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Originally posted on lucinda E Clarke:
I am feeling quite depressed at the moment. Why? Once upon a time, I thought I could write. Not as well as Tolstoy, or Shakespeare, but the average, everyday stuff. This is a good…
The Spiral of Hooves Tour
Welcome to this hitching post on The Spiral of Hooves Blog Tour celebrating the August 7th launch of the second edition of Roland Clarke’s equestrian mystery, “Spiral of Hooves”.
I just loved this book – it is so like a Dick Francis novel, but set in the eventing world instead of racing. I strongly advise you to comment on this blog, to have a chance of winning a free signed paperback copy!
![Spiral of Hooves by [Clarke, Roland]](https://images-eu.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51XBw2hi80L.jpg)
“Spiral of Hooves” is an enthralling mystery full of twists, turns, and suspense set against the competitive equestrian world of eventing. Characters are thrown together from different countries by their ambitions, ideals and desires, and by their passion for horses. Relationships are tested and challenges surmounted as the mystery builds.
In Canada, researcher Armand Sabatier witnesses what could be the murder of groom Odette Fedon, but traumatic images from his past smother his memory, and a snowstorm buries the evidence. Harassed by nightmares but fighting through them, Armand remembers the crime a few months later. By then he is in England, where he is dragged into a plot involving international sport horse breeding.
Suspecting everyone around him, Armand is forced to brave the past that he has kept buried. But what made Armand leave France? Where did he learn to survive and fight for justice? Why is the English rider Carly Tanner treading the same path as the first victim, Odette?
Can he save Carly before he has more blood on his hands?
Spiral of Hooves is available from Amazon on Kindle and for the first time in paperback – https://bookgoodies.com/a/B073W3CLDV
Roland Clarke is a retired equestrian journalist, photographer, and event organiser. Sadly, Multiple Sclerosis clipped his wings, and he was unable to meet deadlines or get to equestrian events easily. Recently, his wife Juanita and he moved with their two dogs, Quetzal & Treeky to Boise, Idaho having lived in Harlech, North Wales for over two years.
THE CROSS-EXAMINATION
How did “Spiral of Hooves” originate?
The novel arose from observations made during my years as an equestrian journalist, right back to my brief time at ‘The Field’. In my twenties, I had a rough idea for a story involving a Canadian and an English rider, but while watching a horse show in about 1998, the idea began to evolve. Although the first edition of “Spiral of Hooves” took me thirteen years to complete, I used my experience of the equestrian world to develop and refine the novel. The Second edition allowed me to address some of the questions raised by reviewers of the first release and correct some typos, I hope.
Why a Canadian? Aren’t you British?
I was born in England although my mother was Anglo-Chilean and my father was English. I spent a few years studying near Montreal, in the French part of Canada and that sowed the seeds of the novel before I even started on my equestrian career. A part of me dreamt of living in Canada, but I’ve ended up in the Idaho, USA – where the sequel to “Spiral of Hooves” will be set.
Is the sequel written? Does it involve more eventing?
“Tortuous Terrain” has yet to progress beyond draft one, but it has some of the characters from “Spiral of Hooves” so there is some eventing. However, the mystery to be solved by the main characters this time revolves around the threats to two sisters, one an endurance or trail rider and the other a barrel racer.
How much of your books is realistic?
I set “Spiral of Hooves” in the eventing world, so elements had to be realistic. All the shows are based on real events, so where possible, I tried to give a sense of the settings, using, for instance, some fences that I knew were on the cross-country courses. Some of the actions and reactions are based on interviews with riders, veterinary surgeons, breeders, etc. I had to ensure that my colleagues in the sport would recognise elements, and then accept that the fiction was possible. “Tortuous Terrain” requires more research as the setting is less familiar.
Have you ever met the characters in “Spiral of Hooves”?
Although none of the characters resemble anyone, I have interviewed five of the characters for my website if you want to meet them at https://rolandclarke.com/spiral-of-hooves/.
