I’ve been busy (noooooo!), as my niece came to stay with us for four days. The dogs did so enjoy taking her for walks. In fact, Ygraine was so eager to show her the ponds beside the boardwalk along West Kirby beach that the poor girl narrowly missed being dragged face-first into the water. Having strolled the length of Meols Drive, my niece decided that being a multi-millionaire offers certain advantages when it comes to house-buying. We have chosen the ones we want, once we’ve made our fortunes. Forward planning is always advisable, don’t you think?!! And we discovered that Wirral has totem poles. Well, one, anyway. This was within the enclosed Walled Garden at Royden Hall. (If you wish to read about that, scoot over to my spot on the Wirral Globe.) There were numerous other sculptures too, and if you wish to see more photos just click on one of the images here and view the Wirral photo set on my Flickr site which you’ll be automatically taken to. Oh, and we watched a few fil

“Let’s go for a day out,” said hubby, gazing expectantly at Monday’s clear blue sky. Off we went, evidently having missed one Chester bus but we happily waited for the next, scheduled for half-an-hour later. By the time we accepted that this bus was never going to materialise, we resigned ourselves to waiting for the next one. Finally, we settled down to the enjoyable journey through the western towns and villages of the Wirral peninsula until, when just beyond Neston, the driver yelled, “No brakes!” I thought his driving had been getting a little hairy. Fortunately, he stopped the vehicle safely then radioed for help. Another bus would come for us all, he said. So we waited. And we waited. One little old lady loudly grumbled about her missed appointment. No doubt this was inconvenient to her, but rather less so than crashing upside-down into a ditch, surely! Not to be consoled, she declared she was going to write to the council about it. Perhaps they might consider passing a byl

I’m still recovering from the biggest chocolate and vanilla ice-cream sundae, with chopped nuts and brandy snaps and runny chocolate drizzles that I’ve ever encountered! Slimming it wasn’t, but scrumptious it most definitely was. Neither I nor Mum could finish the entire dessert. Poor Richard could only look on, over the expanse of plain apple pie which he’d chosen. This was yesterday, in the Waterside Inn in Leigh , which stands beside the Manchester Ship Canal, the historical waterway which joins Manchester to Liverpool and the Irish Sea. Back in the Victorian era of wealthy cotton mills and coal mines, this canal provided a vital route for import and export. Now it’s used mainly for tourism. The mills stand empty, unless they’ve already been converted into luxury apartments. The coal mines were closed during the Thatcher years. And Leigh, like many mining towns, never really recovered from the loss of traditional industries. Many shops are empty or derelict – yet the entrance to

This advert (reproduced word-for-word here) might appeal:- "Stay at our hotel for a 7 day holiday you will receive: GLASS OF WINE WITH EVENING MEAL EACH DAY, FREE PACKED LUNCH, WHICH INCLUDES CRISPS, BISCUITS, DRINK, PIECE OF FRUIT AND A SAUSAGE ROLL (sandwich option extra cost of £1.80) 1 NEWSPAPER (PER ROOM). HAPPY HOUR TWICE A WEEK 9-10pm ALL HALF PRICE. Our famous 5 Course Hot Buffet, Good food with En-suite, Colour TV, Telephone Dancing, and Entertainment each night.” I wonder how telephone dancing works? Is it a bit like telephone sex, in that you don’t actually do anything but talk about it? Picture the scene, with some weary holiday-maker perched on the edge of their hotel bed, furtively whispering into the handset: “I’m waving my arms now. Ooow, and just look at those tapping toes, and that dodgy wiggly-shuffle thingy that I always do….” Who checks to make sure guests only have “1 NEWSPAPER PER ROOM”? What happens if you sneak in another, or – oow, the thrill – seve

90 mph gales and flurries of hail-stones encouraged me to curl up with the book I’m reading now, which is about a gang of feral cats who live in a forest shared with three other gangs. Ok, they’re children’s books and I’m old enough to be reading them to kids of my own (not that I have any, if you discount the furry four-footed sort). But who cares? They’re fun! The author, Erin Hunter , is the pen name of two writers who have a website at: http://www.warriorcats.com/ which is a cuuuuuuuute website!!!! For reasons known only to herself, Emily has lifted all of her toys from the toy box and carried them to the patio doors in the other room. At the moment, she’s busily trying to make a nest of toys and curtain. So what’s new, hmm? Our lawns had their first mow of the year – which only highlighted the poor state of the front lawns. On either side of the path, there are two half-moons of lawn. These have become clogged with moss which has killed off most of the grass. I suspect it mig

Emily has just eaten another garden gnome. I kid you not. His head has been completely torn off, and so have his feet. She was energetically chomping his watering can when I caught her. Not for nothing is she also known as Beelzepup. Snow White now has only five companions. Anyone wishing to apply for either of these posts should do so in writing. An ability to look ornamental in a knee-length beard and funny hat is desirable. Life insurance not included. A spot of news: I now have a small column on the Wirral Globe ’s on-line newspaper, which I aim to update each Wednesday. This local free newspaper is delivered throughout the Wirral peninsula. Take a peek at:- http://www.wirralglobe.co.uk/ and then click on ‘Eblogs’ then on ‘Your Blogs’.

Our two dogs took us for an enjoyable woodland walk around Frankby at the weekend. (Yes, I know it’s now nearly next weekend but I’ve been busy, ok?!!) There were carpets of snowdrops under the trees. A friendly pony came to say hello when we trudged along the muddy path beside his field. Emily was terrified of the bewildered creature, and hid behind Richard’s feet. Emily is still learning to walk on the lead properly. She’s got the general idea but is distracted by scents very easily, and noisy traffic unnerves her. She has a habit of stopping dead, which consequently means that whoever’s walking her has to be ready to do likewise or else nearly fall over her. We called in to The Farmer’s Arms , but escaped to the garden rather than struggle to talk over the exuberant crowd of football enthusiasts who were happily yelping and yowling at the big TV screen. (Fear not, I’ll resist the temptation to launch into one of my diatribes about boring sport!) I’ve now finished the first dra