Sunday 2 July 2017

A Postcard from My Sister.

the market/LAST sunday

Ah, it’s funny that you should ask.

About time?

The blog is poorer for it.

I have to hand it to you - your question is very timely.

I like to face my responsibilities.

Ok, ooh, just a minute……, no, sorry … I can’t think of any more clock terms to slip into this opening salvo.

We can tick that off then and get back to the question – how is it?

Well, since you ask, the last two days it has stopped at exactly the same time – it was 7.15 in the morning when I looked at it, both days, and each time it told me it was 5 minutes past midnight.


So I took it to the guy in the corner of the entrance to the supermarket, the one who cuts keys.

I know the guy; he’s got a corner next to the dry cleaning lady.

I asked him to change the battery.

What did he say?

Ten minutes.

Sense of humour then?

He also asked if I wanted to keep the waterproof feature?

Your watch has a feature?


Did you?

I declined, I usually take it off when I get in the bath.

One never needs to know the time in a bath. Only the temperature.

There you go – an innocent blog post about a watch and not only have we come up with a bit of humour but some philosophy for life enhancement!

You couldn’t ask for more, though any readers may well do – this might not be the fare they are expecting. Incidentally, did you hear about the president, French, and the clock in his new ‘official’ photo.

No I didn’t. Enlighten me kind sir.

That’s it? I’ve a clock on MY desk.

You have EVERYTHING on your desk EXCEPT a clock.

That’s not true, I cleared up the other day – I mean, the bit about everything, there is no clock you’re right.

You cleared up your desk and didn’t write about it? This is a first. Tell me more about the President’s clock.

Apparently it’s significant.

How can a clock be significant? Is your watch significant?

It has a new battery! That’s significant.

Hardly a significant detail, as we have been promised this year.

I’m struggling, I was hoping this piece would go somewhere , but even with the links you can click on it is dissolving into a gooey mess.

Tell me a story then.


A very wet bird has just landed on my windowsill – it has that drowned rat look that the cat sometimes has when the cat comes in from the forest after a night of rain.
The bird is a blue tit, small in statue and it looks like it’s shivering; it is clearly sheltering from the wind and rain.
Taking time.
I don’t think it can see me, even though I am no more than the length of my body away; I am in bed. It’s Saturday morning and I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now than in this bed watching the bird; I have a very vague plan to get up and stretch and then go for a run but the idea of going down to the kitchen and coming back with breakfast is stronger. I can’t run once I’ve eaten.
There IS a cat asleep on the bed next to my knee; I can feel the warmth oh his body against my leg. The cat/bird proximity is potentially explosive but for the moment neither is aware of the other.
It is possible that neither can hear the sound of the keyboard as I write as the sound merges almost perfectly with that of the rain on the leaves of the oak tree, standing not far from the bedroom window.
As I listen I can hear also the noise from the wheels of the post-lady’s car as she drives towards the house down the dirt track connecting us to the road; she stops, her door opens, there are surely footsteps - though I can’t hear them- then a pause, and the car door shuts.
Then she drives away.
There is mail in the box.
I’m tempted to go look, but… I don’t think I finally placed the order for the obscure recording outtakes I discovered whilst trawling the amazon site, there will be no love letters and although July suggests the possibility of a holiday postcard it is more likely to be an unexpected automatic speeding or parking fine.
I can anticipate the fresh touch of the rain on my neck if I go to look, but it needs to be something brighter than a summons to move me from the folds of these blankets and duvet.
Like the bird on my windowsill, I prefer to stay put.

A cat would have gone.

I did!


I was wrong, and/or prescient; there WAS a postcard!

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