The Beginning

Well, this is a first. Normally you would never find me seated on a chair before noon tide lunchings, but today l have received a new gift from the young man at the bottom of the track, he mentioned something about the machine now in front of me, that it would be ideal for writing my memoirs, and to be more than truthful l have done no typing since the doodle bug shattered my nerves back in the war, but he is a nice lad, always giving me a little something that had fallen off one of his friend's lorries.

It is wet today so what better excuse than to stretch my fingers, crack my joints and try to remember just something. I find as the evenings draw in, as l sit before my peat fire, that l hear the little pattering of tiny feet as my house mice move back into their warm and snug winter quarters after spending the summer months out in the fields and woodland that backs up to my little cottage. The district nurse tries very hard to persuade me that these dear little beasties are pests, but to me they are my friends, hearing them rustle behind the wainscot reminds me that l am still alive!

Well, l think that is more than enough of words for my first attempt, this afternoon l am out to tea with a neighbour the other side of the copse. We will be sampling the first batch of hedgerow wine made last year.