winsome, lose some

My cyclamen farm is coming on well.

But sadly I lost my crochet cardigan over Easter.

Previously I lost my Cruella Deville.
I loved them both, but they are a small price to pay for our indulgent Easters.

this bogan life

It's been a  livelier week.  Last week we had The Greatest Showman at The Orford Odeon.  I was a model of restraint and had a glass of bubbly and popcorn instead of my usual glass of red and a Mars Bar.

There was the market on Sunday where the lovely Puck weighed out Democrat apples by an ingenious device rigged up in the boot of his car.

You know I bought a bottle of the local gin at the previous market.  I am still searching for the perfect glasses from which to savour it.  I found this glass at the market and it's pretty close to what I have in mind.  Sadly there was only one so I'm doomed to drink alone for now.  I only have a thimble full and could probably get by with just smelling it.  The botanicals really come through.  One night when Steve was away, I had apple pie, cream and a glass of gin for dinner.  Divine.
I cooked the venison as a pot roast in the slow cooker with herbs from the garden, including myrtle leaves and berries in lieu of juniper.  I think it is delicious, though Steve deems it tasteless.  I have also slow cooked the quartered quinces and must get around to freezing them today.  I think they're delicious too.  I wish I was one of those people who don't enjoy their own cooking.
I had a suspicion that scallop pies were on the menu at The Fish Van so Jill and I trotted around to find out.

Yes indeed.  In case you think it is an inelegant way to lunch

I managed a small glass of white too.
The other exciting news, from my perspective, is that I just trimmed 6 bushes with the hedgetrimmer.  When I have undertaken this in the past, my wrists ache from the vibrations and my arms ache from the weight.  But today it was easy peasy, apart from throwing the ball for Jill at the same time.  The sessions at the gym must be working.

they also serve who only stand and wait

Not a lot to report in Tribes.  Snapped this little chap as I left the gym yesterday.  The rain has left the garden a joy to work in.  Weeds easy to pull out.  We've been given a haunch of venison to cook and I've decided to include some of our myrtle berries in lieu of juniper berries.  My googling doesn't indicate that the myrtle is poisonous but this could be the last post...

The Great Rains of 2018

At last we have had some rain.  The Gatehouse gardens had their own babbling brook thanks to the run-off from the school oval.

Last night I feared that the water may rise to flood the Gatehouse pavilion but it didn't quite get there.  Perhaps Venice has come to the Gatehouse.

The rain seems to be easing now.  Hopefully the wind won't persist long enough, or strong enough, to dry it all up.  The East Coast really needs a good soaking.

I spent yesterday curled up by the fire, reading Miss Read books and eating chocolate.  My friend The Queen of Hearts visited and, as we swapped stories, I realised that the appeal of country life had been re-woken in me back in 1974 when the cruel Education Department sent me to Bothwell for my teaching prac.  I stayed with the Goggins.  Mr Goggins drove the bus to Hobart and back each day.  Mrs Goggins introduced me to the rhythm of country life - fire and firewood rituals, vegies fresh from the garden, sheds smelling of stored apples.  I live a somewhat modified version of this, but I love it.
Wednesday night I went to the meeting of The Friends of Triabunna Reserves.  I took one of my newest treasures with me in case there was time for 'Show and Tell'.

Those of you who follow Jackie Morris' blog will know all about this book.  The Reservists were enchanted with its beauty.  As we turned the pages, we realised that nearly every plant and animal featured is a pest in Australia.  So many lessons.  Renouncing your country of birth is not always an easy decision.  I am very lucky to have Jackie Morris living my life in Wales.
And I think I will always love blackbirds.

Glad that I live am I

On Anzac Day I marched in the parade for the very first time.  This was not something I had ever expected to do given, to my knowledge, I have no personal connection to Gallipoli. But the Spring Bay Suicide Prevention Network marches every year and so I was invited.  I was given a book to place at the cenotaph in lieu of a wreath.  The books are then distributed to the schools.  I really want to read this one - and, Lady Jayne, I love the title.

Wilma placed flowers as she does each Anzac Day.  It was all very uplifting, still a bit jingoistic and macho for my taste, but it is heartening how the community turns out in force.  And then, walking home,

the pavement filled with children's chalk drawings.  I haven't seen that for years.  And as I walked home, I found myself singing 'Glad that I live am I...' a favourite hymn from my childhood.

Some time during the week I spotted this little beauty at the end of our street

and later it pulled up briefly outside the house.  Small pleasures.