Monthly Archives: April 2015


No opportunity for eavesdropping today as we moved onto the shops in the next village along. Deep devastation ensued when we realised that the posh charity shop was closed for a refurb. The rest had little to offer and no interesting conversations to ear flap over.

On the way back we listened to BBC Radio Devon and a rather gentle feature on pratfall words: words that are easier to read than say. Bizarrely, the Radio Devon list included ‘edited’ and ‘brewery’. Fascinatingly, the presenter confessed to persistently tranposing the m and n in emnity and, if they were still awake, listeners were then invited to ring in and share theirs, whereupon an old gentleman rang in to state publically that he had always had a problem with Huntingdonshire.

As the CD player isn’t working in the car (bound to happen the second you pay £450 for a service) and the roads are too winding to be fiddling around with other stations we were stuck with the show, so the kids amused themselves by saying ‘specifically’ and ‘particularly’ and ‘Penelope’ and some such and when the journey (ordeal) was over I remembered I had used to struggle with saying this flower’s name myself.

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The flower was in the posy on my mother’s dining table last night. I was pretty poor value for money conversationally, and to look at, suffering from some terrible exhaustion but I managed to pull my face out of the soup to snap this bloom grown from some bulbs I succeeded in sending to her a few Christmases ago. (I know.)

In the meantime, the CD player still doesn’t work. Grrr.

Devon for you

I always get sucked into listening to conversations in shops down here. Things move so much more slowly in villages (queues especially) that overhearing is unavoidable unless one has earplugs or headphones in.

Today’s snippets include:

How are you?


How’s your leg?
Well, it’s not dropped off yet…

There was also a woman chatting in animated fashion to her delightful dogs, a working collie and a rough-coated lurcher puppy which is something I do often with Rudi, but doesn’t seem to go down nearly so well in an urban setting.

Anyway, in the absence of my own dog to talk to, I’ll be eavesdropping in a village near you soon.


Waiting, Mann Island, Liverpool Docks

A sculpture by Judy Boyt to commemorate the working horses that contributed their sweat to make the port of Liverpool great.

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Dazzle Ship in Black & White

In Toni Morrison’s book Home the protagonist, Frank, is described as a tilted man.

One of the indications of this for the reader are the moments in which the colour suddenly bleaches from Frank’s world.

Like this.

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Dazzle Ship, south of Pier Head, Liverpool