JOLLIES, BEWILDERMENT & SADNESS. BAH HUMBUG. NOT LIKELY.

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening and goodnight,

Tis the season to be jolly . . . Or so they tell me.

Jolly? Christmas can be something of a mixed bag of jollies, even bewilderment, dare I write even sadness?

For many of us who reside on our own (as I do) the continuous 'cheer' serves only to remind us of what we missed this last year.

Hold it right there!

Aside from the obvious lack of a loving partner to wake up and share Christmas day with, hold-fast those thoughts!

   Plainly I can only speak for myself, pardon the pun, this written, oh my goodness rather OMG as is now widely used in common everyday global language within certain circles, although first used back in 1917, or so I read.

 So, back to ME.

  "OMG here he goes again"

 I faintly hear you sigh with an increasing level of foreboding. What will this man witter on about this time?

Well dear friends across the ponds, alleyways, vast expansive oceans of the page, sorry globe, it comes to me as if like an un-repentant tidal-wave of good fortune, a cheeky yet jovial flush of well, look, you have your red jumper on whilst penning this, so "all is not lost"

"Yep"

 I hear you sigh,

"init again"

Hold-fast those thoughts!

So maybe the year at this time is a mixed bag of jollies, even bewilderment dare I write sadness?

 Take bewilderment. I personally live in a constant bewilderment as to the markedly improved opportunities and quality of life 2013 has afforded. In self-imposed isolation for the large part of the last few years, to step out from behind the page in to life again has and continues to take me a little by surprise. I rejoice!

From writing to you as I do now, and within the pages of the beautifully empowering Women Scorned website, to playing twice this year in central London with fellow like-minded souls off the page to the stage. From which I have had the utter delight in meeting some of the worlds truly kind-hearted souls. Jointly and separately. Penning and celebrating with a globally acknowledged revolutionary full-service events management company within which I have found equally kind-hearted, dedicated and loving souls. To watching through a page, two of my closet friends embark on becoming a Mrs something or other and a mum whilst simultaneously combusting, sorry, moving with her soon to be husband to a leafy coastal village here in blighty, sorry England. Family life commences for them. Rejoice? Absolutely!

For you will indeed have your own unique to you moments of rejoice, I am certain of this if nothing else.

   Writing is always my solace, my friend and yes on occasion, my severest critic (one is ones own worst enemy) some wise young thing once wrote. And how right they are in my case at least.

My parents have and continue to rejoice in their new-look downstairs rooms including fully-refitted kitchen complete with the utterly adorable cheeky young thing ' Lady Thea' - the new puppy, although by the sounds of things soon to be the fully grown women of the house, next to mum of course.

Jollies, under any other name. Surely?

Sadness, yes, but in all accurate appraisal of the previous two emotions, joy (jollies) and bewilderment, sadness is along way off being at the forefront of this bag. Unless I let it. I have choice. So do YOU!

 Now, far be it for me to pertain to be any authority whatsoever on your good self, on your emotions, on frankly anything other than me. Even on my self I battle.

Well, you by natural progression are the sole authority on YOU!

So there!

 He writes whimsically whilst ducking out the way of a swift and stern glance as you recline yet further into your 'OMG what is he wittering on about chair'.

"I mean really. What is he . . .?"

If 2013 has taught me anything, the biggest and most far reaching lesson to be drawn is that lesser known term 'balance'.

To someone like me, a creative soul through and through,(quality always a judgement of any who care to read my words) for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, balance and I have a somewhat fragile relationship.

Therein lies the biggest lesson to be drawn from 2013 for me. As the big 30 looms in January - age is only a number -  I am in full support of this statement. This written, after soul searching for the most part of each day since what, September 2009, I can conclude to myself that it is balance that shall be embraced with somewhat more vigour in 2014.

Me , myself and I . . .  and you of course, live 24/7 together, and I am happy with the me leaving 2013. What will come will come, what will be will be, me, myself and I are at one! Almost!

