Sheer envy of other people having nice holidays almost prevents me from writing anything at all. The weather has been glorious here too and I did manage fish and chips by the bay with a friend last Friday, otherwise it has been a round of birthdays that needed cakes baking for them, serving people in the shop who get browner as I get whiter,  fidgeting about the lack of wearable summer clothes in my wardrobe, and my difficult car that still finds starting  up for a second time in one day more than should be asked of it.


There have also been visits to the friend who is neither recovering from her stroke nor submitting to it. She sometimes responds minimally with a nod or a slow shake, particularly to questions in German, her mother tongue, but even that is not consistent. She does squeeze our hands which is immeasurably touching.


None of this makes good copy and I've not been in the right mood to embroider events into anything amusing. Possibly the most enjoyable outing, worthy of at least a mention, was to a coffee morning. I had dreaded it on several fronts - no tweed in the wardrobe, (the same one that hasn't the right summer garb. How does it come to be so full when there's nothing useful in it?) I would, obviously,  have no conversation to match the company, and so on and so on. All wasted worries. Not a tweed skirt in sight; no clever conversation, only nice friendly folk talking about ordinary things, and a request for volunteers to work at cataloguing the library in our local castle (yes please.)  Someone even asked me if I knew anything about ley lines, which I do. 


There's quite a lot happening in this area  - and I say that without any intention of irony. Suddenly I've been hearing about Tuesday Scrabble groups; a chat group, formed by a woman who misses 'serious' conversation, which meets weekly in a local bar; a cinema society in the Town Hall; a writer's group; Toastmasters; and so many ways to keep fit I can't believe we need the NHS at all..... endless potential fun. 


The groups that impress me most by their very existence, are the ones like the Scrabble afternoon and the conversation group, started by people who want to get together with other people, don't see quite the social setting they would feel comfortable in or inspired by  and have the guts to do something about it. One friend invited casual acquaintances  along to  Sunday afternoon tea to talk about initiatives they would like to generate for themselves. All sorts of future pleasures have come out of that,  car pools to concerts in the neighbouring town, litter picking on sunny afternoons round the local lake, more tea parties, and so forth - not earth moving happenings but simple relaxed ways to get together. 


Not that I shall join any of them. The shop brings me plenty of contact with interesting people and topical events frequently provoke absorbing conversations. The limitations imposed by the arrival of other customers, or the bus time-table, safely contain divisive topics. I've decided not to join the chat group mostly because I can't discuss anything I feel strongly about without getting het up, and I have been known to polarise wildly in the face of firm opinion even when it isn't a topic I care about. Not good for the blood pressure or other people's enjoyment. I suspect I'm not the only one wired this way so I give this group about six weeks before there's a massive fall-out. My spy will report back on the progress.


There are excuses for not attending the other groups too, but I'm really happy to know they are there if I want them.






. 

A new toy in the waiting room/sunroom. Stand on it and vibrate all over! It exercises  muscles and does other healthful and useful things. Now I have stopped being scared of it I really like it. As the wobbly bits wobble it is better enjoyed without an audience. 


Eventually they will invent one to lie down on, I just know it. 

Last week was very pleasant. London-dwelling daughter came up and as I was able to have time off from the shop we spent happy hours in what passes for a cafe culture up here, not in the rather chilly, seedy cafe at the marina pictured below, but nicer indoor venues because the weather changed back from unseasonably warm to seasonably chilly with drifting snow flakes. I miss her badly now she has gone back to the smoke, but my girth was increasing daily. There is one particular chocolate roulade made by a French baker that I have grown much too fond of. 


Ah the delights of the flesh.


The cafe below, with the unfriendly notice about well-behaved children and the cracked window, I visited Saturday with a friend. It has a certain dank charm and my friend was pleased with his big pile of sausage and mash nestled in a Yorkshire pudding.

I've been up and down a steep hill that overlooks the bay several times and always in different lights. The day I persuaded myself to stop at the view point the light wasn't especially impressive but I thought I'd take a picture anyway.


It used to be a good place to take a picnic but in recent years it has become a sort of cemetery. People have, understandably, wanted their ashes scattered in such a beautiful place and their loved ones have planted trees in their name with commemorative plaques. It's a shame. IMO.