A Walk in the park...

Hello my dears, so nice of you to pop in to my blog.

I' was just writing up my diary, how it casts my mind, back, back....

About yesterday afternoon, I'd just been rather busy in my study that morning, writing the latest instalment of a serial for the Cutting Herald, our local paper. but immersing myself in my little world can be very draining and I'd just emerged to restock my energy reserves with some of Moony's special blend coffee. I have tried other brands but nothing else makes one feel quite so.... Or see so many thinks. Anyway as I was shutting my study door I heard laughter coming from our sitting room, rather as if Moony was entertaining a lively German guest. Funny I thought to myself, I haven't even poured the coffee yet let alone drunk it, so that must be quite real!!! Ohh dear i hoped she hadn't got one of her gentleman friends in i always feel like a third wheel and I ask you where is one to get one at this time of day?

I hastened down the hall, delighted as I flung open the door to see that the garden was still there, then I flung open the sitting room door. There was Moony and Wupert of the Whine, our dear neighbour, he told me he had popped in for a cup of sugar and they'd gotten talking. About my serial as it happens, I can't think why I thought I heard laughter then after all my serial is a heartrending story of love and disaster. I must say Wupert has changed he seemed to have got a crew cut and i hoped he wasn't going to implicate Bunny's fleas, there were far to few last time we did a head count and I do dread a repeat of the boating trip flea disaster. He said nothing so I said nothing. I should have thought he'd have got them from his own dog, rather unimaginatively called Boy. It was lying on the sofa beside him and to look at it I would have said it was dead! Well it moved about as much, and it looked as if the moths had got to it. Again I said nothing, maybe it was ill or he had yet to accept it and move on. But whilst he was in the loo and moony was making tea later I decided to test my theory by taking it for a walk. I sprayed Bunny's collar with flea spray and clipped it on, donned my coat and out we swept. I can't say I felt confident, by the time we got to the high street there was still no sign of life - or err, whatever it is we have, I'm really not sure- most dogs are all over the place, sniffing and worrying things -I blame the recession- but Boy wasn't doing anything. On to the park where I let him of the leash, to my horror he just lay there.... Ohh dear! I sat on the bench, read the headlines from the local paper, read the sports pages even though I didn't know what it was all about, too much about inside leg spins for my taste- its not a tabloid- and the letters page, one kind person said they had never read anything like my serial, and they hoped it would be over soon. How sweet, they must be dying to know whats happening! After a while embarrassed I re attached the lead and began to walk back.

When I got in they both seemed to be looking for something, the dog I guessed.

'I'm so sorry to tell you Wopert, Boy's.... Well I think he's on the other side now....'

'Ja I know, the other side of the fence, I left him at home'

I sadly raised what was on the end of the leash.

'I don't think so, he's....'

I was baffled when Wopert started to laugh, ohh the grief must be terrible.

'That's not Boy!'

'I know.' I said. 'It feels like that when the life goes out of them....'

'No that isn't it Mrs Nito.... That's my periwig!!!'

With that he took it and put it on his head, suddenly there were his usual dark curls, a little bedraggled after their walk. Ohhh!!! I felt rather silly then.... Still um alls well that ends well... But you know I would never have guessed he wore a wig!!!

Dear friends and readers .

I know I have neglected my site of late . What can I say ? Your hearts must be broken. I have worked too long on my latest novel and peculiar story .It is based on my late husband Woger's last fateful day . I must say no more but you will be stunned by the end . I was stunned by an end yesterday . It was the end of a large somewhat charred log. It would appear that my "dear" fiend Mooney has been pulling the wood over my eyes . I have sat many an evening by the side of the old drunk having some very wooden conversations . I know how drunk she gets so her lack of answers was not really a surprise . Saturday evening I sat late listening to the wireless ( no bloody wonder it hasn't worked so long ). I knitted a lovely cardigan for my friend Henrietta ( I shall have to explain Lord Cardigan to her). It got to midnight and I was tired so suggested we go to beddy-byes . As usual she was silent so I tucked her blanket around her and stoked up the fire . I was just falling asleep dreaming of a delicious plate of sprouts when I heard a scuffle downstairs and hushed voices . Maybe Mooney was talking to herself ( she's mad enough) . I realised there were several voices so I grabbed my old brass door stop of The World's largest sprout and tip-toed downstairs . What I saw shocked me to the very core .Charlie and his nefarious nephew Wopert were holding a large charred log and giggling .This is not that unusual for them but there standing in her finest gold muslin was Mooney leaning on Ollie's arm drunk as a skunk as usual . The log was pushed behind Mooney's throne and she thanked them all and shut the door. I hid behind the old bureau on the stairs . As Mooney walked past I said loudly " nice evening out dear?" . Mooney turned sharply and screamed .Oh so you have been sneaking out all this time behind my back, how was I supposed to tell the difference between you and a log ? I beg your pardon Nito that was cutting she shouted .I have merely been helping out the household finances by appearing in a freak show as "The oldest living , well dead , woman known " . I have had to stand as some oiks poked me ,ME a living God . My only reward a barrel of Gin and sometimes as much as £50.00s but that's if I throw in a bit of lap dancing . Mooney started to sob and gin ran down her dry little face . So , readers, all I could do was hug her and tuck the poor tired old thing into bed. She is in her moisturising bath now. So you will understand why I am writing again I simply can't have my oldest and dearest fiend making an exhibition of herself unless it's at The British Museum of course .

