I really, really hope that I'm able to get an allotment because I need more peas. I'm sure that I could exist on a diet of peas and lettuce.
With the odd block of chocolate, naturally. I only wish I could grow that myself too!
flib·ber·ti·gib·bet –noun 1. a chattering or flighty, light-headed person. flib·ber·ti·gib·bet n. A silly, scatterbrained, or garrulous person.
On Friday Rachael and I went for a wander in the Peak District, now it might look a little overcast, and it was a little windy, but my goodness it's beautiful:
It didn't take at all long to get there and it's remarkable how the scenery changes in such a relatively short distance. From the almost flat Lincolnshire, to the distinctive hills and valleys of The Peak District in just a couple of hours.
I loved these rocky outcrops, the way they appeared to have been positioned, whilst they leave me wondering just how long they've been there. Some have some wonderful shapes to them, as if they've been carved out by a human hand.I have no idea why I didn't expect to see cows, but I didn't, and this one was interested in the scenery too. Or me.
Whilst this one was clearly disinterested in me. Harsh.
Now I know I'm only short, but those there boulders are bigger than I am, and that's the footpath that runs between them. It got pretty intimate between those rocks and I at times, let me tell you.
Then I found this:
I'm not at all sure what it is, we'd wondered about it being a plague stone but it seemed a long way from any developments. Or maybe that's the whole point.
I'd really like to know what it was for, and in fact what those carved letters represent. I find myself becoming more and more interested in the history of these things, in a way I never was before.Now, this is Eagle Stone:
Apparently young gentlemen would have to climb it in order to show their fitness to marry. Rather them than me. It's hard to see the scale here, but I guess it's at least 6 or 7 times taller than I am. As we slowly made our way towards it, there was a man definitely attempting to climb it and he didn't appear to be doing very well, so I'm guessing he's going to remain unmarried for a while yet.
I'm such a genius. I was standing and staring at this carved stone sign trying to work out what on earth it said. I stood there uttering the words as they were carved:
CHESTE
RFEILD
ROADEChesty? Arfield? Roadey? What the hell?
Oh no, wait.
Chesterfield Road.
Of course.
I won't embarrass myself by admitting how long it took me to get that.They totally spelt field wrong though. That was what confused me. Ahem.
And then there were more cows. With big horns. Really big horns. With sharp points. However it would seem grass holds far more interest than ladies with rucksacks.Although this might be how a cow looks disdainful. Got it down hasn't she?
I have a feeling that she might be smirking at my windswept appearance. Anyway, our walk progressed, I moaned petulantly each time there was an uphill stretch. I like the flat, I'm not built to clamber over boulders. I'm just not, I know my limits!
That said, I will accept it's good to stretch myself, even if I do end up a little puce in the face. Or rather, glowing in a ladylike manner.
It was a really good walk, we went through the heather, then through the boulders, through woods (I'd like to thank the mosquitoes for all of their attention) and we made our way down gashes in the hillside.
At one point the instructions told us that the way would be clear but overgrown.
They weren't kidding.
The path in front of me became precarious and I felt obliged to photograph it.
Now, it doesn't look that bad, however, those dead leaves, they're like inches and inches deep. Your whole foot disappears, causing you to be a little wobbly.
I must have sensed something as I took this photo, as immediately after it was taken I attempted to descend, which I did, albeit faster than I'd intended and made a graceful landing into those ferns at the top of the photo.
I sat there for a second, one leg in front, one behind, totally (impressively) uninjured and started to giggle. The giggle became a full blown guffaw and I absolutely couldn't stand. I could barely breathe through the laughing. I had no idea where Rachael was as she'd descended before me and vanished from sight. Apparently she heard me go down, I probably swore (profanity is my friend), which was swiftly followed by my hysterical laughter, so she figured I was ok. She said afterwards that she could tell I was laughing so hard there was no way I'd be getting up.
I swear, I have not laughed that hard in a really, really long time.
There's something about those real belly laughs that are really good for your soul.
Even now, I'm having a wee giggle to myself.
We apparently were only walking for 6 miles, but I'll tell you it felt a lot, lot longer. With the heat and the climbing and clambering I was absolutely shattered. As we rounded the corner to the road that led back to the car park, I repeatedly called for Jeff in the hope she would become like Michael Knight's car KITT and come and fetch me, but alas no, she waited for me to emerge, somewhat ruffled and pink.
