Dear Diary ...

As  my blog address suggests, I've never been able to keep a diary . Well not for any length of time anyway and certainly not since I was a teenager when all I wrote about was snogging and going to discos - yuk. It read like a scene from the Inbetweeners.

So , imagine my surprise when I discovered an 8 year old volume with a few of my scribbles, whilst clearing out the bookshelves. It was called something cringeworthy like "An Abundance of Joy ' or some such nonsy title, the idea being that you'd fill in each day with a list of 5 things about which you were joyful. I managed it for 4 days with sad little entries like ... I am joyful that I managed to get up on time this morning. Oh please.

Day Five's entry was just one word ... which read "Bol**cks' . I'd clearly had enough by then and is it any wonder. Another tome bites the dust.

It's a bit like food diaries when you're dieting. Day one is usually peppered with references to spinach ad other green things with the occasional sip of warm water tinctured with a splash of fresh lemon juice. By day five you're living off the Family sized bucket of KFC washed down with a bottle or two of red wine.

However, it has to be said that my ' Abundance of Joy' diary, albeit brief, did live up to its title. Reading it did made me laugh out loud and be abundently joyful that I'd kept it so that I could laugh my socks off one day in the future.

Every Now and Then ...

... you have one of those days which you know is going to embed itself in your memory in all its multi-sensory glory.
Like today. Met a friend for coffee in town. I love her company and we always have a laugh. I adore her 'silver lining' take on life and her wicked irreverence. So there we are supping coffee and putting the world to rights and then moseying around the shops a bit, having a laugh at this and that. Then I get to cycle home through Bushy Park in it's glorious Autumn splendour inhaling the woody smokiness of an October's day, the faint whiff of damp fungi in the air and the unmistakable pong of deer pheromones (sp?) in the rutting season, wafting through the air.

A few shiny conkers lay split open on the ground to reveal their luscious mahogany contents , the odd russet tinged oak leaf wafting groundward from the sky and an abundance of cyclists and runners soaking up the last vestiges of an Indian summer. Home to a lunch of my own grown tomatoes and a Cox's apple in the garden. Heaven. Even the Heathrow flightpath overhead seems to have been momentarily suspended so that I can enjoy the moment.

You'll have to forgive my lyrical waxing . I just had to get it down in type before the bubble bursts and the boys stampede through the house, home from school with tales of homework woe and what a disgusting lunch they had, before slumping in front of the XBox with nothing more than a  "What's for tea?" greeting.

Hey ho. Another weekend of piano lessons and rugby practice but not before a spot of scrapping with my scrapping buddies tomorrow. For those who don't know what scrapbooking is, that last comment will sound as if I'm spoiling for a fight .. but they know what I mean !