I am having building work done around my property. It’s something Paul and I had discussed for ages, but never quite got round to sorting out. Essentially, the area around and behind the front door had been falling apart for some years, and it was about time to engage professional help.
Continue reading Being all grown up
A year ago, I was widowed. Paul, my partner, companion and lately husband, died. It’s taken me a year to begin to cope with rebuilding my life without my life partner of over thirty years.
But, this isn’t about me. This is about Paul.
Continue reading PaulI shall spare you. It’s quite safe. You’ve followed the story of life here at Snaptophobic Towers through the year. You don’t need to be reminded, and neither do I.
Instead, here’s a summary of my watching, listening and reading for 2025.
Continue reading A Year in Review – 2025It took me quite some time to feel strong enough to pick up clearing Paul’s stuff from where I left off earlier in the year. His side of the wardrobe had become something of a dump for unwanted clothes over the years.
Feeling the time was probably right, I gathered some bin bags and began the task. One bag of good clothes found their way to the local charity shop. Two bags were filled with ratty stuff at which even moths would turn up their noses.
Right at the back, though, was a surprise. It wasn’t a secret door that led to a magical snow-covered forest. It was a school blazer.
A little back story may be called for.
Continue reading The stuff you find…There have been cats in this house since 1997. We made it a policy to adopt or foster, from our local Cats Protection homing centre, cats other people tended not to want because the moggies were old, or missing limbs or eyes, or had other infirmities.
Our first cat was Misty. She was a lovely silver-grey tabby, but was withdrawn and aggressive. Paul spent weeks, during his lunch hour, visiting the shelter to gain Misty’s trust. It transpired she was deaf, and the other cats in the shelter would bully her. It was no surprise, then, she had gone into her shell. We were allowed to home her, and once she was here she blossomed into a beautiful furry friend. Her purring rattled tea cups!
Eventually, as such things go, Misty died. Almost immediately, we went back to the adoption centre “to be chosen again”. This time, an absolute unit called Tom stole our hearts. He was a large black and white cat, with front legs like a British Bulldog, with his back legs bringing up the rear like a pantomime cow. One eye had been lost, but he could see well enough with the remaining one. He was also diabetic, and needed insulin injections. He also made it quite plain he liked the look of us, and he duly found his way to our home.
Continue reading It never gets easy