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What are you trying to say?

I play Wordle every day, do you?

We have a little group and we share our results. It’s my dad’s group actually. We are a motley crew of various age groups, backgrounds and not everyone has English as their first language.

I started to do a little ranking graph and then my dad took over and he does a brilliant job of a daily commentary. Great fun.

I am, alarmingly, totally rubbish. Often last.

Fortunately, I am not particularly competitive or this would bother me.

But, it does interest me that I like to read and write, but I’m dismal at Wordle.

I used to get my lovely man to give me a start word every day, but I’ve abandoned that because I do even worse.

I was pondering on my incompetence when I noticed my lovely man reading one of my blogs. My lovely man lies right next to me, reads all my blogs, closes them and carries on with his life with nary a word. Always.

If I’m looking for affirmation, this is not the place to get it.

So, to my regret as it turns out, I asked him his opinion on what he was reading.

I sometimes struggle to get what you are saying, he advised me, you write strangely.

Not a fan then.

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Yes, there’s a parallel here

I’m reading a book at the moment called ‘The Running Grave’ . Actually I’m listening to it on Audible. What a blessing audible books are.

Anyway, it’s very gripping. It’s about the goings on in a cult.

I’ve not had a lot of experience with cults. I don’t think a cult would tolerate me for too long. I’d either be expelled or locked up in a box until I realised the error of my ways.

It occurred to me, as I gazed across the lawn at the tortoise antics and listened to their bellows, that we are, in fact, housing a cult.

There’s a great deal of free love going on.

Even battered old Tamara is getting her fair share. And honestly, I’ve considered getting her adult diapers.

Incontinence, it appears, is of no consequence. Tamara, the hottie, is rocking it.

I’m considering playing something from Woodstock for them, it seems fitting.

My lovely man, watching this lot, commented ‘inspiring’. And then he gave a little roar.

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Steady on….

When we saved grumpy, ungrateful Tommy the tortoise from a likely end of being a snack over a fire, he patrolled the garden perimeter relentlessly, presumably trying to find a way out.

I worried that he had a family to get back to. He was not saying.

My research indicated that they are generally solitary creatures and that he would be fine.

Still I fretted.

Turns out my friend has an excess of tortoises. This, in fact, is a thing.

So… Timmy and Tammy arrived. I laid out the snacks and did the introductions.

With not so much as a how’s your father, Tommy mounted Tammy.

Oi, she cried, I’m just having a bit of nibble on this cucumber.

I’m not sure there is hashtag me too in the world of tortoises, but if so, Tommy is bloody Harvey Weinstein.

However, it’s cheered him up no end, and he gave me a little wink and nod of approval I swear.

Sadly, as soon as he had finished with dear little Tammy, he set his sights on Timmy and nudged him over onto his back.

This too is a thing. Turn the competition over and be done with them.

So, now we spend our days finding Timmy and rightening the poor little soul.

Timmy has assured me he’s in the friend zone with Tammy, he just needs to persuade Tommy.

Then Tamara arrived. An old, somewhat battered duck is our sweet Tamara. She’s even bigger than Tommy and has old injuries. Looks like she’s been run over by a truck at some point.

We have welcomed her into the bossom of the household and she seems quite happy.

I even had a house built for them. They hate it.

As it turns out, previously suspected asexual Timmy, has fully embraced Tamara.

Mandova called me from my desk to witness the antics.

Rumble in the jungle indeed. Pint size Timmy is vocal in his passion for much larger, Cougar Tamara.

I can tell you for nothing there’s a lot of action in this household.

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What skulduggery is this now

Some time ago a fellow knocked on our door and asked me if he could have the details of my lovely man’s Interpol contact because he had been sold something that turned out to be stolen (and not functioning, which was perhaps the bigger issue).

Darling, I enquired, how on earth do you have Interpol contacts (best I can do is the Douglasdale police station), and what espionage are you involved in?

Also, I continued, this can be added to the alarmingly long list of things NOT disclosed prior to our involvement.

Turns out my lovely man is not connected to Interpol, or New Scotland Yard or any of that ilk.

I’m not sure, he advised our hopeful and somewhat misinformed visitor, that they would much bother with that kind of case. They would probably just arrest you for buying stolen goods.

They would surely be interested he objected, I can finger the thieves.

Well, too tempting isn’t it….

I’m not sure it will matter how confident you are in satisfying the thieves I advised him, they are likely to lock you up.

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On this day….

Do you diarise things? I like to diarise things.

A few years ago, a friend said to me with some exasperation ‘Stop reminding me every year that this is the day I got divorced, you really need to move on’.

No appreciation really.

I only diarise important things mind, I don’t want you to think I’m fanatical.

For example, on this day two years ago, we bought our vacuum cleaner.

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Yes, yes it’s on ice

The other night we had friends around for dinner.

I know this doesn’t sound particularly exciting, other people do it all the time don’t they? Weirdos. But for us, this is epic!

First of all, we don’t do the evenings. Ever really. The other day a friend asked me how my car’s headlights were at night and I said ‘I have no idea, and I’m never likely to find out’. I am tucked up where I should be at night, as is my car.

The other thing is hosting (and cooking), that comes so very easily to some, is alien and stressful to me.

So, the best you gonna get is take aways.

It was Thai last night. Graciously and gratefully received. They are good friends. My good friends have low expectations of me luckily.

If I had attempted to feed them something I had actually cooked, they may not have been as gracious.

My lovely man, as always, such a big help. He is a delight. Doesn’t judge, just collects the take aways, heats up the take aways and gets drinks out. Bless him! Love him the most.

