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Trickle. Not a word I come across much. It has a musical ring in the saying of it.

Being spaced out worked to my advantage. The inability to set cooker timer correctly gave me an unexpected hour of gardening.

Whippet put himself to bed with a guilty look, as I walked in. He had been in the bin. Mind you the fact black cat was munching a dead bird added to his unease. Wise decision to scar-per.

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Not quite as good as a book but the next best thing.

Sometimes I have a go at my own bit of expressionism via the camera.

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The starling sounds slightly disappointed and miffed as it scolds me from it's breakfast bar that is the bedroom window sill. I hop out of bed and shake nut mix, only to be entertained by a gang of teens squabbling for best peckings. Gawd I hope the noise hasn't woken the neighbors.

She breezes in trailing my grumpy son, and presents me with her smiley one. He has great fun testing his muscles bouncing on a contraption that hangs from the door frame and he spreads good cheer all around.

Man about the house is encouraged on a bike ride. This is quite a novelty these days as the motor bike has taken president over absolutely everything. We manage the hills too.

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The first bike I ever had was a much loved second hand red 3 wheeler. I spent hours peddling up and down the path in-front of the church. I later went on to learn to ride a two wheeler job on this bit of path and then ran up and down behind lots of children in latter years helping them perfect their balancing skills. Good friend J arrived at my door a life time latter with her daughters bike, "Here you borrow it for the summer." And that small act of kindness was the relationship with my own adult bike that has beens great therapy for gloomy days and was responsible, in a roundabout way, for the whippet joining the house hold. Who would have thought the act of learning to ride a bike could have rippled so far and wide over time.

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Whippet is soooo hungry he gulps his 3 tablets down in one go. Just black cat to go.

Catch up with farmer Rex. "No he failed the audition, he just wasn't fierce enough". could have fooled me. The gander eyes me up, I hide behind man about house.

Desert Island Discs keeps me entertained via trusty ipod while I give the strawberries a hair cut, as instructed by Mr Titmarch's book.

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Snippet from the desert island.

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Sheep come running from all corners of the field to stand peering over the fence bleating. It is difficult to know why they are excited. Is it the man in the white van asking directions or have they fallen in love with whippet?

Practicing my baby bantering skills on V's granddaughter. Silly voices still seem to gain sweet smiles then.

Tracing a Buzzard through the binoculars as it circles higher and higher in a bright blue sky. To join another. There is something hypnotic in their seemingly effortless soaring.

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Whippet is a realist he feels it was not his good looks but the prospect of grub that set the sheep a running.

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Lord of the manor has a cunning plan to stop the hoy poloy from using the back road as a short cut. Densely packed spiky shrubs have been planted close to the edge of the road, to inflict nasty scratches on to passing cars.

In fact them that do the work hadn't done it properly and woz spotted muttering and digging 200 hundred of the buggers up and re siting them a foot nearer the road.

Whippet too is muttering because I have gone off in one, gazing at the tiger stripes cast by the shrubs shadows receding into the distance. A dark blob disrupts my vibes, and when I look up to see what bit of caught litter is responsible, there is my lost glove that someone has thoughtfully stuck on a twig. What luck, the last time I trod this path was 2 weeks past.

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A yellow rump streaks away into the trees, and shortly afterwards starts to hammer.

Whippet has a bemused look. Black cat is yowling in protest at being stood on. She has tucked herself underneath the cover and only a bump can be seen. He jumps in fright when she retaliates.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum the 2 dames of last nights pantomime were spectacular and I have the photo's to prove it. It is their one chance a year to glam it up. They have been a double act for years now, and are the highlight of the show.

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Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum

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Yards of thin ribbons of ice hanging from the side of the ditch. Stopping before it reaches the bottom.

The smell of fabric conditioner as warm air from the radiator wafts past.

Arrow like whippet stretches. paws forward, nose in line, bum in the air and he yawns, then thumps his back end on the floor.

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Do I have the time though? Or more to the point could I meditate my way through the sodding shoulder? Least I would be happy in my misery. (yes I am feeling sorry for myself). Today I am allowed tomorrow I am not.

MATTHIEU RICARD

Matthieu Ricard is a Buddhist monk, author and former scientist, who has lived and studied in the Himalayas for the last forty years. He was once dubbed ‘the happiest man in the world’ following MRI scans on his brain. Although he questions the accuracy of this claim, he puts his contentment down to regular meditation. In The Art of Meditation Matthieu Ricard shares his thoughts and experience.

The Art of Meditation is published by Atlantic Books.

Matthieu Ricard

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Last time whippet encountered flood water he whined pitifully, I turned to find him stood stock still up to his elbows and refusing to move. A rescue was necessary to ferry him to dry land. Today all though he does not looked pleased, he bravely follows.

The water bars us from crossing over the bridge by the mill. It would have been a bugger if I had walked the other way around.

I am just thinking about the boy. When he walks in the door clutching his play-station. He is quite friendly while he plugs it in. How I miss the lad that is there somewhere.