The writer is at home...

Ahh my dears a few days ago my muse struck me again, but then it serves me right for standing in the driveway whilst Moony was reversing. Anyway shortly after that I was inspired to take up my typewriter (only by five inches), I don't know if it was the bump on the head but I can't say I've been so inspired since that wonderful night five years ago when after falling down six flights of steps at the municipal baths (they haven't even got six floors so I don't know why they have so many stairs. that night I sat up, I wrote my first Romance " She was very, very poor, he saw her, she saw his house- Reader she married him!", my first Crime novel "Goodness it might be the knife sticking out or the steamroller that gone over, but I think the bounder might be dead!", My first knitting pattern book " Things I've pulled of my needles in a hurry" and my one and only sci-fi (not really my genre, my agent tells me. 'Leave it to H.G Wells') "The last hairdresser on Mars'".

All four went on to be big sellers and I was offered a massive contract, all I had to do was knock out five or six a year and i had it made. Well that hasn't been a problem at all, not with Moony supplying me with an endless parade of inspiration for my Detective Hatshepsutnut mysteries. He remains the only ancient Egyptian, mummified detective in bookshops to this day. Its not been hard finding inspiration for my romances either! I have always had a string of suitors and admirers! Well this January I finished of "The mystery of the body announced on the 6.45 to Chepstow", and I hope one of my eagle eyed viewers (who knew eagles could read) will spot who done it and send the answer to me because I've no idea though I never did like the look of professor Higgerson. When I went to hand the manuscript over to my publisher she mentioned something about how wonderful it all was and what was I going to do next? "Nordic Noirs very big right now." She smiled at me. "Have you thought of a Scandinavian detective?" Silly girl, I always thought she was a bit giddy. I quickly pointed out that there probably weren't all that many Scandinavian ancient Egyptians' though I'm willing to keep an open mind and she looked instantly baffled. "Well vampires are very popular in the romance department at the moment. Have you thought of that?" This sounded more promising, after all never has a man been so perfect, during the day he'll be laid out in his coffin so you wont have to worry about asking him to lift his legs so you can hoover under them and he'll be available to take you on moonlight walks by the seine. Downsides however include, you cant ask him to pop out for the paper before 9.00pm, the milkman will look at you funny when you put in your order, you won't be able to cook Italian food again, you'll have to get rid of your art books on the Sistine Chapel (by the way how id they fit a chapel into a cistern and isn't it ruined every time someone flushes?).

I did agree to have a go at a vampire romance but since getting home hadn't been inspired. then last night I awoke to a tapping at my window... My heart was seized with terror and curiosity. had I acquired a new muse, would he accept tea as a beverage. Luckily when I looked out it was only one of Cromwell's racing pigeons. Though you never know do you? But that little pigeon made my think. Think of England! Think of summer! Think of the beauty of the rolling countryside! Think of Moony and I! Think above all of Cumbria!

That's the moment at which i seized up my pen and began "My cupboard in Cumbria". Broadly its the story of impoverished bohemian writer ( ohh are you drawing comparisons too ?!) Varple Casterrs, she takes up a cupboard for the summer in the beautiful landscape of Cumbria along with her ever complaining butler Fobitts. One dark and stormy night a tandem crashes outside her cupboard and whilst tending the survivors ( alas the Eccles cakes didn't make it) she finds herself learning to love again and live again... I think it might be a classic. Must go then I'm on chapter seven, book prizes here I come!

Ohh by the way i received a call this morning from a man asking if he could give my books away.

" O I thought world book night was last night i said"

"Umm yes Madam, but I own I book shop, I just want to know If i can give your books away?"

" So more people will read them and see how wonderful they are?

" Omm something like that....?"

" Why by all means young man!" You see so many sweet fans out there, im quite overwhelmed!

Mooney and I went to the photographers today

Further leaves from the Diary of Juanita Nito resident of Cutting Sprout....

