Alan Barbour (CatcherAl) Offline

76 Divorced Male from Bexhill-On-Sea       250
         

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Walkin' the Dawgs

A Cautionary Tail

Quite a few years back I had the delight of owning two fabulous Shih-Tzu's.
Honestly the best dogs I have ever known. Brave, obedient, smart, happy,mischievous, loving.
Gosh the list could go on forever.
As you may have seen in my last picture post, 'walking in the woods' just 80 yards away were the playing fields and woods pictured therein.
Every day, unless I drove them to Highwoods, a lovely woodland area with adjacent parking. The dogs knew almost before I did where they were going they would happily leap into the trunk/boot for the 5 minute journey, then leap out ready for their 'walkies'.
How I miss those days .
Anyway, I digress as usual. My mind wanders almost as far as my legs used to as age sneaks up on me.
In my part of the UK, the South East of England, winters are normally quite mild.
Yes we get some frosts and cold winds but rarely do we get a whole lot of snow, which is sad for me as I love snow and am the first person out in it whenever it falls. I have been known to get up at 4am and trudge up to the same playing fields just to be the first human to leave footprints in the virgin pure white surface. There are always fox and rabbit tracks although why they would want to be out in such conditions, instead of being snug in their burrows and dens is beyond me.
Maybe they are as daft as me?
So it was, one winters day, really brisk cold wind and snow, the light powdery kind drifting up against gates, fences, cars, any obstruction had mounds a couple of feet deep, yet the roads and pavements were relatively clear with just an inch or two of earlier slightly wetter snow.
I dressed myself warmly, boots on, trying to tie laces with two bundles of mischief nipping at the laces and jumping with excitement at the thought of getting outside to play in the snow. All three of us loved to play together, snow made it different but maybe even more fun.
My dogs were so well behaved there was no need for leads with only the road outside my door to cross, even excited, they would stop at the pavements/side walks edge and wait for me to say “OK guys go”, once I could see the way was clear.
So it was the same that morning.
Once over the road we had just 60 yards of pavement to the entrance to the park.
As one entered between two huge oak trees one was faced with a steep bank, only maybe 4 feet high, too steep to try and climb even in good weather, luckily if one turned left the slope up was very gradual and maybe eight yards to be up on the level of the first soccer pitch.
Although used for soccer in the minor village leagues it was also used for picnics, dog walking, Frisbee throwing, and all the usual family and kiddie games.
This day it was deserted. Not a single animal, person, bird at all. Nothing.
The snow had been stripped from the turf with the bitter wind apart from maybe an inch or so.
The pooches as expected went absolutely bananas lol. Chasing each other, scampering up to me and jumping, eager for me to play also. I would normally make soft snowballs and throw at them or bury them in soft drifts. They adored to play.
So, we are half way across the 'top' field when they both suddenly made a dash for the far side of the pitch. Beyond the edge was a field of white continuing at the same level as the pitch we were on.
I was running maybe ten yards behind them, not worried at all, even though I knew there was a bank, the same as at the entrance, maybe four or five feet high.
With 'normal' snow my puppies would have gone several inches deep, grind to a sudden halt, and maybe need me to give them that helping hand out.
This however was not normal snow!
It was fine sugar like, as fluffy as marshmallows, light as a feather snow.
So with no noise, not even a plop, both dogs, simply disappeared.
Faster than a magicians rabbit into a top hat, faster than a speeding bullet, faster than the eye could see, one second here, the next gone. Poof like that, like the old fashioned way of taking a photograph with a flash pan on a pole, Poof gone!
I raced over to the place where they had “Gone” , there was hardly even a depression in the powder. I jumped in with legs straddling the slight dip and felt down with my hands. Nothing. Nothing at all. They must have kept on running, even as they fell, with the powder so light and if they had gone down to the bottom and grass they could have gone yards and yards away?
As I floundered on, moving my feet and legs forward, pushing my way rather than stepping as I was afraid of standing on one of them.
My throat dry with panic, tears forming in my eyes, blame castigating me for being so foolish as to not seeing or appreciating the danger. How could this joy suddenly turn to disaster?
After what seemed like parts of an hour, frantically yet gently searching,
covered in snow from head to toe, even in my hair and ears, as I took another slide forward I touched something, As loud as a thunderclap the synapses in my brain fired off.
The something then moved? Did it? Did I feel that?
I plunged in, hands grasping and suddenly I had Merlin, my male dog in my arms, body squirming, trying to lick my face whimpering and singing in his own sweet language, “Dad, Dad, you found me Dad, Dad I'm so happy” and other such endearments.
As we cuddled my thoughts were with my darling Tasha, my brave girl, and, as the thoughts entered my consciousness, I saw a slight movement in the 'hole' I had just made. I reached in with my free right hand and she sort of swam into my hand, almost as if she could smell me or somehow reach out mentally to me. I lifted her out and with both my children in my arms, slithered and walked my way out to safety.
What may have been a huge adventure for them, quite frankly nearly scared me to death.
They say “All's well that ends well”
It did end well, at the same time left me wiser and determined to think before play, make sure the surroundings are safe.
There was nothing else I could have done just prior to this happening. I thought of maybe tying ten feet of ribbon to their collars.
Knowing my two that would have been a new game trying to see who could rip off the others ribbon first lol.
Sadly whilst recovering from my 7th or maybe 8th heart attack, my Consultant advised me that the next one would probably be fatal.
The thought of my two companions being split up, separated from each other, made me weep. I then decided to advertise and find a perfect home where they could live out their days together. They were a married couple after all, with sixteen children.
I found such a home around four miles away, beautiful house, with five or six Shih-Tzu's already living pampered lives there, adored by a family with two children with wealthy but down to earth, caring parents.
So again “All's well that ends well “
Maybe for my pair of pooches.
The sad thing is, After surgery then three years later a state of the art pacemaker being fitted, in between all of which I had a further one or two heart attacks, I am now fit and well, though Dog-less.