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Dancing fingers

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Why is whippet playing musical teeth? Tooth ache maybe.

If the tree can be seen through the mist I will come back. So after donning florescent weather gear, changing the batteries in the camera, I go out to play.

The field gate is padlocked. So hopping over a fence is required. After a mild hesitation I conclude once out in the filed the farmer won't be able to see me even with me yellow on. The fingers freeze, but she looks quite beautiful hanging in the mist. An hour passes in a flash. And I avoid getting run over on the main road when walking back to the car.

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Whippet is horrified by the white covers on sofa and bed at the cottage. I am alarmed and throw a blanket over the sofa and make sure there is a kitchen chair across it at night. He looks dolefully accusing as we refuse him his early morning cuddle and flops down beside the bed sighing. And I use our towels I can't possibly use a white one to dry him off and me too, white should remained un sullied. ( must come from my catholic upbringing, when they talked about purity of the soul, I knew going to confession wouldn't erase all the black blotches that had been incurred).

The gentle roar rolls down the estuary similar to that of the dull hum of a motor-way. I know it's arrival is imminent as a flock of birds swim up river and settle opposite us. Seconds later it continues is steady pace past driving them further on. It fills the main channel then over flows and sloshes up the banks making a lovely sound. The water resembles a rolling boil as it dances in the light before settling. There I have seen it, the severn bore. Now I want to see a really big one.

I take myself to the top of the hill with the cows and watch the sun set and lights in the distance appear. It is so peaceful. This must be off a flight path for I hear no airplanes. Only the call of geese. I am fascinated by the shape of a tree and see the scene as a painting so de focus over expose and snap. Course what it will print like remains to be seen.

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I was looking for a poem about a cat, I fail to see the connection, they get ever-so energetic toward the end, tis amazing.

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Still as fleet of foot as ever, he shows me a video of himself doing salsa, he closes the door not to annoy his long suffering wife who "has seen it countless times before". Next the art comes out, and then photo's of himself canoeing. He has only invited me around to show off, I don't care I am impressed and heartened to think himself at 81 is still up and at 'em.

The chelsea tractors back window invites fingers doodling it is so mucky.

Hearts are racing, whippets in excitement of an imminent catch, rabbits as he squeals in fright, and mine as I pound after the bugger to change his trajectory. Mission accomplished, rabbit lives to tell the tale.

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The latest in sending information

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The boys girl friend is a breath of fresh air with her chatter and sparkle. "he won't eat vegetables, tell him" she tuts.

We all enjoy pub grub and I enjoy the company.

Whippet hangs his head in humiliation as a strange man lifts him over the fence. I have no sympathy he had just refused to scrabble through a hole in the fence that his much larger friend negotiated.

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Be prepared

By Alastair Jamieson

Published: 9:31AM BST 25 Sep 2009

There are around 600 species of spider in Britain Photo: GETTY

Experts say the mild summer, which was warmer than recent years, is likely to have boosted the number of spiders, which traditionally head indoors at this time of year.

Deerhurst and whippet

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We follow the sign pointing "this way to the angel", through the narrowest of gaps between church and farm building. There she is high above us. Serene and unconcerned, what stories she could weave if magiced into being.

The river Severn is a stones throw way, and we walk to Haws bridge where the pub dispenses fizzy coke to refresh and re-fuel us. The sign on the low beam says"Duck or Grouse". I duck.

Whippet is walked at dusk. Remnants of disgusting rabbit are treasured while I lean over the bridge watching for my poo stick to appear, the wheep of a kingfisher precedes the dart of color skimming up and over the bridge.

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Deerhurst

work

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The only thing that keeps me calm, while I try to back a display board with my inability to draw a straight line let alone wallpaper something, is classic fm.

Order eventually reigns supreme. Now at least every newcomer has coat peg, milk and coat labels plus an outside peg . Oh and a draw with their name and color symbol on. It will all be worth it when they recognize, their colors, shapes, and names. I am looking forward to connecting faces with names tomorrow.

I work above and beyond and rush home to take self and whippet for a huge dose of much needed fresh air. Getting caught in a down pour that magics a perfect rainbow arcing over the river.

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I will if you will

l

Enthusiasm and walk

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Bless little sis for her enthusiasm.

The closest yet. Whippet charges after a deer that appeared a few feet infront of him. He reappears deerless I can't believe it got away.

What a difference a hedge makes. Whippet in his element among the muck spreadings that have me gasping for fresh air a step through the gap on an unmucked field and whippet sulks but I perk up no end.

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For some maybe.

"Work that has been done is pleasant."

Marcus Tullius Cicero

Action taken unpredictable results

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I am early so I trace the footsteps of my teenage self. My walk takes me through the park. Where a toddler in a red T-shirt is exploring, holding on to his mother fingers, slaps me in the face with a memory of Andrew walking around the living room, agitated and high stepping with uncoordinated and unfocussed movements. Gripping on to my fingers just before he crashed for the last time. His words from a few weeks before echo over and over "It's not fun any more mum". This memory had been polished to a smooth dark brightness that shines out at unexpected moments.