Is there a message in your novels that you want readers to grasp?
Don’t let outward appearances dictate your actions.
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
I attempt to be an MS Warrior and keep writing. However, the toughest challenge is finding time to write when multiple sclerosis is draining my strength. Beyond that, I struggle with the editing, never quite sure how to improve my drafts. I’m better at plotting the original story.
Do you have a blog/website? If so what is it?
I blog erratically at http://rolandclarke.com. Please drop by and say hello.
My apologies for the break in my “Charity” blog series, caused by the passing of my long-suffering husband. He was ready to go, he told me on the day of our Golden Wedding anniversary…
Life goes on, and I am beginning to pick up the threads again.
***
It is always good to hear from David Baldwin, and I’m delighted to give you the second in his series about his work in Kenya. Over to you, David!
In my introductory blog I recounted how myself and daughter Susie started in 2009 our small, grass roots charity supporting an impoverished, marginalised community in NE Kenya – St Peter’s Life-Line, and the amazing circumstances in which we, and they, now find ourselves. My next blogs will fill the gaps between then and now, sharing with you the joys and sorrows of this tumultuous and wonderful journey.
With all the preliminaries of setting up our charity completed, our thoughts – and rising excitement – turned to our first visit in February 2010 to St Peter’s Primary School, Kajuki, and meeting up with Fr Joe – parish priest and founder of the school. For me it was the prospect of returning to the country of my birth and upbringing – of which I had the most loving memories.
The big wide smile of Fr Joe greeted us at Nairobi airport, and we set off for Kajuki, some four hours away. Having left the congestion, scruff and sprawl of Nairobi, we were soon driving through the Kenya of my childhood – the scatterings of smallholdings and huts set in vibrant greenery, contrasting vividly with the rich, red soil. Small herds of livestock by the roadside, being tended by children, makeshift wayside stalls, and the patient plod of many people by the roadside.
The final approach to St Peter’s was along the rutted, dusty roads of the rural Kenya that I remembered so well, and there before us, as we swung into the parish and school compound – was gathered the whole school of about 180 children – excitedly greeting us with songs, hands eagerly outstretched, flashing smiles and crowding round.
After the excitement had died down (it took a while!) we toured the school. It sits in a large, dusty compound with St Peter’s parish church, presbytery and sisters’ house. It was very basic, built of stone and tin roofs – four classrooms with only gaps for doors and windows, the blackboard painted on a wall; the ‘kitchen’ was an open tin shack, in which the school’s meals were cooked over an open wooden fire in vast saucepans; the two dormitories, very crowded, wooden bunk beds, each sleeping four children; toilets were tin sheds covering the ‘squat’ long-drops – and very smelly; the ‘showers’ a small tin shack in which children washed themselves out of a bucket – which they filled from the river half a mile away. But… as we discovered and experienced, a high performing school academically, with healthy, cheerful, well fed children, being given a quality education.
The days of our visit were packed – getting to know the school, teachers, children – listening in on classes and participating. Getting out and about, visiting and getting to know the community and individual families.
We were very impressed with the way the school was run – the day was well structured, with qualified teachers and strict discipline. But what struck us most was the ambition of these kids. Their appetite for learning was insatiable, their effort to do so, unstoppable.
Our visits to various families was eye-opening, thought provoking, humbling and sometimes, downright heartbreaking! All living in the absolute depths of poverty in their humble, cramped, mud and wattle huts. This was the Kenya that I remembered 50 years ago!
There was Callista, a young mum of four, with severely crippled feet, who although was able to walk, was unable to carry loads, and she had to rely on her kids to carry the daily water from the river some mile away. Then, Jane – a St Peter’s pupil. She was born out of wedlock, and when her mum subsequently married another man, he refused to take on Jane, and she is being brought up by her elderly grandparents. It is not uncommon for grandparents to be struggling to bring up their young grandchildren – either through abandonment, or parents dying from Aids.
