Grandpa and grandson drive the tractor ( don’t tell the Duke – no seatbelts!)
The party princess arrives at The Gables for her birthday party
The party princess has arrived for her party
Frosty Sunday morn
And a brilliant sunrise
Friday Afternoon
Clean straw for the cows
Bulbs and pots in the poly tunnel
A climbing cat in the pergola
And the beginning of sunset
Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?
Lines from a poem by the poet Rupert Brooke who was killed in the First World War. Once described as “the handsomest young man in England” he symbolised the lost generation of that era. He was part of a bohemian circle of artists and writers called the Grantchester Group.
Our U3A walk today began in the pretty village of Grantchester and took us into Cambridge and along the banks of the river Cam.
A delightful walk which reminded me of times spent with my beloved when he was a student at Kings College, many moons ago.
Cuddling a one year old lamb while her feet are trimmed and sprayed
One of the ewe lambs has been limping for a couple of days. Jeremy got her into the paddock barn and I held her, stroking under her neck and talking to her, while he trimmed her feet and sprayed them against any infection.
Sheep are such delightful creatures.
Town and country combined – just next to the NatWest Bank.
St Neots is a town that I love. The bank teller and I discuss our respective elderly parents and we roll our eyes in collective despair at the Brexit fiasco. As I wait for cash, one of the other cashiers calls over to discuss the chicken that is living on the patch of green by the bank. She has been there for a while and nobody can catch her. On my way out I go to see the hen, a pretty Bantie scratching around amongst the emerging daffodils and the iron park benches.
I hold out my hand to her and she seems mildly interested. An old lady calls out to me, “Don’t try to catch her, she’s been living here for a while. Someone puts corn out for her and water too”. Indeed she looks happy, well fed and watered and is bringing joy to St Neots. Let’s hope that Mr Fox doesn’t come a calling.
Granddaughter has a love of olives inherited from her maternal grandmother’s family
Among the party food for her birthday celebrations, I have made olive savouries with Gables eggs collected this morning.
When my brother and I were children we would choose to spend pocket money on bags of olives from the local delicatessen rather than bags of sweets (although there was plenty of tooth rotting sweets too – ask our dentists).
