We are supposed to be looking at houses, somewhere smaller and more manageable, before we get too old to cope with this one.

Somewhere practical, with less rooms and garden and 2 minutes walk from the shops and civilisation, perhaps a bungalow with no stairs to hoover and maybe a heating system and insulation that keeps the whole house toast warm in the winter and keeps out the draughts.

A place with everything a standard size, rather like lego!  So that anything that has to be repaired or replace can be done straightforwardly and slots neatly in.

But then, like this morning, I stand at the kitchen window and watch the birds in my rather wild, not unkempt but not neat and tidy garden,  They fight and play and bathe in the bird bath and shout alarums at the scavenging Magpies and next door’s cat.  The little flock of Great Tits come down en-mass and bathe and play and zoom around, and the fat Wood Pigeons that plod around in their stately way and to be truthful, I don’t want to move into practicality with a pocket-sized garden and neat little rooms.

Ask me again in the middle of winter when the wind is howling but not when the kitchen table is full of children and grandchildren and the smell of good food.

Ask me again when I am trying to find something and the have to tip the whole house upside down to searching but not in the summer when the doors and windows are open and there is a good book and a comfy chair on the veranda and the cricket on the radio.

And what would we do with the old garden swing, inherited from another generation of children and my mother’s Welsh dresser covered in mismatched pots, which delight me but we never use!  Would there be room for any of these?

We will keep looking, I am a great believer in fate, what is meant will be!

 

 

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