On that sad theme we visited Arabilla – 14 years old – both her parents had died, and she was singlehandedly bringing up her three younger siblings, having taken herself out of primary school. When they were old enough to fend for themselves on a daily basis, she took herself back to primary school, aged 19, to complete her education.
Coming to the end of our visit, and just when we thought we had our mission of supporting this one small primary school forming comfortably in our minds, Fr Joe broached the subject of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), the so called circumcision of women – of which I knew very little – but as I learned, has a profoundly damaging effect on the women of this deeply conservative tribal community, about which, and how we reacted, I will discuss in the next blog.
But we left Kajuki deeply satisfied, inspired, humbled, and fired-up to do whatever we possibly could to try and play our small part in bettering this struggling community’s prospects.
***
Thank you David, and I look forward to more instalments!
Roy is now at peace. He was ready to go, he told me, at 1.30 am on the day of our Golden Wedding Anniversary, 1st July, 2017.
He’d made it!
Much loved father and grandfather; friend of many.
To read more, you can subscribe to my Newsletter, HERE
Judith Gibbons is a new friend – I haven’t met her in the flesh, but her grit and determination are evident. I’ll let you speak for yourself, Judith!
You can’t tell anybody about this Mrs Gibbons
Those word were spoken by a 6ft tall 15 year old youth who had ALMOST been banned from coming with me, on my second ever trip to Kenya in 1995. He did not mean “don’t tell them I was holding hands with two Pokot toddlers” but “There is no way to describe this ….you can’t tell anybody, you have to feel it! “
And that was practically the start of “Friends From Marich Pass”.
A school trip with 53 participants, living without electricity, with long drop loos, with open air cold showers, and the bites of mosquitoes; this resulted, on our return to England, in the students wanting to do something to help. They all got the message….WE HAVE SO MUCH….they have nothing. And a year later when I returned with the next trip, I took the money they had raised and bought mattresses for a dormitory in the village primary school.
I have rummaged….and come up with some photos….to set the scene…. me grinding corn: me and students treading mud to make bricks; some of the area in which we work; some of the people…traditionally dressed and otherwise; the” classroom” at the top of the mountain which took me four hours to climb and which the headmaster did 4 times a day, and the view from the top….to show where the school is situated ( we contributed about half the cost of building 2 classrooms as at the time they had only one, so lessons were in good old fashioned African style…under the trees) My knees were worse when my staff and students climbed the next year to see and open the finished classrooms.
Then in 2000, hampered by the fact that cash was being handed over or cheques paid to me personally, we had to do something about safeguarding the money…we formed Friends FROM Marich Pass. We chose “from”, not “of”, because the simple things that we were doing were helping not just the local school but schools in the wider district…we were spreading out FROM Marich Pass….and we were “from” Marich!
And then like Topsy…it grew. With the unstinting help of Dr David Roden, (now deceased) the founder and owner of the centre where we stayed, we progressed to helping with Education fees. We vet applicants, successful ones HAVE to make some contribution themselves; we check progress and we pay fees directly to the appropriate establishment. Priority now is given to tertiary education students.
AT TIMES humanitarian needs dominate. A house is destroyed; we buy immediate necessities; medical bills to pay before patient release; transport costs to a funeral; a coffin is needed; a school runs out of maize this week; a school needs pencils. These are just a few of the hundreds of small things we have helped with, but our main aim is to help with educational opportunities. It all started because of English students, we want to continue with Kenyan students.
We are a MICRO sized Kitchen Table Charity, working from one computer. NO ADMINISTRATION costs are deducted, with the exception, sometimes, of buying jam jars, paying for one airline ticket per year (if funds allow) and occasionally paying for excess luggage so that free goods collected in England can get to Kenya safely. We have no assets, we employ no one and ALL of the fundraising is organised by me and my family. We have no website (long story…and cost) but we do have a Facebook Page. EVERY penny that we have to spend is spent directly in Kenya; we never give money, we pay bills! We have no sponsors or rich patrons and we have only ever once managed to “win” a grant.