Alan Carr Barbour

The Dance

As most of you know I occasionally confess to be in touch with my feminine side so last week I h ad a sudden impulse to write a short story from a ladies point of view with me being the leading lady, so to speak. It also includes both music and pictures although so far I don't seem to be able to get the picture where I want it. It will appear somewhere I'm sure The Dance I sit alone at a table on the far side of the country and western bar’s dance floor. Not a huge venue but as always on a Saturday night filled with loyal patrons who just love to socialize, dance and generally have a great time. I have been deserted by my best buddy Dianne, despite our promise to stay together and look out for each other. Only minutes into the first dance session she was whisked away by some rancher from Arizona who was busily plying her with Champagne at the bar, I'm sure in the hopes of getting lucky. By the way my name is Charlotte, Charlie to my friends. So much for sticking together, I'm so angry I could spit (not that I ever do ). The DJ is busily stacking records in preparation of the next session. He is actually a great DJ who picks up on the vibe from the crowd and tailors his music accordingly. Mainly middle of the road tracks but he also loves to throw in the occasional surprise, just to keep us on our toes, so to speak (Pun there did you notice)? At the far end of the bar, in silhouette, sits a tall stranger, sipping what she presumes is either whisky or maybe a bourbon, never facing the crowd, yet in tune with everything around him with skilful use of the bar mirrors. I wonder what he looks like? I transfer my attention to my besty in the vain hope she will remember me and our promise. No such luck as the rancher called Roy (what else)I wonder if his surname is Rogers? I giggle internally. He is into her neck in order to gaze down at her ample cleavage. Suddenly a movement catches my eye as the stranger steps down from his seat, turns and strides, with the grace and power of a panther, and heads my way. Dressed all in black apart from his hand tooled boots covered with coloured stitching, probably silk as it almost sparkles in the lights. He is also wearing the most spectacular hat I have ever seen on a man, midnight black ,with various shades of blue feathers on the left side, which go back at least ten inches in soft plumes that shimmer in the dance floor lights. Picture The hat band itself consists of alternating blue and white feathers interspaced with blue rhinestones. On any other guy (apart from maybe one of the three musketeers)it would look maybe effeminate but on him it is purely a statement of his unflinching masculinity. OMG I think as he heads my way, a tiny butterfly of anticipation flutters deep in my tummy, but no, he passes me at a tangent and steps up to the DJ. After maybe a minute the DJ nods, the stranger shakes his hand and passes what looks like a USB to him. I wonder what that was all about? Lost in my thoughts I am so surprised to see him standing before me. He tips his hat in a courtly manner then says “May I” Those two words rumble like thunder through my whole body to reside deep in my bones. My head says Whoa girl , reign it in. My heart shouts Yes please, so loud that I start, and for a split second panic thinking that I have shouted the words out loud. My hand and arm rise involuntarily to be met by his warm dry fingers, suddenly I am on my feet. We are alone on the floor as he gives the slightest nod to the DJ. For the first time I look up and into his blue eyes. The colour blue can sometimes be cold but his intense gaze instantly transported me into a never ending field of cornflowers, swaying in the invisible breeze and just as I begin to float weightlessly I am walking atop the swells of a vast ocean, lifted by each wave, cushioned by its power, amazed by it's deep hues of blue as I am swept away on the tides of emotion. Power, strength, danger, love, gentleness, sex and wantonness oozed from his gaze as low in my tummy rises an unbidden response. The music starts. YouTube "Roxanne" - A Dance Short Film (Directed by Garrett Gibbons) His strong muscular body melts into mine and his sure and confident movements are so pure and wonderful that my feet, indeed my whole body, follow every nuance of his grace and poise. This is not dancing. It's a roller coaster ride at a fairground, a ride on a black stallion, a flight in a two seater aerobatic plane, a deep swallow of Champagne, all of these and more mixed into the dance. It is so frightening yet so safe as he dips his head and his lips gently graze my temple. I am dropped until horizontal, my body only inches from the floor, then effortlessly lifted into yet another series of twirls and spins, changing hands and direction as I give my body freely over to him. His command and control over me is truly astonishing. I have never ever been so scared yet so safe in my life. He is in tune with every note, every beat seems to come from his heart, every pause held in sync with the music which is also so unusual and has never been played here before. In fact I wonder if it has ever been played in the whole state of Montana. I have always been a two step kind of girl, a touch of west coast swing and of course the inevitable slow Waltz at the end of the evening. This was way way above all that. A mixture of Tango, Paso, Salsa,Swing,and maybe more I didn't even know all melted together into something else. An amalgam of sensual pleasure. A meeting of two minds, a mating of two bodies. Yes it's true, He made love to me on that dance floor, my heart ready to burst out of my chest, my whole body coated in a light sheen of perspiration, below my tummy my secret places were doing cartwheels. He,dry,confident,unflustered, merely smiled knowingly and dare I say lovingly, led me back to my table. He briefly passed his lips over my hand and asked “if he could maybe have another dance later”? Heck, I would climb Everest with this guy. I would cross the Gobi desert with a forty pound pack on my back just to be with him again The whole crowd was clapping and hoot hollering long after I sat down. He all too briefly passed his lips over my hand and asked ”If he could maybe have another dance later” I murmured “yes” and said “thank you for the most exciting dance”. Heck I would climb Everest with this guy, I would cross the Gobi desert with a forty pound pack on my back, just to be with him once more. To feel his hand in mine once more would be a taste of heaven. My bestie Dawn came rushing from the bar, plonked herself down beside me and just gushed with questions. “Where and when did you learn to dance like that”? She asked. “I didn’t” I reply. “Whatdya mean ya didn’t” she exclaimed. “That was outstanding. Look at the crowd, they loved you, the bar staff, even that old sourpuss manager was beaming and clapping as if the President had just walked in” “You were amazing Charlie. Who is he and where did you meet him, how long have you two been practicing behind my back you wicked wicked girl. Are you two lovers and if so, for how long, tell me all”? “Tell me tell me tell me before I burst” No amount of denial could stop that incessant questioning until finally she stopped with the unrestrained queries and finally seemed to believe me and sort of accepted that this was truly the first dance together. She then enthused about the dance and the music and the way he looked holding her so close and said cheekily, “OMG it looked at times if you were both naked and alone making love on the dance floor”. I could hardly believe my response when I totally agreed with her. My legs were like jelly, the feeling deep down low still had me quivering with thrills of passion oozing through every part and synapse of my body and brain. I had it bad, Really bad. To be continued if requested?