Hello my dears, my hasn't it been snowing even in our little corner, the village green has turned into well, a village white! Ha, ha! I've just been writing my weekly article for the local paper, 'a day in the Trousers of...' as regular readers know last week I spent a day in the trousers of William Shakespeare. He claims they're the exact same ones in which he wrote Romeo and Juliet, but really did they even have jogging bottoms then? At least they were in better condition than the trousers of Michelangelo (they were the ones he painted the Sistine Chapel in and no I don't think he changed them in all that time!). This week I spent a day in the trousers of my dear friend Mrs Cox, she was taking them up ( where I never ascertained) and had left them on the sofa. I spotted an opportunity, wrapped them round myself and fell asleep. Voila I had my article! I must say they were very soft and very green.... I might just not return them ....
Anyway last night my dears I went down to the meeting for the preparation of this years nativity play, we have our cast but alas not yet our style. Harold Pinter made a few suggestions but no one was very keen. Mind you so did Henny, and I must say they are more tempting but a little umm theatrical? After a flurry of debate and much pushing in by Mrs Bagshott- Smyth who wanted it to reflect the pre-existing pagan mythology which fed into the legends of Christmas and the presence of hay sprites actually in the manger, Mrs Barnstorm, who wanted a hand painted distress effect stable with elements of antique Victorian tiles ( she could get us some from a salvage yard) and Che who reckoned that we blow the whole thing open, reveal the lie, the capitalist conspiracy. Umm wasn't sure about that at all!
Still as you know a little pinch of this and that all adds up and in the end we had a play that had elements from all of us, even my sprout dance troupe and Sebastopol's cat wise man. I'll tell you how things turn out, but it will be different.
We also agreed that Charlie should take control of the poster, last year we let Picasso paint it and no one came to our first performance. No one knew what it was about. So here is this year's poster, no s's but it's very...Umm stylish. See you all soon. Mrs Snoo T.Cow is on the T.V and i want to have a laugh!

A little pre-Christmas handicraft sale.

It wasn't meant to be a normal W.I day today and it most certainly wasn't.

The whole village was meant to make gifts worth buying and giving to those you love,obviously they hate quite a lot of people. The President had a go at scrimshaw with a bone his dog dug up ,threw up I'd say. I didn't know what it was until Barbie told me it was a lighthouse from Massofchewsits .That explains the chewed up look.Cromwell bought it ,God knows who for .

Henrietta had bottled some of her perfumed waters ( the ones from giving birth I think). They smelt awful to me but Mooney bought the lot . It was only later I found out Henny uses Vodka instead of perfumer's alcohol.When I got home from locking up the hall Mooney was blated on the floor witha huge smile on her face.

Neff had made some felt hats but boiled after sewing so they could only be used as egg cups but then no-one has a head that tall anyhow.

Che had hand-written some lovely poems ( so he says) in cute little note-books with him on. The main trouble is they were in Spanish and a few in French much to Henny's delight.

Charlie had knitted some tartan socks with six toes and two lovely neckwarmers which he bought for himself and his granny , Mary . I bought the wristlets for Che's Christmas to cover up the stitch marks.

Mr Misery had made barbed wire underpants which Charlie bought to keep the bunnies off his allotment .

Bramwell had embroidered some mobile phone covers ,pity we only have landlines.

Ivan had made some lovely wooden sugar bowls all painted with Chinese pictures ( don't ask). Sebastapol had made first-aid kits for the rougher kind of cat that gets it's head stuck in tins.

Nell had made corsets for the larger lady in your life or as bicycle baskets they'd be quite dashing one cup either side of your handle-bars.

Jamesiypoo had made packets of thorns to run through your tongue in consultation with my brother Luzbel ( well we have Aztec blood and he like a bit of flagellation).

Dear Doris had made oven-gloves guaranteed to leave burns every time you used them.

Harlot Harley had made silk draws out of an American parachute and some silk she bought from Mao-Tse-Tung who had popped over to see Che in his new job as a cloth merchant ( very popular with Nell).

Camillo ( Che's mate or should I say Mate ...'orrible Argie tea!) had rolled some herbal cigars, that were very popular, from those funny plants on his allotment. Che had one and spent the day giggling like a school-girl and chasing Henny until Hilda marched in with her Peruvian hats ( God knows who'd want them).

Charlie II's horrible kiddies had made oranges stuck with cloves and models of Grandpa's execution.

The Vicar had made Christmas card with bunnies and ghouls on ( not sure he's in his right mind).

My contributions the highlight of the show , Sprout wine, pickles ,jam,sprouts in chocolate , sprouts in brandy and a lot of sprout biscuits for tea-break which Charlie II's kiddies threw at everyone .

Henny's dear little Ann had made me a fimo sprout ( how I cried) .

We made quite a bit but I am sure I saw The President stuffing coins into the cash register .His father was furious about something and using a spanner to try to wrench it open when Cromys set a few members of The New Noodle Army on him ( Henny made that up ..it's good isn't it !!!).

I shall be in the embroiderers gazette...

Isn't that quite exciting, ever since dear Bramwell began to work for them as their out and about reporter I've been confident that I would get a mention but I was scarcely prepared to get a four page spread. Its all been rather exciting, ones cushions have been photographed, can you imagine and i have been encouraged to share one of my graphs with their readers. I wish they'd told me they wanted a cross stitch graph straight away and feel such a fool for sending then that one of Brussels Sprout distribution in the outer Hebrides.... Ohh well. Still I thought it wasn't fair for my loyal readership here to be deprived of some of my lovely embroidery ideas so I've enclosed a free style pattern you'll adore, for some reason I can't persuade the shops to stock my tapestry kits.