For now though my red jumper and I stroll out on a crisp, blue-skies, December afternoon in search of that coffee shop which engaged me in Westminster,with my book, with a mind full of stories, in search of any and all ways to breath through the page for another year.

All around I see that mixed bag of jollies, bewilderment and dare I write sadness? And yet within my red jumper I am in control of what opportunities I choose to embrace, and so dear friends are YOU!

As you now groan,  "is he finished yet?'

In your 'OMG what is her wittering on about this time chair'

My answer is YES.

Until we meet again through the page, I trust this finds you in good health and a happiness

Peace Friends X

A NEW ARRIVAL MARKS A NEW CHAPTER OF OPPORTUNITIES

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, goodnight,

Talk about soul-enhancing fun.

 Remember mum, you know the lady from chapter two in this by any other name, diary? Country Kitchen Living mum. Well, crumbs . . . what a stunning new-look kitchen, come dining room, come space and place conducive to clean countryside living it has become. One may be forgiven for hearing the theme tune to the The Archers skipping along past one's ears. For those of you who are now scratching your heads, The Archers was originally described as 'an everyday story of country-folk' although more recently described as ' contemporary drama in a rural setting' here in blighty. Sorry, Merry England. As of May 29th 2013 it celebrated sixty three years on our and indeed the globes airwaves, making it the globes longest running radio soap opera, bringing a moments retreat from our otherwise busy city lives. (For those that are now saying: "Well we don't live in the city", I offer a passionate nod of respect). Mind you, know I have written this I also offer an equally passionate nod of respect to those that live shall we say, elsewhere.

 You know, am minded to state, in my humble yet passionate view, someone-somewhere, probably tucked underneath a pile of research papers, is purposefully constructing a  heart-felt opportunity for transportation away from 'the hum' of city life so as to bring if only for fifteen minutes five times each week, every week,dreams of countryside living. In amongst the rolling hills, babbling brooks and bails of hay, at the corner of a glen there is a little village, filled with people very much like those depicted in this radio soap opera, all just waiting, patiently, to welcome with warm hearts those city folk who seek to recline into a more peaceful place. Good old blighties countryside.

 Well, back to mum, from chapter two.

 Having embraced her new-look kitchen in all its deliciousness, my peaceful countryside dwelling parents were greeted Monday last, by the adorable, cuddly, playful and head-strong little lady, Thea. It may well be an appropriate moment to divulge Thea is a puppy, as in a dog that is a baby. To those reading this that are now saying; "well it's obvious what a puppy is", I offer an equally passionate nod of respect as I have already offered to those I said lived in city's, that don't. And to those I said lived elsewhere, that don't.

 Welcome to your new home Thea. Beautiful, loving and did I say head-strong? Little lady that you are, at least for now. Rumour has it the Thea's of this world do grow to be a somewhat noticeable size and stature.

"A proper dog" chirped-up my dad as he stood sawing wood for their open fire Saturday morning last.

I'll leave that comment where it is. Floating along the slip-stream of time, out in the wilderness of the rolling hills.

As she skips through her new home, her ears are merrily flopping about in a jovial sort-of fashion as her little legs pat softly along the new-look kitchen flooring. Beaming at us as if she hasn't seen us in years. I haven't the heart to remind her she is only eight weeks old and we have only known each other five days. Bless her.

Oh, yes, it may also be worth noting I skipped along myself this weekend last, to pay a visit to the countryside nest that is mum, dad and indeed Thea's home.

Despite all the trials and tribulations, adventures many wide-ranging and fun this city of London Uk has in abundance, indeed the globe in its entirety has on offer, one truly cannot beat the arrival  of a new puppy into the bosom of a loving home to rejuvenate and rekindle ones passion for life.

 Someone always pleased to see you, be with you and love you, someone always on your side even if we ourselves are aware we might, on this obviously very rare occasion, have got something slightly wrong.

In a loving nod of deeply heartfelt appreciation to Thea's all over the globe, I thank you, for being by our sides.