Fitness brought to it's knees.

Last Saturday after spending 5 hours in the garden I decided to go shopping in town just a couple of miles away. I took the scooter pictured below with the trailer attached. I was on my way home when trying to avoid the worst of the potholes here, (Some over 10" deep) when a sad excuse for a driver leaned on his horn and forced me kerbside and over around three or four holes. After some huge bangs and rattles suddenly the bike cut out and was a dead as a door nail. The sidewalk was very narrow there with a high kerb so I pushed the scooter and trailer a couple of hundred yards to a wider sidewalk and tried to find the fault. Under the seat is a kill switch and that was my first investigation. Nope it was in the on position but just to be sure a flicked it on and off a couple of times without success.
Below the seat compartment is the battery but only accessible by removing several bolts and locking pins. Of course one needs tools for such work.
There was a main road another hundred yards and again I pushed both scooter and trailer over the pedestrian cross way as the traffic lights changed.
I managed another three hundred yards beyond those lights and could not push any more, so parked up n a wide pedestrian place where there are benches.
What to do? No phone, no tools, no hope apart from the fact that once home I could organize a neighbor or three to help out. Some own trucks with large trailers and some would help in any way I needed.
So it was that I set off to walk the mile and a quarter to my home.
Three quarters of a mile from home is a rather steep hill and as I turned into that road my body completely gave out. I was as flat as the scooter, no life in my legs and feeling really poorly, Just about ready to fall over and die, it really was that bad.
A single car turned into the road and in desperation I stuck out my thumb and to my amazement the car stopped.
A Three door hatchback with a young couple and a baby in the backseat in it's own little chair, chortling away as babies do.
I explained my predicament and asked if they could take me to the top of the hill It would be downhill to my home and if needs be I would roll and crawl that last quarter plus mile or so.
As I tried to get ion the car the young driver pushed his seat forward so that I could get into the back of the car next to the baby.
I slid my left foot and leg into the car and as I tried to lift m,y right leg in the left foot slid under the drivers seat and my foot and whole leg went into spasm. I muffled a scream with the pain which would not stop until I got out of the car and was able to straighten it. Second time went a little better as I threw my bottom into the back. then followed with my legs one at a time.
I remember thinking these folks must think they stopped for some lunatic or axe murderer however they not only got to the top of the hill but insisted on driving me right to my door. Real 'Good Samaritans'.
My neighbors went down and then pushed the bike and trailer home for me saying that the battery must be flat and didn't I charge it up?
I have a strict routine as soon as I put the scooter into the front porch I connect the charger so that I have a full charge every time which is good for 45 miles.
I still felt poorly and went to bed at 8pm without eating at all.
The following morning I removed the seat and seat pan exposing the battery, which was not there?
Because of the pot holes and savage bouncing of the bike the battery had broken it's securing metal strap, bounced forward and fell down onto the belly pan of the bike. How it managed to fit in I have no idea as it took me over twenty minutes to wiggle it up and back into place. In doing so I thought OMG what's that leaking all over and under the battery?
It is a 60 volt Lithium/Iron battery and I didn't think they had fluid or acid in them. It was the color of Redex an old fashioned fuel additive from the 60's and 70's.
Of course it wasn't.
he neuropathy in my hands has spread up to my elbows and t he liquid was blood where I had wiggled my hand and arm through to retrieve the battery and had taken a few layers of skin from my forearm.
I made a new housing for the battery and once connected everything was normal and working properly. It was not until yesterday Thursday that I felt well enough to work.
This getting old is no fun anymore and this escapade brought home to me just how unfit and vulnerable I truly am.
Happy ending but sometimes life sure sucks.
Bless you all for putting up with such a winging old fart