Everything we do today, needs doing again tomorrow, the story is MUCH longer than this brief introduction allows, but we can’t let go!
You can find more about the Friends from Marich Pass HERE.
***
Thank you so much, Judith, for sharing this with us. Your story has brought back many fond memories of when I stayed in that very same place about fifteen years ago, with a group of Kenya Museum Society Guides on our way to Koobi Fora!
You are welcome to subscribe to my Newsletter HERE.
“I’m calling myself Ruth to hide my identity. I’m 39 years old and I live in Kabubbu, Uganda and I’m from a family of nine brothers and sisters. Many years ago I lost my Mum and Dad from AIDS, it was awful watching them suffer and moan in pain without any pain killers or palliative care. I always knew that my parents would probably die before me, but I wasn’t prepared for this!
Soon after this my sister died of AIDS, then one by one I watched the others die and each time they asked me for help, so that was when I bought a mobile phone. You may think that’s a waste of money but it was cheaper for me to phone them than to take a bus journey to visit them because transport is expensive here. I phone them to see if I really need to visit, or if I can organise others living nearby to help them, because my kids and I are living on just £5 a week.
When I visited my sick sisters I tried to help them, but I couldn’t afford the drugs they need. Later when the ARVS treatment were free in Uganda, I couldn’t afford to improve their nutrition to ensure the drugs were effective, so over the next few years I lost all six sisters and one brother. Now I have one surviving brother, but he and his children all have AIDS, and I’m helpless! You see I can’t help because I’ve eight children after, some are mine, some are my orphaned nieces and nephews and grandchildren.
Two years ago a visitor from England came to my home with Resty my neighbour. Of course all my neighbours knew who she was, but she hadn’t visited me before so I was shocked and speechless! I didn’t know why she came but I answered her questions and Resty translated. I soon realised she cared about me and my son Simon. She saw we slept on the ground in 1 room, so a donor bought beds and bedding, and she organised to pay my rent and buy food.
Later I thought life was improving when my other son Jake got a labourer’s job. But a month later he was on the back of a lorry as it sped along at high speed, and he fell off and broke his neck. Then 2 months ago my oldest daughter Caroline died of AIDS, and I’m numb! All my money goes on burying my family and now I have her 1 year old son Ben to look after and he’s also AIDS positive.
I cried for the first time yesterday when I heard that my charity friends in the UK were fundraising to build us a house, they already have £800 of the £5,000 needed.”
Quicken Trust founders didn’t plan to devote 18 years in developing a village, but God led them there, and he has miraculously provided for the charity through amazing circumstances. Here, we know and care about individuals but also keep an eye on the big picture. We do things differently:
Further information can be found on www.quickentrust.com
It is a real honour to host this story by Geraldine Booker, co-founder with her husband Geoff, of Quicken Trust, a charity that most certainly does work in Africa. I’m proud to say that I did a fair amount of research at Kabbubu for my latest book – GRASS SHOOTS – which is sponsoring school lunches for a boy there. Perhaps you may be inspired to help too?
Charities Already Featured in this Fortnightly blog Series: St. Peter’s Lifeline
You can also subscribe to my Newsletter HERE!
Jane.
… And taking ownership.
A Small Charity is born
I met David Baldwin – founder of St. Peter’s Lifeline – on Facebook in 2015. I had spent two years trying to find a charity to support with my book, Breath of Africa, but it should not have taken me so long.
This is the first of a blog series, which I hope will provide exposure for small charities round the world, which focus on Africa. And of course, the series will become a source for countless prospective donors and volunteers in the wider world who are looking for a worthy cause to support.