 Until we meet again through the page,I trust this finds you in good health and a happiness,

Warmly yours

RJ Wardle X

SKIPPING ABOUT LONDON

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, goodnight,

   My oh my, how the two worlds I  find myself straddling fuse together in as always, (at least in my globe) the most whimsical fashion. . . No pun intended!

    Having returned to Central London UK life a little over a month ago, it has been with a somewhat noticeably obvious nod to my beloved countryside self.

   Casually skipping along through 'The City' some weeks ago, in other-words the financial district of Central  London UK, sporting my Green country jacket, hiking boots and somewhat less than 'on-trend' jeans, it was with some mild-amusement I appeared to catch the gazes of 'the suits' (financial district workers). Almost saying through their fixed gazes;

   'who are you?'

   'What are you doing in our area dressed for a countryside expedition?'

   'Don't you know there is a dress code?'

   'We all dress the same here!'

   To which my response would as always have been a polite, if in this instance tinged with a mild sense of jovial humility;

    'Oh I do beg your pardon, I gave-up wearing the same suits every day some years ago.'

   Now now dear man I note to self.

You see, in the mind of a man such as me, rightly or wrongly, I seem naturally to air towards the 'adding a pinch of salt' to situations. (Easier said than done I know).

 Crumbs, heaven only knows why, upon reflection, this is just me.

 Skipping, or more accurately as Autumn throws its' cold-crisp air, occasional down-pours of rain and shorter day's at us here in the UK, trudging about town in my hiking boots, in awe at the size and diversity of London, a city which never fails to bring a warm smile, I absorbed the 'bright lights' of life here.

As the sights and sounds of London charged past, always dashing somewhere, never  I am sure, entirely sure precisely why, it just does, because that's what London is isn't it? . . Dashing about the place.

 Far be it for me to pertain to be any authority, on anything, other than myself I guess. That written, as my legs seem to take charge on my regular jaunts about this city, my eyes and mind I let drift, casually to absorb whichever and all adventures come there way.

 Note to legs:

   'Now the weather is turning, please don't insist on trawling me through EVERY puddle in your way. My feet get soaked!'

   City life here carries with it a delicious mixture of 'the suits', Silver & Gold painted mime-artists who appear to be sitting on absolutely nothing but thin air, for hours upon hours in Covent Garden as a chattering, excitable group of school children (nearly always accompanied by a slightly less than excitable looking teacher) skip past. A steady drove of Lycra vested cyclist will be fiercely 'charging' somewhere, although I fear even they know not why (nearly always accompanied by a delightfully traditional 1950's esq bicycle complete with wicker basket attached trundling merrily along ringing a bell behind them).

   All this and oh so much more, all in the same place.

   I now find myself by Big Ben. Having taken all of fourteen months to realise, the frequent jaunts I enjoy have made this beautiful city shrink. Looking at the London Underground Tube maps for seemingly endless hours over the years, this past fourteen months have thrown wide my eyes to the enhancing qualities of London living, all within about a half hour, forty minute skip about the place from one another.

  An engagingly friendly chap serving coffee at a globally known brand of coffee houses smiles as I wander in to quench my thirst and replenish my energy.

   'Medium Latte?'

He enquires, grinning knowingly.

   'Oh yes please . . . make it a large one'

   I add quickly.

   'You use the tube?'

   He enquires seeing the slightly bedraggled state of my hiking boots.

   'Not any-more.'

   I reply, whilst busying myself with the vanilla and cinnamon shakers.

   'Ciao.'

   Ciao.'

   Out in to the metropolis of city life I march. Soggy feet and all.

    To take the tube is for me, in the most part, something of a rare necessity. Call me a country-boy or call me a country-boy, but to truly embrace this city, legs must be exercised.

   As with the hurdles in life we face, to skip along letting our minds and eyes casually absorb whichever and all adventures come our way, it seems to me to lighten the load of trying times.

   City life, as in life, to the casual observer, is always brimming with 'a pinch of salt' moments.