Silently the Angels weep.

London.
An 18 year old, honor student stabbed to death by five teenagers.
His crime?
Simply walking on the wrong street at the wrong time.
And so,
Silently, the Angels weep.

America.
A schoolboy makes a list of classmates who, in his tortured brain have maybe disrespected him or maybe just laughed as he passed.
Maybe the laughter he thinks is directed at him.
All that really occurred was a gaggle of innocent girls joking about last nights TV show.
Nevertheless he takes a gun to school and slaughters seventeen of them.
and still,
Silently, the Angels weep.

Ukraine.
Russian so called troops, in fact conscripts released from prisons, given a gun and sent to rape, steal and kill indiscriminately.
Digging mass graves to cover their crimes.
Rockets and missiles rain down on civilian targets,
Elderly, middle aged, youngsters and babies all sacrificed
to appease the Russian leader who thinks he is God,
as still,
Silently, the Angels weep.

Turkey.
The present leader has failed in his attempt to garner over 50% of the vote
and so in another two weeks there will be a second ballot.
In the meantime his underground secret police will be seeking out important opposition members and arranging "Accidents" to happen to them.
as ever,
Silently, the Angels weep.

America once more.
The spectre of Trump is still lurking, conning the populace and preaching
conspiracy if things don't go his way.
He can call on the lemmings that still faithfully follow even though, like their namesakes. he will drive them over a cliff into the icy arctic waters.
Who knows?
Maybe they are stupid enough to be led by such an excuse for a human being.
sadly,
Silently the Angels weep.

The World is changing, not for the better.
Gangs,Tribes, Sections of countries, Whole economies. All waging war.
Disease, Famine, Pollution, Drought, Hurricanes,Polar ice melt,
El Nino Southern Oscillation, Ozone layer depletion.
So so much happening and ordinary people powerless to change.
This despite politicians promising to fix that which is broken.
Are they all liars?
Or do they really believe their own rhetoric?

Most importantly.
Silently, the Angels have run out of tears.

Quandry

Hi, all you lovely people.
I am between a rock and a hard place today after a long telephone call between my Doctor and myself. As most of you know I have had several falls over the past 13 months or so. The last between me and the sidewalk on 30th Jan this year
I was getting increasingly concerned about this especially as the last one (a) hurt a lot and (b) because I thought I had taken lots of precautions ie taking a lightweight chair that I used to sit on as I attended to each of the large pots along my raised bed wall separating my garden from the pavement/sidewalk. All I was doing was cutting back last years growth to encourage new spring growth, Not any exertion at all, yet on moving the said chair along one pot to another suddenly the pavement decided to kiss my head with complete abandon and force. Not pleasant at all especially as I had not even spoken to it or in any way provoked such an act of passion.
The ambulance crew that attended me spoke to my doctor as they were concerned with my previous history of falls in my garden.
He rang me just a short while ago.
We have always got on ever so well as I always (Pre-Pandemic) left him happy and smiling with my jokes and poetry. Sadly since the Pandemic face to face meetings are a thing of the past. Maybe because of this close camaraderie he used the phone to not hide behind but as a sort of shield to tell me the following.
All and every test I have endured lately from my heart, lungs, diabetes and nephropathy signify that all my drugs (25) pills a day are doing their job and no more could be helpful or deleted from my regimen. Basically I am alive and my current state cannot be improved in any way and could possibly deteriorate in the future.
My lack of feeling in my lower legs and feet could be attributing to my lack of balance plus my heart condition (BP after one fall was found to be 68/40) Diabetes could also affect my condition.
His solution, either cut out my outdoor activity, which would cut down my fall rate or move out of the bungalow into assisted living , which to my mind would not be so called, it would be assisted dying. I so value my independence, and as you all know cherish my garden.
In sharing this with you all I am not seeking sympathy but rather asking your advise as I have know so many of you, for over a dozen years, which is, lets face it, more than some marriages Thank you all and especially love. Share it to wear it