As we were almost at the car park I noticed something in the road.
"Look!" I said to Rachael, "someone ran over a snake! What are the odds of running over a snake? It's an adder too, they're not even that common! Did you see it? A snake, I mean I've only even seen an adder once or twice before, that's amazing."
At this point in my babble I remembered that Rachael has a snake phobia. I'm a good friend, me.
Finally Jeff's lovely turquoise features appeared on the horizon, I stumbled into the car park, flung open her doors and hugged her. Because the rear door slides, like a van, you can actually hug her when the front door is open too.
It was a good walk, but by crikey I was pleased to be done.
Song Of The Week LXIII - Michael Jackson - Man In The Mirror:
I wonder how many blog posts are out there written about Michael Jackson and his sudden, unexpected death.
I heard the news and felt the shock. Sometimes you feel as though some people are going to live forever. The fact one day they will die is a concept you can't even begin to grapple with.
I watched the news, read the reports, saw the pictures but somehow you still expect that they'll turn round and tell you it's actually not real.
As a child I idolised Michael Jackson, I was a real fan. My best friend and I collected everything we could find about him, I had folder upon folder of newspaper & magazine clippings and dreamed that one day I'd see him perform live, that I'd get to be one of the girls that why always showed on TV in the throngs desperate to see him.
We went to see Moonwalker at the cinema so many times we got to know all the lines and sat in the back row singing along, being asked by the ushers how many times we'd seen it. I'm actually not sure of the number.
When the allegations hit, huge numbers of his fans stuck by him. I don't think those die hard fans ever believed he was capable of the terrible things he was accused of.
There was something about Michael, they called him Peter Pan, but to my mind he really had never grown up. He seemed barely to have progressed beyond adolescence in his mind.
Being in the spotlight for 45 years of your life has to take its toll.
Adults are a judgemental bunch and children so much less so. I really felt as though he chose to have a large part of his life around children for the freedom it gave him to be himself.
I remember an interview he did with Oprah, they had shots of a cinema he had built, which had hospital beds so that sick children could come, have fun and be cared for.
It never struck me as the behaviour of a man who would wish to cause children harm.
For those who chose to ignore his complete acquittal of the allegations made against him I feel a little pity, that they choose to believe the worst about people, I only hope that if they were ever placed in the same situation the world is kinder to them.
To loosely quote one of Michael's friends interviewed on the news; "I hope history will be kinder to Michael than contemporary media".
I remember, many years ago, when River Phoenix died I felt a profound sense of loss. I couldn't explain how I felt this grief for someone I didn't know. For someone who existed for me only on a screen or through the words in a magazine, but it was there and it was real.
I knew that I was not alone in that grief but it wasn't until I found a magazine article by someone explaining the reasons they felt a grief for this movie star that I really understood my own.
They ended the article by saying:
"We wondered how anyone could comprehend the grief we felt. How could they understand when he belonged to our generation. We understood because River spoke our language, voiced our worries and fears about our future. Only in the years to come will they realise how much he meant to us - a symbol of both our frustrations and hopes. Like his name suggested, he rose from the ashes of obscurity and flew in the face of public opinion with a poetic grace that matched the rhythm of the times."
Michael Jackson was a part of my childhood, my formative years, I practiced my terrible singing, I wanted to make a change, I wanted a pet chimp to be my best friend. I did feel almost as though I knew him, I felt his shyness and maybe I appreciated his eccentricity, knowing I carried my own with me.
I feel a deep sadness about his death. I feel for his family and his children who must now feel so bereft.
There's little to say that hasn't already been said, but what a real loss to the world of music too. He might not have released anything for a long time, but his catalogue stands up, as someone said, his World Record Album sales for Thriller will never be topped. So much is sold online now that that number of real world sales will just never be beaten.
That's one hell of a legacy.
I am to be found regularly joking about my age, about getting old, but then when someone just 16 years older than you are, dies, suddenly you appreciate how young you are. 50 is no age to die. I'm not sure what IS the right age, only that at 50 you expect to have decade upon decade left in front of you.
So, I join in with all those other grieving fans and people who felt like they knew him, who grew up with his music, those who don't care a jot that you couldn't put him in the pigeonhole marked 'normal' and those that will miss the opportunity to know what he had left to show us.