I could not get through to the press. So in due course two female cops arrived. They told my abusers to shut up. One walked home with me while the other drove round the block in order to park in my road.
I was close to hysteria as protest is a right in this country. The police were lovely. They were on my side. One made me tea, and joined in a chat about all sorts. They were angry that I had been abused. When they left they went to give the builders a piece of their mind.
I had an x-ray. Five in all, a senior radiologist was consulted twice. Nothing is broken – it was not immobilized.
I’ve been writing and crying. I have contacted as many people in the council as possible. I will contact my area news station, radio and TV.
I have poppies in bloom. I ate a wild strawberry this morning and they need a few more days. My tomato plants are huge, I will remove some leaves so sun ripens the fruit.
I’m thrilled. I have purple/blue nemesis, red geums, white gypsophelia, forget me nots, Mexican daisies, osteospernum. I am thrilled to bits. My figs are thriving. My rambling rose is growing well and also my jasmin.
I have to say that since I was told an attempt will be made to get my neighbours to take down the wind chimes, I have found that they cause me to be more on edge and more pain. I don’t know when it will happen, I will only be told afterwards.
I know this could be psychosomatic, but also the effects of the windchimes have been cumulative. I have managed so sow some seeds, and dead head some flowers. I cry out in pain, but the pleasure of my garden is a pull, even in this very cold weather. Tomorrow the gardener to whom I gave my piano is coming to put back some flower bed near the house. I won’t have so far to carry my watering can, but drought tolerant plants will be planted anyway.
I’m looking forward to this. I love designing flowerbeds, I like swathes of colour. I have mislaid my spring bulbs but hope to find them tomorrow. I have a lot of plants in bloom out of season, but although scary due to climate change, I’m enjoying them.
In twelve days One Hundred Memories, an anthology for the Alzheimer’s Society is launching. I am a contributor. It will be great to have a copy. I’ve been in several anthologies, but this will only be the third one of which I will own a copy.