Please note – I’ve resisted the temptation to title this post “Seabird Droppings.” 😉 I’ve experienced a frisson of excitement this week regarding my “Seabirding” goings-ons. OK, let’s stop the coy references: dig about in the archives and I’m sure you’ll find an explanation somewhere. (It was long ago and far away…) Put bluntly, like Rosamundi, I belong to a lay order, (or should that be am a lay member of an order?) In my case, a Franciscan tertiary. We’re quite shy and retiring little creatures; even so, I was unconscionably happy to see a mini-rant of mine published this week re profile of religous in general. And even more excited to stumble across a suggestion elsewhere that the Third Order try to cultivate a more deliberate presence at Greenbelt;something that the First Order brothers and sisters have been doing for years. The latter provide an oasis of peace and quiet on the campsite, much appreciated by Yours Truly. Seeing as I’m not staying with a church group, I had been starting to feel a bit like a spare wheel at times and had already meant to contact the Franciscans to see if I could help out in a more deliberate way this time round. Plus ,after nearly four years in TSSF, I think it’s time to start to put something back in.
Other news, those of you who follow me on Facebook will know that Ms Miffy acquited herself very creditably at the Adidas half marathon last weekend, with a finishing time of 2hours, 1 minute and 15 seconds! Mstr Miffy arrived back from uni for his hols today, and so the normally quiet Maison Miffy is suddenly filled with Handsome Young Men, (you can tell I’m getting to that funny age, can’t you?). It also pongs of aftershave and bodyspray, which is definite improvement on its usual Parfum de Chien et Chatte.
On that thrilling note, I shall bid you all goodnight.
Mr M and myself had a trip back down memory lane yesterday when we took ourselves off into Reading to see Jethro Tull in concert. Not surprisingly,the average age of the audience was, how shall we say it…mature, to the point that the beloved and self were probably one of the youngest people there. Though thinking back, the same applied last time round, in the prehistoric ’80’s when we were not that much older than our daughter. “Where have the years gone?” I wondered, as I sat in the bar beforehand, nursing my mouth ulcers, and regaling Mr M with the gory details of that morning’s post gastroscopy visit to the doctor. Reflecting ruefully also that whereas last time round I could barely see the band because I was too vain to admit I needed to wear glasses or contact lenses; this time although I wear both, I still can’t see clearly as I’m too vain to admit I need bi-focals. And who would have guessed that such innocent amusement could be gained from watching the small but steady trickle of audience members wind their way in and out throughout the set – bound for the littlest room.
So after all the gripes and grumbles, did we enjoy ourselves? The answer’s a resounding YES! We even splashed out and bought some chips on the way home. But in case any readers are worrying in case we let all that dangerous living go to our heads, you’ll be relieved to learn that we were back home, tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and the cat, by midnight.
Typical. I spend months worrying about my health; finally get the all clear, and what happens? I get zapped by a dose of coldus vulgaris (excuse my inventive use of latin; I passed O Level 35 years ago). Just at the time when decisions need to be made. So, I’m struggling to put an Ignatian hat on top of my Franciscan one, (“In a period of desolation, don’t go back on a decision made during a time of consolation.” or somesuch).
More positively, we’re now free to begin to plan more of our wanderings o’er hill and dale. Starting, in my case, with a visit to an outdoor equipment shop tomorrow, to, I hope, get some adjustments made to the fit of my walking boots. After one hundred miles plus last autumn, I ended up rolling round the Massif Central in a fair imitation of a cross between John Wayne and the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Not a pretty sight. On the other hand, I’m positively salivating at the thought of all those thermal baselayers, state of the art rucksacks, gadgets, widgets and oojimaflips. “Get thee hence…”