Welcome, David! Over to you…
“C’mon, Dad, I’m sure we can do better than that – let’s start a charity!” My daughter’s response to the ad hoc way in which I was sending sums of money to rescue a primary school in Kenya that was about to go under.
Without giving it a second thought, I said “Oh… OK…!” in due deference to not only what seemed a very good idea, but probably mainly in agreement with a very bossy daughter.
Why Kenya? Well, I’m ‘third generation’ Kenyan born and educated – it’s in my blood, and having left when I was quite young, and refusing to go back as a tourist, this seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to re-engage in a very meaningful way with a country that I love so much.
Why that particular school?
I met Fr Joe, a young, newly ordained Kenyan priest, quite providentially when he was in UK on a short sabbatical in 2004. We kept in touch when he returned to Kenya. Soon after he was sent to his first parish – St Peter’s in Kajuki – in a harsh, remote, very conservative tribal area of Kenya, where many priests dreaded to be sent – but one which he wholly embraced. He soon realised a burning need to provide a primary education to orphan and impoverished children who would not otherwise have this precious opportunity. So, in 2006 he started, completely off his own bat, a small day/boarding primary school to provide mainly for these children – St Peter’s primary school.
In late 2008, I received messages of distress that he was going to have to close his nascent school, as he was unable to afford to feed his 180 children, owing to soaring food prices brought on by a severe drought – hence the initial money sending.
We started our charity straight away – going through all the necessary but bureaucratic rigmarole, and putting out our name and needs in the rather small public space that we inhabited. The name came quickly and clearly – ‘St Peter’s Life-Line’ – as we had literally thrown a life-line to save that school from drowning.
Our charity is Christian based – albeit very firmly accepting children from every faith or none – the main criteria being orphaned or impoverished. So, very early on, we formed a prayer support chain, mostly of our friends, fellow parishioners, and some religious communities – our faithful prayer warriors. We believe in the power of prayer, and our warriors pray for our needs on a regular basis – and we have seen those needs being met, and the miracles being worked!
Because now, in 2017, that one small school is four schools, with over 700 children. Apart from funding capital works and other projects, we are taking many orphans and impoverished children through primary, secondary, tertiary and university education – all fulfilling Fr Joe’s vision, and knowing that they will give something back to their community.
Initially our vision was to support the primary schools and the children. But other desperate needs of the community reared up – to which we willingly and in faith responded, and are successfully meeting. Currently we are:
Yes, many, many miracles for a small charity that does not charge a single penny in overheads – it all goes to our projects.
We have, through our people, been continually humbled and inspired. We share their many tragedies and hardships – as well as the joyful and rewarding occasions – and these we will recall in future blogs.
https://www.facebook.com/St-Peters-Life-Line-328519129029/
Thank you for coming by, David. It’s been great having you, and I look forward to more of your recollections.
You can sign up for my Newsletter HERE!
Charity…? Volunteering – ?
“I can’t afford to do something for nothing!”
How often have you been faced with those words? I’ve even used them myself, privately, in my own thoughts. Especially when desperately looking for a way to earn an income when we arrived in the UK from Africa at the turn of the century.
Roy (my husband) and I came because he needed better health care in the aftermath of his cancer. And although our NHS has its problems, there is still nothing to compare with its services.
We spent our savings on buying a flat at the foot of the beautiful South Downs. And I needed to find a job. But I was too old. “You wouldn’t fit it,” were the euphemistic words they used. I eventually found a part-time admin job, but the pace nearly killed me. “They” were right; I was too old.
The one thing I could still do – after two attempts at qualifying to British standards – was judge dressage. I’ve been horse-mad all my life, and involved the family in every conceivable branch of equestrian activities in Kenya. Judging dressage was a way to keep in with the horsey world, and it was no problem to volunteer my services as a means of giving something back. I have discovered that the standard mileage expenses I earn cover the annual cost of running my car. How cool is that!
