Good Morning says Mr. Blackbird, munching his way through the seeds that dropped to ground level from the birdhouse above. The birds never give up and arrive regularly for their share of food. Soon March will arrive and the time to stop feeding them and let them do their own thing. It was a wet day yesterday and only rained once, but all day. Of course I did not go anywhere or do anything in particular. but watched it all from the window.
I usually visit my computer after my after lunch sleep, but yesterday had no go. Eventally I gave myself a push, and got into the swing of things. I even managed to cook a chicken for the evening meal, although had to rely on Mr. Swiss for the lifting of the chicken into and out of the oven. I am being spoilt at the moment. Due to a broken leg, I cannot do everything and after meals I just walk away leaving the removal of the dishes to my staff of Mr. Swiss and No.1 son. Something I have never done in my life. I suppose I should make the most of it, but will be glad when I get back to my old routine.
This morning I decided to hug my bed longer. It’s slow cooking this morning, and when I get the meat going I can forget it until lunch time.
The only bit of excitement in my life at the moment is watching the birds outside. Remembering my days back in London, we also had birds, but really only sparrows or pigeons. The neighbour had racing pigeons in his back yard and he would let them go for a flight now and again. He just had to shake his bag of bird seed and they would return to their pigeon loft.
We lived in a house dating from 1884, and was a so-called slum as it got older. There was no running hot water or bathroom and the toilet was in the garden. There were two floors and grandad lived on the ground floor, where mum grew up with her sisters and brother. When dad came home from the war and got married we moved into the top floor and that was where I stayed for the first 20 years of my life. We had a cat, Whisky, and his favourite place was sitting on the window ledge of our kitchen and watching the bird life on the roof opposite. It looks quite precarious, and it was. One day he got excited at the prospect of a nice juicy pigeon for lunch, made a grab for it and fell to the ground below. However, cats have nine lives, and he spent one of them on that day. Mum and I both peeped timidly to the ground and saw Whisky walk away as if nothing had happened.
And now to move on, slowly but surely. Make the most of your Sunday and for the golden oldies, yes, it is Sunday, in case you have not noticed. I have to remind myself every day wat the name of the day is.