A humorous look at bodily ills and daily woes, and tips from someone who has suffered everything from arthritis to athlete's foot.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Way back many decades ago when I was at Primary School, we learned a poem about the months and seasons of the year, one line of which was, if my memory serves me correctly:
March brings breezes loud and shrill - stirs the dancing daffodil.
I haven't seen any dancing daffodils yet, except for 99p a bunch in Marks and Spencer. (A bargain: my bunch lasted for over a week.) But today I noticed a bunch of scruffy purple crocuses in Mr G's front garden, right by where the rubbish and recycling bags get dumped once a week, and where all the crisp and chocolate wrappers dropped by passing schoolkids get blown. With four schools nearby, that's a lot of wrappers!
Sorry it's not a better photograph. Just as I was about to do my David Bailey impression in slippers and loads of woollies, a couple and a dog walked past and I was so embarrassed that I clicked the shutter once and scuttled back inside.