One day, I read an advertisement in the local paper. Age Concern was looking for volunteer Advocates, and they were offering a six-week training course to successful candidates. My mind went into overdrive. It would be a way of learning how the system works in this country. And there was another factor: Roy’s numerous medical conditions were not going to go away; he had already aged fifteen years over the course of twenty-four hours after his first operation. Being an Advocate for Age Concern might teach me how to cope with him in old age.
The work was interesting and rewarding. It is amazing how the smallest of interventions can bring blessed relief. Like the couple who were being hounded by the Gas company for a colossal bill. It was obviously an error in the computing system. But the company wouldn’t take their word for it. I only had to call the Gas company from the clients’ home, introduce myself as their Advocate for Age Concern, then go to the meter and confirm the reading. And the matter was settled.
Another couple, new to the area, were deadlocked against their former County Council over the relocation of their severely disabled daughter. I waded through the extensive correspondence, and could feel the intense frustration from both sides, coming at the problem from different perspectives. I shrugged my shoulders.
“You’re digging yourselves into an impossible mire,” I said. “You are fed up with the County Council, and no doubt they are fed up with you.” They nodded. “You want to have your daughter nearby, and you’ve found a place for her. Why don’t you just do it? Stop arguing, and bring her down?”
The enlightenment and relief on their faces as the possibility dawned was a wonder to behold.
Of course, some things don’t work.
· Like becoming involved with a desperate widow who had a black cat and indulged in the occult. She wanted to go into sheltered housing, and needed to sell her home. But she had a jealous, adopted son, who wanted to inherit the cottage. She secretly cut him out of her will; but could not bring herself to break free from his clutches.
· Or trying to help an elderly lady escape from her bullying husband. She had found herself another place to live, yet had told her husband where she was. I was there when she let him in, and he wouldn’t let me go… There was nothing for it, but to sit patiently and empathise, while he went into a tirade. Finally, I asked the lady, “Can I go now?” My supervisor closed the case.
Charity has the amazing capacity to turn everything on its head and reward the giver in the most unexpected ways. We all know the pleasant warm feeling when someone thanks us from the bottom of their heart. But there are so many other ways. A seed is dropped, takes root, and grows into something out of all proportion.
It was through Age Concern that we discovered the means to make ends meet. I learned about Attendance Allowance, and helped clients complete the complicated forms. Then my supervisor suggested that Roy might qualify for the benefit, and why didn’t we try? He did! And I became his carer.
My caring activities have expanded, now that Roy is becoming increasingly frail. And our NHS keeps a professional eye and gives regular support as needed.
Never again will I undervalue the concept of giving something for nothing. You just never know what might happen.
I found another volunteering opportunity, more in keeping with my expertise in business mentoring, which I talked about in another blog: https://jbwye.com/2016/01/22/do-people-matter/
You can subscribe to my Newsletter HERE
There was no clapping at the end of my “Afternoon with Jane” talk on Monday at St. Wilfrid’s Church, Broad Road. Was that a bad thing – or a good thing? I noticed – but didn’t mind, really.
I talked about how my life experiences were revealed in my three novels, and I interspersed the story with readings.
While I answered questions afterwards, the tea ladies got up to put the kettle on, and the room hummed with warm conversation. People drifted towards the table bearing my books, and friends came up to enthuse, saying it was good to learn new things about me.
“I could have listened to you all day!” said one.
“You should do an audio of your books,” said another.
“I agree with what you said about the dangers of Government-to-Government Aid in Africa,” said yet another.
She was one of three or four people in the room who had been to Africa. I had done a quick poll during my talk. Her comment was a relief. I’d somewhat put my foot in it during a previous talk to Rotary. I was too emphatic and generalistic. Of course, there is much to be said in favour of that sort of aid, and when I talked afterwards with the ex-Colonial Project Officer whose toes I was purported to have stepped on, I affirmed I had great respect for the people in the field. It was the politics and the corruption at the other end of the spectrum I was thinking of. One lives and learns…
I wrote Grass Shoots in an attempt to discover for myself a more modest, but perhaps better way to help the developing world, and have found a few examples. Apart from those acknowledged in the book, an Australian project was brought to my notice only this week. You might like to check it out: Nakuru Hope. Nakuru is my home town.
