Inheritance, Crochet, Knitting and Bulbs

Hello,
This is one of these rambling blog posts about little of any real importance to those of you in the non-Clairwil community but may it comfort you to know rambling pleases me.

Obviously a proper writer would find some way to link their personal situation to Gordon Brown or some other drain on the nations joy. It's bloody typical of me to become quite upbeat when everyone else is walking around with their faces tripping them because blighty has gone to the dogs.

I suspect it's the thrill of the new that's put a spring in my step. Recently I met a Lady as in a member of the aristocracy. I thought she was top form and not at all snooty -though very, very posh indeed. Obviously I felt like a bit of a midden in comparison and experienced several cold sweats about doing something non-u with an imaginary serviette. Still when all is said and done I do not believe my conduct besmirched the reputation of the lower middle classes. No doubt a huge parade of casual racism and curtain twitching will be held in my honour when the sixties semi set get wind of it.

I'm actually feeling rather aristocratic myself following mother's announcement that my granny's books are to be disposed of . Mind you, unlike the real aristocrats I don't even have the option of involving the Scottish National Trust

My inheritance snatched from me by an unfeeling feng-shui practitioner. Instead of expressing my true feelings on the subject I have opted for damage limitation. To date I think I have saved the poetry, The Book of Snobs , Three Men In a Boat and a P.G Wodehouse that I believe is in the collection but no one else does. I have also petitioned for the sale of the rest since their presence is such an affront. I cannot bear to see those damp smelling, dusty hardbacks binned.

They aren't just objects or clutter they are the library of a clever, curious woman forced to leave school at thirteen because of a lack of money, who rather than just whine about the injustice chose to combine rage with lifelong self -education. I think there is a lot to admire in that, however difficult and bitter she was on a personal level. Who can blame her? Virtually all her siblings won scholarships and went on to better things while she became a servant. You'd think Mummy would be delighted with such a legacy but no. On she trundles in her quest to leave nothing but a crap pebble-dashed semi.

Recently I've taken up yon knitting which I'm finding restful and tricky in equal measure. I cannot move for tripping over knitting needles holding the beginnings of bears, snoods, cats, balls and caterpillars. Sadly despite my best efforts crochet eludes me. For now.

My gardening, fund raising and bulb planting mission continues and whilst I think we shall fall short of the big target having been very badly let down here and there, both I and my partner in gardening crime have exceeded our targets and between us brought in a cool 7000 bulbs. All donations are gratefully received but we were particularly impressed by the good folk of the North Kelvin Meadow pitching in with £50 and priceless free labour with yesterdays planting. This donation was particularly touching because the city council are in the process of removing them from the land to sell the land to folk who will build a block of flats that are neither wanted or desirable in that area. Depressing stuff.

Strangely the council think my troop of guerrillas are just the ticket and have offered us all sorts of much needed help. Better still we're more or less a constituted group which means we can apply for funding. My aim has always been for the group to become a full time occupation -let's face it there's plenty neglected land that needs our attention. However I'd like us to at least generate most of our own income and just top up with grants and the like. Between us all we've a million plans and hopefully we're at a point where they might just be possible. All in all I'm happy.


Cheerio