Sam's Dance reposted by request


It was Monday, the first week of December, and a particularly stormy evening. We had been suffering a spate of truly horrible weather, with high winds and torrential rain, sweeping across the southern half of the UK. Not the sort of evening one would normally like to go out in at all, but there I was setting out from my home in order to go dancing. I had taken up (Le-Roc) a type of French jive and similar to west coast swing but with many more moves and tango inspired holds and movements, in order to get myself fit following a long illness. For me it was an easier option and much more pleasurable than joining a gym. Within just a few months I was not only fit but also had become good enough to also teach at various classes. It was such a thrill to be able to pass on what had become a love of mine to other people and watch them progress. As I drove past homes that were already decorated outside with the usual Santa's and flashing lights, reindeer and sleighs, and all the other sometimes tacky etceteras, I reminded my self to get up into my loft and rediscover my Christmas tree, and the two boxes of carefully wrapped lights and baubles. Although I live alone it is always nice to have the tree all lit up and sparkling both for visitors and also people passing by that appreciate the effort. Secretly I do love dressing the tree and placing presents under it each year. I drove carefully through streets that were lashed with the rain forming mini rivers that crossed and crisscrossed in front of me. I swung into the car park of the school that was our venue for the evening and as I swung the car into a space between two cars already there I had to brake sharply as a slight hooded figure suddenly appeared, darting, in my headlights. My heart skipped a few beats momentarily and then steadied as the figure turned and revealed a young lady, squinting against my lights. Phew, close call, I started to breath again as I switched off the engine, turned out the lights and joined her on the eighty yard walk to the schools main door entrance. I remember mentioning something about the awful weather as we made our way to the welcoming lights and warmth ahead of us and She replied that it was” nice to feel the rain and wind”? What, I thought? Personally I hated getting wet and windswept especially when going to a dance. OK maybe if you are walking on a beach and dressed for the elements. Ah well, it takes all sorts. We shook ourselves off in the foyer and I then realized that I had not seen her before at the usual Monday lessons. I asked if it was her first time at the school and she replied that it was. We have a concession for all first timers and entrance and the first lesson are free and as in instructor I don't have to pay either so as we entered the door and I said my usual greetings to John and Paula staffing the desk I informed them that the young lady was here for the first time. After my usual shyness, I asked for her name, after first introducing myself as Alan. She said Samantha, but you can call me Sam. Sam looked to be in her early twenties? Slight in figure maybe 120 lbs with attractive dark brown hair, cut in a bob, and styled so that it framed a serious but strong face. Brown eyes with well defined brows made her look like a Greek goddess who's name escaped me at that time. I asked Sam if she would like a drink as the complex is also run as a business for training the schools sixth former's in hospitality including bar work. She had the same as me, namely a coke with ice and lemon. The complex consists of a nice bar area with about ten tables surrounding the upper dance floor and then four steps either side lead down to the main dance floor which is kept immaculately polished and has all the usual spotlights and even a large glitter-ball. At the far end is a fully equipped stage area that is sometimes used for school productions as well as being available for hire to other acting and musical events. Great sound systems and a wonderful light arrangement make it a really great venue. As we walked to a vacant table I noticed that Sam walked, well it's hard to explain, but she seemed to have a limp? Or maybe it was the highly polished floor that made her seem a little hesitant or awkward? I excused myself for a moment from Sam and went to the stage area where Mike, the main instructor, was setting up his equipment for the evening ahead. I asked him what was happening that night, as he sometimes at the last minute informs me that I am taking the first lesson and I always panic until I have worked out the basic routine I have to teach. He however was all prepared and gave me his usual welcome and a handshake as he ran through the various tracks, making selections to play as the evening progressed. Other people started to arrive and I made my way back to Sam and found her chatting to one of my favorite partners Sue. Sue is a petite, very cute and generous natured blond lady who dances like a dream. Why do I have favorites? Well dance is a funny medium and although anyone can learn the steps and even the rhythms, I honestly believe that great dancers are born and not taught. Within five minutes of dancing with a 'newbie' I can normally tell whether they are going to be good or not. It's just a feeling and an 'aura' that some people have that somehow transmits into lovely light movement and grace. I always say to the people I teach that dancing comes from the heart and not the head. So. thinking to be Sam's first partner I asked her to join me on the floor, as we, along with a few other couples, had a warm up dance prior to the beginners lesson starting. I have to admit that those first few steps and even the easy handhold were a nightmare. For a young girl in her early twenties she seemed ill at ease, stiff, unyielding and almost stumbling. I have danced with many people who have never been onto a dance floor before and always within a few minutes I get them to at least turn and spin as and when I lead them. Sam was a disaster from the word go. She was wooden and each step and turn seemed to take so much effort. I have a firm rule never to criticize or be-little anyone but instead try to correct mistakes in a thoughtful and kind way, it doesn't always work but at least I try. Yet, there was something about Sam that seemed unlike anything I had ever come across before? Just what. I couldn't fathom, but, as we danced and I started to repeat the first few simple moves I realized that once she had tried a move once and then repeated the same move again she mastered it. Wow! I remember thinking. There is potential here after all. Her hold grew softer, and her body, previously tense, started to relax a little. She even gave me the briefest hint of a smile and that was a wonderful feeling to me, that first smile of accomplishment from a beginner. We then started the lesson and the way we teach a routine is that each part is broken down into segments and danced slowly without music to a basic count. After each segment the ladies move along the line and so every two