But, to get back to Monday – my books were a sell-out, and I left with several orders to fulfil.
Why was there no clapping? Perhaps it was something to do with my final reading, from Grass Shoots:
“Emily went out by herself to savour the magic of their special place. She’d followed (her new husband) often enough along the game path from the dry river bed bordering their plot. Reaching a bend, she looked to her left.
There was a loud snort of concern. A wildebeest stood poised for flight. They eyed each other, frozen with tension. He was big; he tossed his horns and stamped a foot, then snorted again. Emily stood her ground and so did he. Only a few yards separated them, and a feeling of unease spread through her. (Help) was out of reach in the house on the other side of the dam. If she retreated, the animal would chase her down. She held her breath, and eyed the surrounding long grass, looking for an escape route – and the wildebeest lowered its head. To her great relief, it continued sedately on its way across her path. She had broken the confrontation, and it no longer saw her as a threat.
For one long moment she had been a mere creature out there facing danger, tasting the fear experienced by wild animals every moment of their vulnerable lives. It was a humbling experience.”
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It may seem so to some people.
Here I am on my swivel computer chair in my bedroom/office, (I use a cushion, which saves my ailing back a little) while hubby reclines on his NHS riser/recliner chair in the sitting room. This morning he’s reading a book. Most times he’s having a snooze, or watching cricket or snooker on the telly. When I come in for a break, he knows it’s time to switch to the tennis.
It’s cloudy outside, and some days I never even go out the front door, it’s not very inviting. But if I crick my neck out the window, and it isn’t misty, I can see the downs. I remember the walks I used to take, suddenly deciding to up and go. I could climb to the top of Butt’s Brow in ten minutes. Great exercise! Then I would wander along the grassy pathways and forest glades communing with nature. Even singing out loud – after making sure nobody was within hearing distance. I stopped taking my binoculars with me years ago. The birds in this country conceal themselves cunningly behind a leaf or a branch the instant you raise your binos.
I learned where the stiles and benches were, and paced myself between them, stopping to sit and admire the view, and get my breath back. Sometimes I even took a notebook with me to continue a work in progress. I never got very far, as there were always passers-by to acknowledge, and dogs to greet. Dogs would come running to say hello, and stay for a brief pat and a tickle round the ears, or on the belly. We were kindred spirits, even though we were complete strangers. I do miss having animals at home. It’s not practical in a tiny flat.
Now, however, I have achieved greatly if I manage to complete the five-minute walk down the road to the Triangle – our local shops – and back. I make myself do it because the exercise is good for me, but it’s a relief when I return home to collapse into my armchair.
Chilham Castle
One thing I can still do, sitting comfortably in my car – and sometimes perching not so comfortably on a stool in a cold and dusty judges’ box – is judge dressage. I don’t need to tell you I love horses, and this is a way of keeping in touch with these wonderful animals. I go to some exotic places, and once or twice even Olympians have come before me on beautiful young horses.
Sitting is not always comfortable. The chairs at my bridge club play havoc with my back, and I now have to use a cushion. The older you get, the more sedentary you become, and the more important is the seat in your scheme of things. Along with most of our congregation, I am looking forward to delivery of new chairs in our church.
And now it’s time to get up again and prepare for lunch. While slicing onions last night, the ceramic knife slipped, and chomped off a piece of nail from my finger. I was sitting at the time on a hydraulic, padded bar stool with 360 degree swivel, which I found on the internet. One of my better buys.
My finger is getting better already, so perhaps I won’t lose the whole nail; but that’s another story in the making…
You can subscribe to my Newsletter HERE:
Jane Bwye 