My grandfather had a beautiful violin. He used to stand in the garden and play; birds would sing along as the melody drifted up and down, round and round.
He caught me fiddling with it once and was not best pleased. ‘One day it will be yours’ he said, ‘but for now, it’s mine and mine alone’.
As the years went by I became more and more passionate about violin music, so when Grandpa passed, my dream of owning his precious instrument came true.
Now I stand in the garden where he once stood.
Screech…screech…screech……
If only I’d had lessons!
*If you listen to the audio you’ll see, or rather hear what I mean!
Not much of the ancient building remains, but today it’s a lovely place to sit and read a book! The Manor House included 7 Reception Rooms, 19 bedrooms, eight bathrooms, 2 cottages, and a detached ballroom. It’s hard to imagine that parts of these walls date back to 1148!
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Little remains of the original Saxon church, but after the Norman Conquest a new church was built and Norman arches still remain. Over the following centuries, the church was altered and added to; the Chantry Chapel was built in 1425 and the Lady Chapel in 1878
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And finally, James Harris, proud father of 10 children!
No audio today I’m afraid because I’ve got a bit of a cold and I’d hate for you to catch it from me whilst listening!
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I bought one of those copper bracelets, the ones that are supposed to cure your aches and pains. I don’t often get aches and pains but I’ve always believed that prevention is better than cure.
When the skin on my wrist started turning green I was concerned that it had a magical quality that was about to turn me into a Shrek lookalike! Happily, it didn’t. Apparently, copper objects to sweat and body lotions and sometimes shows its disapproval by giving the moisturised perspirer a green mark.
You’ll probably think I’m going a bit doolally, but I do believe it’s a bit magical. Take the other day for instance. I was fiddling with it when I bought a lottery scratch card, and I won some money. Not a lottery, just a litteley but it made me think!
There’s a girl I quite fancy. I saw her in the street yesterday and touched my bracelet wishing one day she’d fall for me. She tripped on a wonky paving slab and fell into my arms! Well, it almost worked!
I was struggling to find something to write about earlier on, so I stroked my copper cooperator hoping it would come up with a clever story for me, and this is the result.
What do you mean it’s just disproved my theory? Okay, please yourselves.
Shabby chic he calls it. I’m not sure about that. Shabby yes, but more cheap than chic! His furniture looks so tired; the grandfather clock nodded off at twenty-past eight, just look at the miserable expression on its face!
It’s the height of domiciliary fashion he told me. Really? More trashion than fashion I think. An eclectic mix he claims. That’s one way of putting it I suppose!
A miscellany said he
A jumble said I
A gallimaufry, he
A hotchpotch, I
An omnium-gatherum, he
A what? I
A salmagundi, he
You’ve lost me! said I.
Well, he likes it, obviously. Me? I’m an Ikea kinda guy.
Minimalist said I
Basic said he
Modern, I
Characterless, he
Contemporary, I
Floccinaucinihilipilification, he
I beg your pardon said I.
Our discussion was going nowhere. Time to find some common ground.
In the fluttering marquee, Mrs Green’s gooseberries stood proudly alongside Mr Adam’s artichokes, Mr Cox’s cucumber and Mrs Cook’s cabbages, little Miss Peters’ petit-pois were arranged like tiny green jewels, Molly Mason’s magnolias were magnificent and Mr Shaw’s sunflowers shone brightly; as for the Reverend Richard’s roses, well, praise be!
It was the afternoon of the Fittlewick Flower and Vegetable Society’s Awards Ceremony and the villagers were crowded around the platform in eager anticipation of walking away with prizes, unfortunately however, what should have been a convivial event was somewhat spoiled thanks to constant interruptions from Trickie Dickie Dobson who kept heckling.
Dickie Dobson had several entries, sadly his Dahlias had drooped and his peas were past their best, his beans were brown and his petunias mostly petal-less, but as far as he was concerned his exhibits should have been awarded the Best in Show Shield, and boy did he complain as one by one the awards were handed out to everybody but him.
He moaned when John James received his certificate for the biggest and best beetroots, he jeered when Mr Pocock’s potatoes were praised and went bonkers as Mr Brooks was handed the Best Basket of Blossoms badge.
After a while, village policeman PC Percy Potter had to put down his glass of Mr Winstanley’s winning white wine and escort Dickie D towards the exit; “a curse on your cauliflowers and blight on your begonias” he yelled at the red-faced Master of Ceremonies Major Mason.
Calm was restored and as the Major opened the Golden Envelope to reveal the winner of this season’s coveted Silver Shovel and Spade Set for the village’s best garden, the tension was palpable, “and the award goes to … oh … erm … ah … this is awkward … PC Potter, would you mind popping outside and bringing Dickie Dobson back in please?”
Mike loves being the centre of attention. At school, he was usually the first to raise a hand when the teacher asked a question even if he didn’t know the answer.
At college, he was always the joker, although he usually gained more groans than giggles.
In his twenties, he envied DJs on the radio. He was jealous of stand-up comedians.
He knew in time his voice would be heard. Eventually, his wish came true.
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He clears his throat and turns on the microphone.
His audience waits in eager anticipation.
“The train approaching platform one is the 11.40 to Brighton”.
Between my town and the next, there is an area of marshland known as the Pevensey Levels Nature Reserve. Hundreds of years ago it was the seabed, and in 1066 Willian the Conqueror’s fleet of ships sailed over it on their way to the Battle of Hastings.
On Sunday I travelled along the narrow road, stopping to take some pictures now and again