A Blog.

What is a Blog? Ego, or just a desire to impart ideas that one mistakenly thinks haven’t occurred to The Hoi Poloi?
Neither idea is actually good, but if one were to worry about that then nothing would ever be written.

The truth is that some people just have to put words on paper, no matter how ridiculous. Most of us just aren’t frightfully good at this. But we do have to do it. From whence came the really good writers. They had the same compulsion. They were just inadvertently better at it.

Writing isn’t actually a skill. It’s an ability to be who you are and to mock your own ideas when it seems that you should.

Grammar and spelling are irrelevant if you have got something to say that you think matters. No one else might, but who should care about that?

Me, I talk a load of old rubbish most of the time, and only hope that it amuses.

I am a Poet. But you won’t ever see any of that. It was destroyed many years ago when I was knee high to a grasshopper. And I have never recovered. No one believed that I had written it.

I do still write poetry from time to time. But only for me. Poetry is just too personal.

So what to say about Blogs? Just get in there and do it. It doesn’t matter if you bore everyone witless, so long as you have a good time doing it.

Hydrangeas, among other things.

After more than a week of a glorious heat wave, during which I dumped hundreds of gallons of water on my hopefully Prize Hydrangeas, I am simply not having the flowers drooping this year, it tipped down for half an hour this morning, so at least the rain water butts are full again.

This is really important. For a start, the dog doesn’t like tap water, and nor do White Hydrangeas. They go Pink, or so I was told. Granted it is a very pretty pale pink, but not what I want.
Sadly, I forgot this with two of the cuttings, which indeed have gone pink. Hopefully they will be white again next year.

And then, in the middle of the downpour I nipped out and reseeded the part of my front, grass verge that was decimated when The Council dug it up to mend a water leak. Don’t ask how they found the leak because I don’t know. First they had to know that there was a leak, and then find out where, in what is several miles of water pipes just around here.
I suppose they must have a thingy that tells them where it is. This could explain for why La Morbihan doesn’t have a problem with lack of water. That and the fact that it rains here even more than it does in South West Wales where my sister lives. Between us we do seem to have a penchant for settling in the wettest of areas.
I got very wet.

Anyway, no sign of any more rain in the next few days. So I shall now have to water the grass seed along with The Hydrangeas. This will at least keep me fittish for the foreseeable future.

Such are the problems of a lone English woman abroad. Not much to com pain about at all really.