   As countryside gardener Alan Titchmarsh recounts:

   'I like to think of it as something people can dip in and out of.'

   Until we meet again through the page, I trust this finds you in good health and a happiness,

Warmly yours

    R J Wardle

 

COUNTRY KITCHEN LIVING

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, goodnight,

 Since last I wrote to you, mum's country-kitchen has become bare of all amenities. No cooker, sink, cupboards, even the wallpaper (of which we found no-less than four layers) are all in a skip, residing on my recently retired parents front drive. Much to the amusement of there kind neighbours who have all literally baked her a cake to ease her pain. (I write in honest joviality).

For my parents neighbours, who are all jolly good eggs', egg ess', also insisted mum use a washing machine  (not personally dive in to it I hasten to write), donated a slow-cooker for use to cook 'proper' food, over the two to three weeks of cooker-less, washing machine less conviviality.

For eleven and a half years my devoted and selfless mother has waited, dreaming in the wings for her time to shine. By this I mean to have her new kitchen. Peeling back the wallpaper mentioned, was for mum and I, peeling back the history of her home. Different styles, tastes, different people living within the walls of the kitchen . . I wonder what adventures this wallpaper has borne witness too?

In waiting for her new kitchen, having now retired, the kitchen plans have widened to become an intricately plotted pathway to re-shuffling pretty much her whole downstairs.

The kitchen is to become an open-plan kitchen/dining room, separated by a breakfast bar. Her downstairs bedroom will become a proud new home to a en-suite shower room, oh and the utility room shall become the loving home of a traditional Belfast sink.

  You see, in my humble yet ardent view, mum has planned this to such a uniquely personal level of satisfaction. Taking huge delight in the entire process, although in truth we have had the odd moment . . .I think specifically of the time last Monday when  dad's old boss called by with his wife for a 'spot-of-lunch'.
An ex-boss I respectfully note,who is a man every bit of eighty years old, still skipping off to sail around the Scottish UK's shores, bobbing about in a boat, getting 'stuck-in' to splicing the main braise on his knees pulling and steering the sails.

Did I mention the fact mum's kitchen is bare of all amenities?

 Her living room is tripling up as living room, kitchen and dining room for the foreseeable.

As is typical of a women such as mum, caring, strong-minded, passionate and self-less, the travelling duo from Harrogate UK (dad's old boss and lovely wife Rose) were greeted with warmth and generosity.

 Oh and the moment mum and I spent three hours on one small section of wallpaper and plaster only to be informed the builder was knocking that part of the wall down too.

Metaphors a plenty here. You see if I think of the up-upheaval caused to mum's domestic life, one could mirror this to the emotional upheaval  suffered as a result of relationship turmoil.

Mum's bare of all amenities kitchen is a beautiful slice of visual imagery reflecting with some small accuracy I hope, how one's heart and soul feel post relationship breakdown.

Dad's ex-boss and wife Rose turning up for a 'spot of lunch', is a cherry on the already soggy cake.

 All this written, my point here really is this:

 From out of turmoil, whether this be relationship, work, life or my poor mum's kitchen,( I write light heartedly), strength and self seems to return by taking ownership of a situation, admitting to yourself how you are feeling and being OK with this. 'I am feeling natural.'

 Now far be it for me to profess to be any sort of councillor, therapist or indeed any authority on your emotions in any way whatsoever . . .

  That written, having watched mum's emotions constantly change over the many months in planning her new kitchen//downstairs bedrooms has taken. To now the physical process of stripping back the room to it's shell, then be re-fitted to mum's tastes and design. My what a beautifully meaningful example that you can breath again, once more smile and rejoice in the beauty of you.  Resume a strength of self,mind and soul, take delight in what brings you that warm tickley feeling in your tummy and a little shiver of pleasure in your veins. . .

 Or in mum's case, a new kitchen! . . . At last!

I do hope this has served in at least some small way, to bring a smile.

Back to city living for me now, who know's what adventures lay in waiting under the watchful eye of the 'Big Ben'.

