Tuesday, March 13, 2012

There is a leafy bower

There is a leafy bower... Okay, perhaps that statement may be me being a little economical with the truth - using what our political masters call "terminological inexactitudes" - with it only being March, the leaves are few and far between. However, I reserve my right to the use of peotic licence!  If it was summer, it WOULD be a bleedin' leafy bower!


There is a leafy bower, created between the library and the building being used as a chapel - a quiet spot indeed. A large tree sits in the middle of a pebbled circle and spreads its (currently naked) branches above a circular bench built very neatly around the trunk of the said tree. (Don't ask me what sort of tree it is - do I look like Percy soddin' Thrower? Ha! For all I know it might even be a spreading chestnut tree - and not a blacksmith in sight.)

So, we've got the tree and the bench in the circle of pebbles, all tastefully surrounded by a neat brick border. To one side is a fish pond with sides raised a couple of feet with water gently trickling in at one side and dozens of multicoloured goldfish swimming about and doing very little to earn their daily bread as far as I can see. There are bushes and other trees surrounding the circle mentioned previously and not a leaf between any of them. Come to think about it, there's not even a bud showing, not yet - I've looked! With the weather improving now it won't be long before it IS a leafy bower. (Give me a break!)

The point of all this drivel is that it's nice to sit there for a half hour or so in my daily solitude of retirement - a pause in my daily wanderings. There I sit, quietly and quite comfortably, musing on cabbages and kings and managing stress in my own inimitable way.

Somebody asked me the other day, "Frank," said he, "don't you ever do anything?"
"I try not to," said I. "It keeps me out of trouble."

I know where I'll spend a fair amount of time when the summer finally gets here and the leafy bower comes into its own. Ah! The peaceful existence of voluntary idleness.

I went to Boston the other day, to Pilgrim Hospital, to see the physiotherapist there about my knees. I took a couple of quid with me this time because it was getting on for lunchtime and I thought I might quite fancy a cuppa and a sandwich. The physio was a fellow who seemed extraordinarily polite, but that probably comes with the job. He pulled and tugged and ripped and wrenched. And his final diagnosis was that my daily wanderings were actually the best thing I could be doing, my losing weight during those wanderings-about was ideal - and all he had to offer me was to continue the way I was going because I am doing everything right. I've got to say that makes a nice change for me - to do ANYTHING right, let alone everything.

So, that's twice I've been out into the world of normal folk unfettered, unchained and unescorted, and they both count toward the three that The Wallace wants me to do. Only one to go and one overnighter somewhere. I have no idea when that will be of course - perhaps The Wallace is organising it. However, until such times as I do get further days out, I shall continue sitting in the leafless leafy bower and watching first the buds appear, turn into leaves, birds will nest in the tree and no doubt deposit further compost to encourage growth. Let's hope it misses me sitting underneath, and all that cobblers about it being lucky, well, tell that to the workers in London's sewer system.

Finally, I've lost five inches around my waist since Christmas so the trousers I bought then are all too tight. Anyone want a couple of bell tents for the kids to play in?

The Voice In The Wilderness

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