minutes has a new partner. This enables each lady to have both experienced and also learning partners also. It also gives the experienced lady dancers a minute or so to correct the male 'lead' in beginners. The segments are then fitted together and at the end of a half hour the whole routine can be danced to music. So it was that every fifteen minutes or so Sam was once again back dancing with me. She had got it! What a transformation! Gone was the baby giraffe taking it's first few steps and in it's place was this gazelle, nimble, light and graceful. After the basic lesson, we have another half hour period of 'free' dancing to various tracks, putting into practice the routine we have just learned, with the more experienced dancers maybe adding a few moves also. I must confess to rather spoiling myself then, and spent more and more time with Sam gradually going on to more and more complicated moves, with each and every dance. I inter-spaced my time between Sam and Sue, who both seemed to be getting along socially as well, Smiles all round. Sam still had this slight hesitation with each new and more daring move but then once done it seemed,to register and, once registered was there, never to be forgotten. She flattered me by saying that all her life she had wanted to be able to dance like this and had dreamnt of such a moment. To be in such harmony with another person until it almost seems that one is dancing with a shadow, such is the bond between two people. All too soon the evening came to a close and I gathered my coat and we made our way toward the exit saying goodbyes along the way. I asked Sam if she would be coming next week or Maybe the Christmas Ball due on the 15th of the month. Sam said that it would not be possible and then added something that even at the time seemed strange to me. She said “this was my Christmas dance”. I asked Sam if she had far to drive and she replied that she was being picked up. I left her for a moment while I said goodbyes to more friends and when I turned, Sam was gone. There was no sign of her. As I returned to my car I remembered thinking about the first moment I had seen Sam, in the car park, a good eighty yards from the school entrance and wondered why, when whoever had dropped her off, had chosen to stop there and not drive her to the main doors. Hmm mm, no matter I thought, I started the car and drove home. It was later that week, when, through my door, came the local paper, A paper I rarely even bother to read, as it seems to consist of adverts and news for want of a better word, about the local council or what had happened at this weeks W I meeting. For some reason I opened it and there, on page five, was a small picture of Sam. And the sad story of the fact she had passed away earlier in the week. To say I was shocked, hurt, stunned even would be an understatement. I read that she had suffered a long illness, and would be sorely missed by her Mother, Father and younger sister. Why? I thought. Why did she not mention being ill. I noticed that the funeral service would be held at a Church local to me followed by a reception at a local seafront hotel in the town, just a mile or so away. I still don't know why but I decided to attend the Church service, in my own mind just to say goodbye and express privately my sadness at the loss of someone so young and full of the promise life holds. So it was, with a heavy heart, I arrived at the Church, took a back seat, and said my goodbyes in my own way. It was a beautiful service with both her father and younger sister sharing their own anecdotes, memories and the love they had felt for Samantha. I had tears filling my eyes both from listening to their stories and the all too brief memory I had of Sam. The small white coffin adorned with a simple bouquet of rosebuds and maidenhead fern was slowly carried past me and out of the front door of the Church followed by Sam's family, it was as they were passing me that Sam's mother stopped briefly, gazed at me for a moment, then asked me to please attend the reception afterward at the hotel. I had not thought about going there but something in her mothers gaze and her direct request made me reconsider. So it was that a couple of hours later I arrived at the hotel, not knowing anyone, not being family, and wondering why, Why was I there? After sitting for a few moments and having the obligatory glass of white wine and a couple of rather tasteless sandwiches, Sam's mother came over and sat next to me. “you must be Alan” she said with certainty. I said “yes”, I was, but how did she know? She looked deep into my eyes and said that Sam had told her all about me the night she died, last Monday. Last Monday? The night she died? Doubt, uncertainty and confusion must have shown across my face. How could such a young vibrant lady have died between leaving me at 10.45 pm and midnight that same evening? It was then, with tears in her eyes that Samantha's mother told me Sam's story. Sam had been born with a major heart defect and had undergone a total of seven surgeries during her short life. She had been bed ridden for the last four years and did not have the energy or strength to even get downstairs unaided and into the garden, her other great love. She would sit at her window for hours gazing at the flowers, breathing their scent and listening to the birdsong during the dawn chorus and evening vespers. Sam's mother also went on to explain that Sam's greatest wish was to be able to dance, and her favorite time of the year was November and December when the show 'Strictly Come Dancing' was televised. I said,” so you dropped her off last Monday in order that she could fulfill that wish”? Thinking to myself that Sam had hidden her illness so well, and coped with the immense strain without a single word of complaint. It was then that I was hit with the impossible truth! Sam's mother explained that Sam had been really poorly all over the previous weekend and the doctor had said that Sam was “close to the end”. Rather than admit her to hospital, it was decided that Sam should spend her remaining days at home, surrounded by the things and the people she loved. She then said that Sam had slipped into a deep sleep early on Monday evening but had woken just before 11pm and told her Mom that finally she had been dancing. She described where she had been and whom she had met and was so enthralled to have finally fulfilled her dream to dance. Sam explained in great detail how wonderful it had felt to be whirled around and around the floor, and for that one brief time, had felt like a special Princess, floating weightless in a sea of harmony and grace. Sam then slipped into a deep sleep, a sleep from which she would never awaken. The tears were now rolling down my cheeks, I felt terribly lost, sad and confused. I remember being hugged and, some time later, found myself at home, still in shock, yet thankful that a Christmas wish had somehow come true. There I one thing I know. Dancing for me will never ever be the same, and Sam will always be there, a part of me, whenever I dance.

