It's a trifle damp here . . .

Well, I know it rains a lot in Wales, but deary me, we have had more than our fair share these past few days. My fields are just absolutely ruined. One of my gardening books says never to even tread on your lawn in January, for fear of spoiling it. Imagine the damage two ponies do to a field . . .

The road beside our river was already partly underwater, with more spurting up from the drains, when I had to go out first thing. I had to turn around and take an alternative route, but even that had its problems as there were torrents of water pouring down from the fields (which in many parts are a good bit above the road) and there was standing water in the dips in the lanes. Anyway, I had just got home, having had the local radio on and learned that the main road between here and school was blocked, and my son was dropped home by a neighbour, who had heard the same and was bringing her boys back.

I took some photos later, on the way to the PO, but have yet to load them – then comes trying to add them to this blog . . .

My dad used to say I had a “butterfly mind” as I would flit from one interest to another. He wasn’t quite right, as I have always stayed faithful to the same interests, and a few more besides, but sometimes I am in the mood for one thing, sometimes another. Today I treated myself to a wonderful Needlework magazine called “Inspirations”. It’s Australian, quarterly, and quite an indulgence (but I’m worth it!) Now my fingers are twitching to sew several of the projects pictured, and I am especially taken with the concept of sewn ATC’s (artist’s trading cards). A friend on another blog does the artistic variety, with incredible skill and imagination. Now I am taken with the idea of perhaps an embroidered card, though I fear once sewn, it would be difficult to part with.

As for the Cornish dialect:

“Knackt oal athurt, I petched to ren –

He coosed me down tha road –

I heerd un tarving arter me:

Aw! How he pank’d an’ blaw’d!”

I “think” one could loosely translate as:

“Knocked all athwart, I pitched to run –

He coursed me down the road –

I heard him struggling after me:

Aw! How he panted and blowed.”

“Pitched” as in started ? or as in “pitched battle”? Don’t know . . .

Here’s a link for Cornish dialect (fascinating site): http://homepages.rootsweb.com/~marcie/kernow/dialect.html#P

Petched IS pitched . . .