Servings of the year(s)

editors note - this should have been posted earlier, being that something WAS that talks about something that is here, but... but there has been a problem with the archives, a big problem, which we will hopefully hear about soon.

I’d love it if I could make my blog worthwhile, a place people returned to over and over again because they cherished it as a haven of wit, wisdom and much more besides.

Yet when I skim back through the posts I have served up these last four or five years I see that rarely, if ever, have dipped further into the meal than the starter.

But I want it to be perfect!

As the song goes – it’s got to be ….perfect, it’s got to be…worth it.

But then along comes the newspaper and they print this - Should I stop being a perfectionist?

And goes on to say..

Striving to be the best you can is often positive, but studies show that this personality trait can cause stress and depression if taken too far

Now you can call me stupid but surely, Shirley, being a perfectionist IS about going, not only too far but as far as far can be?

Still, I thought I should read on because depression and me has a history.

Rather than being a cause of celebration and high achievement, this trait can put you at risk of emotional pain and cause you to procrastinate. While striving to be the best you can be sounds laudable, research increasingly suggests that this pattern of behaviour is frequently linked to depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorders, eating disorders and chronic fatigue syndrome.    ( Hey, you can read the rest yourself.)

I bought some stuff in the supermarket on Friday – Crème Brulée – a pot of four. Lent was coming to an end and I wanted to celebrate with something sweet. I bought a triple pack of Lindt chocolate, one bar of milk chocolate with coconut and a Lindt Easter Bunny too. Oh, and a bag of miniature Lindt eggs.

And I’ve been told to stop buying things on e-bay.

So that’s the last two covered, what about chronic fatigue syndrome?

Well, I do feel a bit sleepy.

Then again it is raining and cold, and my lawnmower is broken, my strimmer too and the long grass outside this window is getting longer and longer, dandelions are seeding, cow parsley is taking over and the trees are closing in around me.

On a brighter note there is a bird living in Arthur’s Egg- stone.

Do you know King Arthur’s Egg-stone?

Some call it Eggscalibur.

It sits on the step outside of this window and has been responsible for anointing the future King and Queen, a home for wasps and now a family of Blue Tits.

How can you be depressed if a family live in King Arthur’s Egg- stone?