Part of the drinks process is filling up the ice bucket with ice for the drinks tray.

Well! Who would have thought how much excitement this would engender?

Is that an Oude Meester ice bucket my friend cried out suddenly. An original one? If it’s an original one your ice will still be OK in there for three days. The new ones are crap, but this looks like a winner!

We discussed this at some length. Oohing and aaahing.

This is what happens when you get past your 50’s people. Just wait.

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Love me do…

It has been six months since we took in Tommy the tortoise. 

He is not grateful.

Amazingly, he has not died in my care and has made it through winter. There was not a lot of hibernating allowed as I forced love and food on him daily. 

I wish I could say we are soul mates and tripping through the tulips happily, but this is far from the case.

We are still finding our feet with our relationship and he is not as adoring as I might like, truth be told. I am convinced he prefers Mandova over me. Hurtful really. 

But, I like to think we are progressing as I purchase delicacies to nourish him on and try and figure out his likes and dislikes. Loves green lettuce, not purple lettuce, loves watermelon, not as fond of tomatoes and strawberries. 

I have had to point out to my lovely man that giving him my wine soaked strawberries may not be clever. But, what do I know really? He might prefer them like that. 

He leaves his little house to wander the garden quite a bit. Speedier than you would think and very well camouflaged. So, I call for him of course. To no avail sadly. Doesn’t come when I call or answer me. 

We will get there. 

Apparently tortoises make a racket when they are copulating. We are unlikely to copulate, but if he can make a sound, perhaps he can answer my calls. 

I’m not sure how bright tortoises are, but Tommy may be special needs. Wedges himself regularly into places he has to be saved from. So, there is a fair amount of saving of his life. Up until recently, he rewarded me by piddling on me. This may be his kink of course. 

He no longer piddles on me when I pick him up. Does he no longer find me attractive, or is he no longer scared of me? 

So many questions. 

I have convinced myself he gives me a little smile when I scratch his shell. 

I have been advised that he is most likely a Bell’s Hinge Back tortoise. They are apparently more inclined to keep to themselves than, for example Leopard Tortoises. But it was Tommy we saved and Tommy I love!

What I have learnt about Tommy is that he is very consistent. Resting face pissed off really. What he has learnt about me is that I am needy and clingy and like it if you come when I call.

A sanctuary has offered to take him in. Does he need friends / a mate?

I suspect I am not enough for Tommy.

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Change is a coming…

Mozambique recently enjoyed Municipal elections. 

The run up to this day is quite festive. A reason to play loud music and drive around waving flags really. 

The party that leads in our province has a chicken as their emblem. The other parties seem to have more ‘call to arms’ emblems, but we have a quite noble looking chook. 

The guy who started the party must have had a particularly memorable KFC dinner maybe. An historian, I ain’t. 

If you are planning to resurrect as a chicken, my advice would be not to do it in Mozambique. Not a fun place for chickens. Most of their time is spent hanging upside down and being offered for sale. And then slowly roasted over a long suffering truck driver’s fire while he spends the better part of a week trying to cross some border or the other. Not really sure who should get the most sympathy really. Not an easy life for either I suspect.

We foreigners, of course, do not get a vote. So our vote, on the imposed holiday, goes to a boozy lunch. It’s a win for sure, and worth waving a flag for.

Of course there is unhappiness with the vote outcome in some provinces. I’m not quite sure why they bother with elections in Africa. Aaah yes, it’s a democracy. 

But, I can report there is positive change… I slipped a guy a ‘spot fine’ for the speeding he insisted I was doing and he said it was too much and gave me change. 

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Hello, hello, what’s this now?

The other morning my lovely man approached my side of the bed as I was drinking my morning cuppa and writing in my journal.

What does he want I thought, looking up adoringly… Surely not sex? I haven’t even finished my choccie biccie, and neither of us had taken our morning vitamins.

But no, he produced the tweezers and asked me to pluck an extraordinarily long hair growing from the top of his ear.

And this is quite normal actually. We ask this of each other regularly it seems.

I suspect this is what a middle aged relationship looks like. This is why they warn you to not grow old alone.

We need each other to pluck, prune and preen.

Should we be setting up support groups to offer this to our single friends?

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No, I don’t believe in Santa anymore

Can you believe we are in October? Where has this year gone?

Christmas is almost upon us. And soon it will be time to force my lovely man to watch Elf. Again. Because I like to hear him mutter ‘What’s this sh*t?’

Also coming up, of course, is get togethers where one is encouraged to bring a non-binary gift.

Yip, it’s Secret Santa season.

Not a fan. For a few reasons.

I have always been involved with lousy gift givers. Seems to be my curse. I’m talking romantically. I don’t bring out the romance in a partner. I’m better at bringing out the irritation.

I can’t really complain because I too am a lousy gift giver. So really, let’s just buy ourselves what we need.

I don’t like the swapping out of gifts that comes with Secret Santa. So me, I keep what I select and oooh and aaah about it, coz otherwise it’s mean isn’t it?

I know that my feelings are hurt when someone rejects my thoughtful soap on a rope that I spent ten minutes of my busy day selecting at the nearest chemist, or service station.

Dagger to the heart stuff.

Every now and again I hit the luck on something brilliant I really like…. And then the inevitable happens…

I see some little kid whispering in their mom’s ear and pointing.. And I just know..

Aunty Rosie, do you mind swapping your gift with little Lucy here… She really likes your gift.

Of course she does. And really, what is little Lucy bringing to the party… Oh, another decorated toilet roll inner. I have a shelf full.

Baah humbug 😁.