A foraging we will go, a foraging we will go…

This morning at the crack of dawn I went raspberry picking at the bottom of the garden. We have some long defunct cages that are really overgrown, but still produce raspberries. I also picked some apples and we’ll be making some apple purée for me later. I like foraging, just like the Big D.



Town v country

Things that have happened that wouldn’t happen in London:

1. A nice man gave us his car parking ticket
2. We drove round the village looking for our postman (and our post)
3. We had 3 separate conversations with strangers in the local pub in one sitting
4. A man offered us a lift when he passed us walking up a country lane

These boots are made for walking

Yesterday I went to my first car boot. It was jolly cold as it was down by the sea in West Bay, which was where a programme called Harbour Lights was filmed, way before I was even a twinkle in the Big D’s eye.

We didn’t have much luck though, I got a nice new cosy sleeping bag; but that was it. We’ll try the Yeovil one next week I think.

Escape to the country

So our escape to Somerset was a little bit fraught. First it took us almost 3 hours to get out of London. But once on the open road we did stop for a lovely lunch in Stockbridge (a detour off the A303 to avoid the half term traffic at Stonehenge – a route known by all good west countriers!), then we got lost as both the Big M and D’s phones ran out of battery and they had no map ( grandpa would be turning in his grave, an atlas is the first thing you put in the car). We eventually drove down our new drive at about 5.30. Instead of building my bed and organising stuff as was the plan, we decamped to the neighbours for a welcome drink… Or five! When we got home we had no heating, no water and no cot. Eventually my bed was constructed, but not without its dramas – we accidentally broke the door handle on the inside of the front door so we were locked in!!!!!
All fun and games. Welcome to Somerset!

What’s in a name?

The other day I met a boy a few months older than me called Wilfred. We both agreed it was a fairly uncommon name and other than each other had never met another. This got me thinking how uncommon is it?

Well after a bit of research I found out that in the UK the name Wilfred has soared up the rankings. In 1996 it was the 976th most popular name, whilst today it is 245th.


In the US there are 34,546 wilfreds making it the 436th most popular name. This is enough Wilfreds to populate Lichtenstein. Frighteningly there are over 100 girl Wilfreds in America, poor things!

Home is where the heart is

Apologies for the radio silence since I got back from Beefa. I’ve been tied up moving home. Packing up my cot and all my toys has taken a lot of time and effort and I’m pooped. However, we’re now back at the Big M & D’d first flat, which I love. The floors are perfect for sliding! However, what I’ve learnt over the past few days; moving from pillar to post, is to quote old Marvin, “wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home.”