February Farewell

Dear Diary,

February makes a bridge and March breakes it.

George Herbert, Jacula Prudentum

So goodbye Dear February, my most-disliked month. No hard feelings though because perhaps I was a little harsh in my condemnation. You did carry beauty, good luck and blessings in your wake and I have survived intact. Nothing too untoward has befallen me or those I love.

Tomorrow comes a new month, Dearest March, a real harbinger of Spring and She will open with a very special saint’s day for the people of Cymru. There will be much wearing of the daffodil tomorrow and vases of them will be displayed in every home and public building. Daffodils are budding a-plenty hereabouts; there seem to be more than usual this year, or is it my imagination?




Today, the 29th February, they say, is going to be very wet and windy but I wake to a dry day with the barest of breezes. The collared doves are still busy flying back and forth to their new nest in the tall pine. I hope they have built a sturdy and secure home if gales truly are on their way.



I missed that earthquake by the way, I am so cross, I would have loved to have had the experience of the earth moving. I haven’t felt that for many a moon. (That joke was on everyone’s lips yesterday, I apologise).


My cold has come back, they are calling it a ‘boomerang virus’ round these parts. This time it has set up residence in my throat and chest and my voice has gone all funny. I would like to say it sounds huskily sexy but it actually sounds as if I am somewhat demented and close to death, when in fact I don’t actually feel too bad. By the end of the day I do feel rotten though and have been indulging in, or rather collapsing into, Early Nights.

So are there any Blessings amongst all this?

Bronchial Balsam from Boots. Not sure of the make but it’s the cheapest in the shop and there are no nasties in it; rather it contains all sorts of weird and wonderful but wholesomely dark and natural ingredients. Good black stuff, almost as good as those Calpol Brandy slammers (Purplecooers’ secret indulgences).

Paracetamol, honey and lemon, they also keep me going and stop me coughing too much.

Log fires are a comfort too and the sofa with blankets, soft cushions and pillows and some mindless TV. And let’s face it, most TV is mindless these days. It’s cooking, gardening, celebrities I’ve never heard of etc etc, you all know what I mean. I have been watching Place in the Country, or whatever it’s called…all about these really odd couples going house hunting, relying on some equally smug and weird person with an annoying accent to find them four houses to choose from. As if they didn’t have the gumption to look for themselves. And we all know they only do it for the huge fee and to appear on TV. But somehow if I am feeling poorly I can happily watch this crap. I don’t mind Location, Location, Location/Relocation etc as I really like the intelligent presenters of that one, also it’s the original idea I suppose and not a cheap copy.


Final blessing.
M has fixed my new Un Peu Loufoque tiles on the kitchen wall and very fine they look too. I will try and take a photo of them in situ but this is what they are.



Some people M knows came to visit us with their metal detectors yesterday and went round our field. The most interesting thing they found was a medieval loom weight if you know what that is. It is made of lead, looks like an over-sized Polo mint and apparently was used to weigh down either the warp or the weft (am sure someone will tell me). My money is on the warp because the weft goes in and out?

Here is a photo of one, not of ours, ours is the same but is not cracked...... but I haven't taken a photo of it yet.




They found all sorts of interesting little bits and bobs but no buried treasure unfortunately. We want to get the field ploughed up as an old Roman road actually crosses it, who knows what may lie beneath?

Well I will sign off now, I am feeling a bit worn out.

Before I go here is a poem I have only just this minute discovered on the net. Isn't it lovely?

MARCH


Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat-
You must have walked-
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell.


Emily Dickinson


Funnily enough Emily Dickinson uses the term ‘Dear’ to address the month. I had already done the same in this blog but swear I had not pinched her idea.

Ho Hum.
There is nothing new under the Sun and all that…..

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Caitx