Apologies once again.

Hi Lovely People,
Once more I am in your debt for not keeping you in the loop so to speak. Over the past few weeks I have been decidedly poorly yet with nothing concrete to report on cause or indeed treatment. I have had numerous falls both indoor and outdoor which has more or less been put down to extremely low blood pressure, the latest , last week was 66/48. This causes me to fall over, more so than usual lolol. I was taken away by ambulance, not to my nearest hospital of Hastings, nor to Eastbourne, my second closest but to Brighton which is the closest hospital whose expertise was in AAA. Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. As this explained the sudden and drastic loss in my BP. It was thought that speeding up this route between hospitals could save my life as a ruptured Aorta does not have much of a shelf life and can be fatal within an hour. So all bells and whistles I was rushed to Brighton where I was strapped to a bed with my legs and feet high in the air and wheeled in for a CT scan. Sometimes called a 'Cat' scan.
This immediately put me at a huge disadvantage as I am not, and never will be a Cat lover. Why could't I have a Dog scan instead as this would be so much better for both my clinical as well as my mental health?
This solution was met with almost incredulity by both Doctors and Nurses alike. How could I be so humorous at such a time? Well that's me as you well know. I have to turn everything concerning my health in to smiles as they are much, much better than tears.
So the culmination of the scan was that my Aortic Aneurysm was still firmly pegged at just 5 mm the same it has been for the last 25+ years.
The only other action was to stop taking my Bisoprolol. I have no idea what it does or why taking it in the first place was 'good' for me.
So I was returned home, fairly alive with instructions to contact my GP and discuss the hospitals report as to what sort of future, or not, I may have. Whether I will need further hospitalization at Hastings or not. I rang my surgery earlier today and after a wait of only 72 minutes spoke to what I presume was a secretary or a nurse who advised me that my Dr would read the report today and I was to ring at 8 am tomorrow to see if he wanted to speak to me? That is the current state of our Health Care System. As long as the patient is alive and in some kind of ;Health' then we don't care.
So, I'm in a kind of limbo at the moment, awaiting? I know not what, but, as long as my fingers and brain work I will share with you every silly moment.
I posted the last set of flower pictures from my garden and am amazed that most are still in bloom and looking splendid. I only wish I felt so splendid myself.Not moaning just truthful
Fondest and heartfelt love to you all xoxoxox

Sadness

It is with great sadness that my new idea of a start up company has had to be shelved, due to Global Warming.
It was intended to be not only a safety led company but an extremely profitable venture with the added perk of only having to work in the winter and having the whole summer off tending to my garden.
The only adverse threat to my success was trying to find brooms long enough to reach the icicles hanging from rooftops in order to give them a good whack. The weaker and therefore dangerous ones would break and shatter ( don't worry about my personal safety as I have two now redundant crash helmets that would protect me whilst working ), the stronger ones could then be passed inspection and classified as 'safe'.
So, the crux of the problem lays squarely on this danged Global Warming.
The last four winters in my town situated on the south coast of the UK has seen no credible snowfall and with it the lack of freezing melt water. Should I fold up my business or would it be more profitable to move North into maybe Scotland where snow still falls but would then have the problem of skeeters and no seeum's and other biting critters that would spoil my summers sunbathing?
Dear readers I need your valuable assistance I helping me to choose.
There is also a more personal help I need ion choosing the right name for my company as some of my closest 'real' friends here in Bexhill on Sea think my present headline for the firm, bearing in mind the dangerous analysis of tasks I undertake, that the enterprise should lose it's present name of Testicles. After all it's what I do?

