
Morning has Broken …..




Nearly vegan lentil burgers



The afternoon walk was warm and sunny.

I met up, by chance, with a friend and her two rescue dogs. One, Jack, is deaf.


I was admiring the white roses (blooming for the third time this year) that wind around the ash tree


Then I went to say “good morning” to the growing Silkie chicks in the pergola. It’s anyone’s guess, at this stage, as to which are boys and which are girls.

I came back into the kitchen and spied a tiny creature moving very slowly along the floor.

As per the government rules










We reminisced and talked about the years that mum worked for the family planning services in Ladbroke Grove. She loved every moment she was there and she was loved by her colleagues and the patients. This led on to talking about the Mangrove trial at the Old Bailey in 1970 which exposed police harassment of, and lying against, the West Indian community of Notting Hill. Mum said, “The police used to just go into their houses – it was terrible”. She remembers it all. We talked about mum’s very “full bank of happy memories” and a life “well lived” . She mentioned a charity boxing match she and dad attended at a Park Lane hotel in the sixties. “Tom Jones was the singing act and we didn’t think he would be much good. Well he was fantastic and all of our friends thought the same.” I asked how many times they saw Sinatra – they saw him perform twice. They saw Sammy Davis Junior at The Talk of the Town, Danny Kaye at the London Palladium and they also saw Judy Garland twice. “I’m really jealous that you saw Garland,” I told mum – and we laughed. “There wasn’t much we didn’t see or do,” she said, enjoying the memories of theatre, cinema premieres, concerts, parties, golf and bridge playing and much, much more. “Oh mum I wish you could have written it all down”. For now we will have to make do with our Tuesday chats through the closed window and blowing each other virtual kisses.






It’s impossible to keep three full grown rams with one, small flock. There was already a certain amount of argy bargy between father Tufty and his sons which would, in time, lead to serious fighting and injury. A flock of sheep or a herd of cows only needs one male. The rest must move on to other homes or (vegetarians avert your eyes) to the abbatoir. That is the reality of raising livestock.