Last week we had record high temperatures in England. Here in Birdwell and around we enjoyed 28/30 degrees, and our little garden came into it's own. We sat in the shade of our tree (unknown variety), sipped cool beer, and watched the world go by. At one side of us, neighbours were busy getting ready to go to Skegness for their annual holiday. At the other side, our neighbour was rushing here and there with his two young girls, as mum had just given birth to their son. It was all happening around us, while we lazed through the hot sunny days.
We did manage a trip to Barnsley, to do a bit of shopping, and had a lovely day. While we were out and about we called into the Oak Star Cafe at the Civic Theatre. It was brilliant! Even though it was 3 p.m. we were able to choose from the lunch menu. David had Thai curry, and I had Cod and mashed potatoes. It was inexpensive, and very good. We will definitely be back.
On our second trip into Barnsley, to the market, I bought a new dress for our production, next week. Yes, it is getting very close now, rehearsals have hotted up a pace.
I'm really looking forward to a good laugh, on the night. Especially as I'm celebrating my birthday at the weekend, too.
On the day that Princess Charlotte has been Christened, and the Chancellor has been working on his budget benefit cuts, the Greek people have been voting in their referendum to either accept the stringent austerity measures that have been imposed on them by the European union, or to say NO, and try to renegotiate a new deal. It is all very tense as to what is going to happen next. All I can say is that I am glad I don't have any euros, as the euro may not be worth much in Greece after today. As I write the likelihood of a NO vote is forecast.
So, July romps on in quite a dramatic way. (Excuse the pun)
I'm going back to learning my lines now. It would be fantastic if you could get along to share in our Summer Frolic. Just turn up at the door.
Bye for now,
Love and hugs, Jane x
This is a poem I wrote about the suffering of the Greek people.
Yianni, out of work, hunched in a doorway,
sucks the last smoke from his precious roll-up,
feels the thin cloth of his empty pockets,
and stamps his dead-man’s shoes on the pavement.
He doesn’t want to queue for potatoes
in the open streets of Athens, or take
his wife a bundle of clothes from the church.
He doesn’t want to sit at a table
like a monk from Athos waiting for bells.
So he goes to his mother, who welcomes
him, open arms, to her bare house, and shares
a pot of boiled greens she picked on the hill.
He returns home blasting the sweet Virgin.
His wife shouts back, not because there is no
meat on her plate (or hope of any), but
because the sound of their voices creates
paradise in a vacuum of silence.
They want their voices to be heard: they want
to rattle the glass of a thousand panes.