Mary Medlicott, Storyteller and Author - Storyworks

Not quite the Tour de France

It just occurs to me that I haven’t even considered what to do about my blog if, one day, I feel not well enough to write it.  Or I could find on the Saturday morning that I’d completely lost interest and had nothing at all to write about. Ah well! So far I’ve survived that awful fate. Nothing to write about is a nightmare for any kind of writer. So far I’m quite good at turning up some kind of little theme and deciding it will do quite nicely?

For instance, Paul has just come into the bedroom in Mathri where I’m sitting in bed in lordly or ladylikely style and, looking out of the window, he’s observed that Henry, that’s the cat who lives opposite, is curling himself around Barrie’s legs, Barrie our good neighbour, being the owner of Henry to the extent that anyone who has a cat can consider himself or herself to be the owner of it. Staff is probably the better description.

In days of yore we used to feel rather proud that our cat Minky would manage the journey from and to London with great aplomb. This no longer happens due to the fact that we no longer have dear Minky. Not having a cat to travel certainly makes the travelling easier for us and  it removes the worry that, here in Mathri where our house is right on the road, the cat may put itself in jeopardy without realising it. Henry across the road has been hurt twice.

Today has been rather special for Mathri with a cycle race due to come through the village on a circuit from and to St David’s. I have no idea how many cyclists there will be or whether Mathri people will feel excited enough to get involved by standing outside their houses and cheering them on. We’ll see.

Aha! My very long-term school friend Liz Young has just called in to say she saw her friend who dropped a place by pausing to chat to her at the appointed place at the top of the village and who said there were just three ‘serious’ cyclists but plenty of not-so-serious. So not quite the Tour de France.

PS: Top picture is the Strolling Fogeys (remember them?) returning to our house beyond the arch. Lower picture, our house from a different direction.

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