He pulls and pushes my body into more shapes and worries that his son hasn't phoned with his exam results. An A in maths is a must for dad. I say if he has failed he will be in shock. "Not as much shock as I will be in" he replies. His antics part me from my cash but not the pain. He has my knees bent and chin brought up to nearly touch them. I get an attack of giggles as for a minute I think he is going to pick up like a child.

I take cheer me up action. Calling in with a hug of thanks. Her advice has had a liberating effect. Then it is off for lunch. Slurping my frothy cappuccino and reading provides me with a surreal experience as one eye absorbs the words the other registers colorful movement as people below drift past.

I am right opposite the museum so in I go and come out energized with an idea for a scrap book.

Mr Tesco arrives at the house shortly after me clutching a bonnio for a woofing whippet which he hesitantly drops on the mat, whippet only barks louder the bugger. I am grateful for his kindness even if whippet isn't.

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Who let the dogs out. Well it makes me smile anyway.

Bristol

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Sensing action I look for a friendly face. Choosing the lad with the friendly cocker spaniel to ask. "World music here tonight". World music is was. With man about camper van displaying exemplary propping up statue qualities, while looking bored as I bob to Bhangra.

Next day, and miles from the center of town desperate for a pit stop, I swan into a state of the art car show room to use their state of the art facilities while him outside looks embarrassed.

Feeling relief I am now game to find the motor bike shop that was spotted earlier. By the time we find it, I have sore feet and am starving, so I adjourn to the coffee bar. The most delicious looking greasy plate of all things fried is about to be consumed by a biker. "I'll have one of those" I say. Surely I must have walked enough miles to justify all those calories.

More walking up hill and down dale to Arnos Vale where we should have been going all along. Getting it wrong worked to out advantage though. If we had come here first the druids grave wouldn't have been stumbled upon, as this is a days exploring in itself. After having a quick reccy we vow to make another trip. Then catch the bus back to town.

The bus breaks down so more weary trudging ensues. But suddenly I am kick started by adrenaline as a drama unfolds. Police and firemen and even persons in white suits and masks are in evidence. Every detour we try is tapped off and an old woman turns into a teenager while arguing the toss with a fresh faced copper as she tries to elbow past him, "Now" he says "you don't want to get blown up do you".

After supper we walk whippet townwards to check on the state of the unfolding drama that has obvouisly folded up without us ever knowing what happened. However to my delight, man about camper and whippets horror I spot skate boarders in the square. They are fed up I am in my element, well we just had to sit down for a rest a watch didn't we.

A good sleep later and before heading for home we assume Darby and Joan personas after dragging the deck chairs onto the key side to watch life and water float by. "I want to retire here" I sigh. Whippet who is lying on the blanket I brought to keep the knees warm and himself grunt unenthusiastically.

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Arnos Vale for some

Bhangra for others. How any one can not bounce to this is a mystery to me.

Delights of a walk

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It was so hot yesterday that whippet and I walked at dusk. Dawn or dusk I never can decide which is my favorite time of day. Without whippet to walk the temptation to vegetate would probably win out.

I would have missed an owl's screech hurling though the gloom at us and ...

The deer. Standing stock still and hunching below the sky, line it failed to register the threat. When it finally spotted us it was curious and hesitantly carried on. I was forced to rustle as the nearer it got the more whippet licked his lips. It turned and flashed it's white tail in haste back up the edge of the wheat field. All the time it had been gazing at whippet, who I when I think about it must look a bit deer like in the dark.

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Idleness, though inexcusable, is man's true state. (or at least it is probably mine).

Jerome K Jerome

Lagging behind and things turn up

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Still floating around in my P J's at 9.00. Today I have breakfast before walking whippet. Who lately seems less than impressed with his walk. Enthusiastic when the lead is rattled but half a dozen paces from home he looses momentum. His air of boredom, is that of a disgruntled teenager and he refuses to keep pace preferring lagging behind.

The neighborhood group of buzzards had disappeared. But lately there has been one lonely bird about for weeks, it's high pitch mewling sounding pitiful to my ears. Today the cry seemed to be in stereo and when I search the sky I spot another. They play tag with each other over head.

Man about the house finds what I had though I had lost. What a relief. Only I could loose important bits of paper.

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Buzzards

Bomb disposal, bloodymindedness, dry legs

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I blink, a white van with Bomb Disposal, emblazoned on the side, pulls up along side me. Corse then I spent all morning wondering where it was off to, and where it hangs out.

"Did you get away with it" the check out lady calls as I stagger past with the weeks shop. "Was there any doubt then", I reply. She grins. The supermarket apparently don't allow you to consume food you buy from the main shop in their cafe while you drink a hot chocolate. Bureaucracy gone bonkers. I enjoyed my hot chocolate and my snack thank-you.

Whippet and I dash out for a long walk between down pours, neither of us like wet legs.

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This is a very accommodating shop, youngsters have been known to perfect their musical technique with in. People can while hours on their instruments. According to Radio 4.

Waltons