Things began as tiny seeds

Bit of this

The bees like the yellow poppies that have been cavorting all over my garden and so do I.

With a flourish parsley is written, with my new indelible pen, on the seedling, and fingers are crossed.

2 mums an assortment of children and chickens are sat around the front door. "Come and see what we have done upstairs". I walk through memories, across a cardinal red floor, sat in front of the fire enjoying "listen with mother", a traumatic experience when I was 4 by the back the door that's no longer there. Up the stairs though the bedroom where I used to like to be tucked in good and tight, on and up into attic space. I lean out of the window looking down into the garden, dormant seeds in my mind stir.   

Bit of that

My love of radio began with the excited anticipation of hearing the listen with mothers theme tune.