Until we meet again through the page, I trust this finds you in good health and a happiness.

  Warmly yours,

 R J Wardle

CLICK YOUR HEELS TOGETHER THREE TIMES

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, goodnight,

 As you read this from whichever far-flung shore of our globe you reside, may I warmly welcome you, taking a brief moment in this first entry to introduce myself.

 A fast approaching thirty-something countryman by birth busily bouncing around in London UK. Most of the worlds adventures good, bad or excruciating, can to me at least be put-to-rights via expeditions back to a lush, leafy, natural ol' blighty. . .  English countryside.

 For you, I am sure have your own unique place to call home.

 It is my primary intention with this and all forthcoming entries to engage your minds, warm your souls (he writes hopefully), offering you a moments interlude in an ever-increasingly hectic lifestyle for many of us citizens of the world.

 Escape to the Country, a popular weekly hour of escapist televisual delight, forever manicuring an idyllic countryside setting for by-enlarge three types of clientèle: retired, young couples and young families, to 'escape' to. Itself sets a beautiful precedent and lifestyle option to a much larger audience, an achievable retreat for the many not the few.To escape a daily hum-drum of the 'rat-race' commonly known as working-life in our 21st Century globe. 

 Writing as I have already mentioned, as a countryman living busily in London UK, I appear to have straddled the two worlds. Now you may think and perhaps rightly so, that my comfort in the countryside is biased by a childhood and youth running wildly through hay strewn fields. For this you may well be correct.

That written surely the buzz of city life which is even to me intoxicating, pleasurable, fulfilling, enhancing and just down right FUN, casts an almost factory conveyor-belt approach to the world, to life? 

I have to write dear friends in my ardent yet humble view, we do appear to have lost sight of the whimsicality of life. Of  inner-sensual pleasures one derives simply from swimming in a lake in the middle of rolling fields and wooded hills out in the wilderness keenly watched over by horses, sheep and an occasional squirrel .

 'The wilderness' a term many a globe-trotting adventurer spouts, see David Attenborough perched on a Ice-Cavern in outer Iceland observing penguins, polar bears and endless pools of water. Conjures also a much deeper meaning. Whilst racing through life, crammed in to one of London's rush-hour tombs, sorry underground tube trains, in other words, out in the wilderness of ourselves amongst a sea of faces, it often escapes ones mind there are indeed alternatives, options.

 I guess this brings me to my wider point (it has and is often recounted jovially to me 'Ooh you do witter on dear man') which is this:

 What with life in our post naughties age hurtling along towards what a hundred years since was termed 'The Roaring Twenties' (and shall be again I suggest) forever coping with all our personal hurdles, juggling on a tightrope our commitments, emotions, family-ties, adventures and oh yes, the rat-race. It is in my humble yet jovial view, a rare almost lost luxury to recline in the beauty and splendour of ourselves, our dreams, our passions. 

 For me if you hadn't guessed,  a moments brief escapism, rejuvenation, me-time, is found roaming in the countryside, in words, in art, in the deliciously soul-enhancing inner-strength giving joy of dreaming, striving calmly I hasten add, towards that dream. 

For you I am sure this will be uniquely tailored to your own personal inner joy's.

So I passionately write here,  in order to regain ourselves from whatever toils we face, it is always, even from a very deep Ice Cavern as David Attenborough delights in telling us, where new life can begin, intrinsically valuable to dream our dreams. Take comfort from whichever pleasures our minds, bodies and souls desire, never for a moment allowing ourselves to return to that rush-hour underground tube train.

I leave you for now, in hope this initial commentary has served at least in some small way to give some pleasure. To amuse, enlighten, engage, provoke thoughts of hopefulness, courage and optimism. 

 Or maybe you simply think, what a witterer . . . 

"It is that range of biodiversity that we must care for -

the whole thing -

rather than just one or two stars" 

Attenborough, D.

Until we meet again through the page, I trust this finds you in good health and a happiness

  Warmly yours,

 R J Wardle