Queen Elizabeth 11 thoughts and memories special to me.

My earliest recollections of the Queen was when my Mother, Father and I moved from the East riding of Yorkshire to Windsor in Berkshire to live with my Aunt.. Aged just 10 or 11 years old I felt awed by the huge Castle at the top of Peascod street a steep straight road that led to the Royal residence that I grew to know and love so well.
Windsor great park was the Queens garden for want of a better word owned by the Royal family for hundreds of years. A vast area of woods meadows and trails.
I well remember persuading my father to go on an early morning fishing trips to one of the many lakes scattered around this park. We left home at approximately 4 am in order to tiptoe passed the gamekeepers gatehouse, shrouded in darkness, over a small hill and down to this gorgeous huge pond filled with Carp, Roach and even what I knew then as huge Goldfish (Koi Carp).
We each had our own way of angling and even at that young age would beat my father, not just in quantity but size of fish caught.
So there we were fishing when over the hill came the distinctive sound of the gamekeepers land-rover. I quickly hid among some bushes whilst my father sat on top of a fence, bold as brass, awaiting the gamekeepers arrival. Rod laid out at his feet. I could hear their voices in the still morning air as said gamekeeper started berating my father when my dad replied the rod wasn't his but belonged to a small boy whom he had been watching as he was only out for a mornings walk, then jumped down from the fence and strode away.
I meanwhile had to bear the full fruit of the telling off and had to pack up all my tackle and my fathers gear as well and struggle up over the hill with the promise I would never return to that, the Queens property, upon pain of death, beheading, or some such other torture. I never did go back there.
My next close association with the Royals was with Her Majesties Consort, the Duke of Edinborough, or rather with his Polo ponies. I always had loved horses and would go to the Royal families stables just a short two hundred yards from the "long walk". Almost every Sunday a stable maid with whom I had a wonderful relationship, I was now aged 15, would ride one horse and lead maybe five or six others, down the three miles of the "Walk" plus another two miles to the polo fields where the Duke, together with friends, other dignitaries, and so on to play the game. The reason for so many ponies is because each Chukka in Polo is played for 7 minutes of hard riding, then the pony is swapped for a fresh horse until the end of the game, normally six Chukkas.
So every Sunday, when the Polo was on I would ride atop one of His ponies to and from the grounds.
I had purchased a beautiful Hacking Jacket in a burnt orange colour, tightly waisted with an overlong flared skirt. A stunning garment that I loved wearing. It was this garment that leads me neatly to the next " Royal " memory.
For some forgotten reason I had to leave the polo fields early one Sunday and was walking the long five miles back to Windsor. For some reason I had never 'twigged that the single track road over the three miles from the Copper Horse at one end to the Castle at the other never saw any traffic. It just never dawned on me.
So halfway through my own 'walk' home a cars engine noise made me turn around and stick out my thumb hoping for a lift. Of course I later found out that only Royal vehicles are allowed to drive on this road Silly me.
Anyway the car stopped a few yards past me and I eagerly scampered to the passenger door as the window slowly powered down and I was greeted by the rather stern face of His Majesty, the Duke.
The exact words, verbatim, escape me now but it went along the lines that He was unable to allow me access to the car, yet had noticed me at the polo due to my jacket and had also noticed me riding 'His' ponies to and fro, and that should be sufficient to my needs. He then gave a smile and a 'cheerio' and drove on.
So, apart from my few years in the Maritime side of the British army serving my 'Boss', the Queen, ends my Royal involvement.
Memories are golden seconds of time that sometimes last a lifetime.
May your God bless you all.

Friends or Flowers

I originally penned this several years ago but today decided to add a few lines as I think the sentiment within bears repeating.

 Friends or Flowers?

A thought occurred to me as I was musing about my friends in wire.
All the ladies in the rooms can be likened to flowers. Some are tall, bold and sometimes brash like a sunflower yet hold seeds of wisdom for all to see. Some are like roses with a simple perfection but also with the occasional thorn. Some flirty annuals here for just months, others. perennials whose beauty never fades but is constant. year after year.
Some maybe plain in appearance yet have the sweet perfume of a loving heart and their beauty shines through in their good deeds
Others are tiny and one has to look with care and attention to notice them, but once found hold the same perfection.
Like flowers they can all be mistreated. Petals can be easily bruised by a harsh hand. Stems can be broken by a careless and selfish word or deed. Roots can be poisoned by sly innuendo or pure wickedness.
So this message is to all who use this garden, both men and ladies.
Take care where you walk. never trample blindly, appreciate the beauty and the wonder that surrounds you. Preserve the fragile, give succour to the weak and be thankful for the flowers.
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