On the Border

So: here I am in fairly Welsh Wales, the South not the North and so near the border that you can practically spit across it; in an area planted with ancient castles marking the place where the English (us) were fired on if they attempted to invade; half a mile from a pub called the Bridge whose sign shows a man on one side of the river and a devil on the other (us again: I’ll try to take a pic while I’m here) – a place positively seeping with history and dripping with culture.  The natives are a lot friendlier than they were 10 centuries ago and everyone is very welcoming.  I’ve already met the man from the shop who doubles as the church organist (all the right notes but not necessarily in the right order) and visits from neighbours are imminent.

So far I have been initiated into the mysteries of a reciprocating saw (sort of a milder but still fairly lethal version of a chain-saw); I have comprehensively checked out the fuel and wood situation and I have fired up the Aga.  I have also watched my sister feed the bees (I’ll post a pic of her later in beekeeping suit).  It’s all go here; lots to suss out before sister departs tomorrow for Mexico.

My plans are, besides walking dogs and firing up Agas, to write the beginning of a novel which I have planned.  It’s about gender, unsurprisingly.  So I’ll keep you posted.  Meanwhile here is a picture of Grosmont Castle:


And here’s some Al Stewart to keep you going:

Kirk out