Being Productive

 The apathy of yesterday’s hangover has got on my tits this morning.

I looked for a diversion and saw there was a play on this afternoon at Theatre Clwyd with the occasional tickets left. 

But I was good and gave myself a kick up the arse instead

The kitchen was feeling like a bomb site what with piles of papers, and other such detritus flung everywhere so I rolled up my sleeves and channelled my own inner Joan Crawford in order to take back control. 

Cleaning and organising are like dieting, it’s a control thing and I’m thinking that right now in our history, there couldn’t be a better time for us all to be taking control over as much as we can.

Roger has enjoyed the momentum as he has had the opportunity to look into the back of cupboards he’s only dreamed about raiding in the past.

Already I have found his secret stash in the garden where he has hidden, an out of date packet of pasta shells, a burnt wooden spoon, a vegetable bag and a sprouting onion .

A walking group have stopped by the corner of the lane and the leaders are spouting all sorts of information I gave them earlier in the week about the history of the cottage.

“ He has a lovely honeysuckle over the front door “ I heard one woman comment

But another butted in with a more pithy “ Yes but his windows are in need a good clean “,…cheeky cow

That’s  another thing on my list today.

Post clean photos

I’m buggered

Off for a tiny lie down 

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Hangover

 

Unexpected boozy nights are the best

I have the first bad hangover than I’ve had  in absolute ages.

A product of the velvet voiced Linda’s unsteady pouring hand and bitter lemon and limes which disguised a cocktail that could floor an average sized bison 

I drank four of them

Roger and I are off to the beach and will stand in the wind 

With our faces to the sea

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Lord

 It’s Good Friday

And in my humanity

I’m being selfish

Petulant and scared

All at the same 

Time

Lord

Remind me

You hold it all

And gave it all

For sinners

Like me

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Artful

Grayson Perry in the style of Grayson Perry

I lost two hours of my life this morning thanks to the mastermind behind "Shadows and Light". Steve had flagged up Microsoft Image Creator and of course I took the bait like a pike fish lolling beneath lilypads. The images you can produce with this awesome facility are endless but I discovered three significant things. Firstly, you cannot make posters with English slogans. Secondly, famous people that get through the security net are nearly always substituted with unconvincing lookalikes. Thirdly, political figures are simply blocked.

I wanted to make some pictures of Donald Trump such as "Donald Trump sumo wrestling with Vladimir Putin", "Donald Trump dressed like a pineapple in a zoo in the style of Salvador Dali" and "Donald Trump flattened by a steamroller in the style of Grant Wood". No! Microsoft Image Creator was having no truck with such requests. I couldn't even get "Margaret Thatcher's head in the style of Picasso".

However, I did produce these masterpieces without spilling a single drop of paint or cutting a single mosaic tile

No More Guns poster in mosaic form

Spurn Point in watercolour

Billie Eilish in the style of Leonardo da Vinci

Easter Island in the style of Van Gogh

Attack on the US Capitol in pop art style

The Yorkshire Wolds in poster style

Almighty God in the style of Salvador Dali

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Good? Friday

It’s a beautiful blue morning.

Springlike and quiet.

I’d forgotten it’s Good Friday.

I’ve never liked the holiday if truth be known.

I’ve opened the cottage windows facing the field and the ponies raise their heads as one to the noise.

I will cut the lawn shortly and tidy up the patio. 

If I have time the little flower bed by the church gate will get a weed.

That’s all I have planned today.

I feel I’ve not got much to share.

Sometimes I feel witty and interesting .

Today I feel reflective and quiet. Going Gently has always been a journal, not a forum for discussion  blog like most others, where politics and news are debated depending on how vociferous and bright the authors think they are.

Im neither, when it comes to politics.

And I’m keeping away from the news the older I get

I check my messenger account. 

A hello from a friend in hospital 

Two late replies from yesterday’s hello to friends in Liverpool and Sheffield 

Spam emails are next

Facebook likes.

Everyone intent on looking busy, vital, interesting and happy.

I cleared out a cupboard in the kitchen and boxed up an Art Deco clock, a tin tea caddy and bowls and other such bric-a-brac ready for the table top sale in the hall .

Then I watered the house plants in the cottage since covid I have collected 30 all told

I make another bucket of coffee, 

It’s nearly 11.30. The phone rings it’s a chap from the village wanting to pop down a cheque for the pane of glass sponsorship I’ve had another two requests by email, found by accident in my spam folder.

A group of walkers go past, but these don’t stop at the cottage.

My mind wanders to childhood Easters filled with too many cheap Easter eggs and The Greatest Story Ever Told on the tv.

I hated Easter as a child,

And I’m allowing old patterns of thinking to Reenact them

We all so that so well me thinks.

So I switch on the radio, something bright

Chic Eleanor has just made me smile , she saw there is to be a silent disco at the local cathedral in September and has asked if I want to go. It’s a 1990s based do where you dance with headphones on.

Sounds bizarre but fun.

I  said yes immediately.

At 60, I’m saying yes more and more.

I start brushing the patio. On the Garden wall is a box 

In it is small Easter egg. 

There’s no note.

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