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Life of Ryrie

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Somerset

‘OwZat? – Cricket and the T20 Blast

Thwack.
Knock. knock… knock.

The sound of a leather ball hitting the middle of a willow bat is, for me, the auditory equivalent of the smell of a bare hospital corridor carrying the aroma of antiseptic. Both have the power to take me back in time, though to very different episodes in the Life of Ryrie. Cricket, and hospital corridors, was as much part of my childhood summers as the paddling pool and my birthday were.

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Carry On, Campers

The first time I ever went camping was to Glastonbury Festival with an ex-boyfriend and his mates.  It was an eye-opening experience for the young and innocent 18 year old that I was.

The last time I went camping it was also to Glastonbury Festival: it was the year that Coldplay was headlining (for the second time) and I didn’t really like them much way back then; it was the year that lightning struck the Pyramid Stage and halted proceedings for a matter of hours; the year hundreds of festival goers had their tents and belongings washed away in a scene of devastation comparable only to the Apocalypse (perhaps).  Our tent had only survived as it was pitched on a rather steep incline which meant that the deluge of water raining down on the site simply didn’t hang around long enough to cause a problem.  The steep incline also meant that if you happened to fall asleep (fairly unlikely given that it was Glastonbury Festival) you would most definitely wake in a ball at one end of the tent.

Clearly these experiences have left their mark and whilst I wasn’t an enthusiastic camper before the great storm of 2005, after it I was decidedly anti spending any time in a shelter made of nylon fibres.  Last weekend though, I went camping.

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I so love a short and sweet Random Act of Kindness story…

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…BEACH!

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snowdrops

The rain may be beating down but Spring is on its way.  (Can you spot the leaf heart in the photo?)

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The biggest, steamiest, pile of… wood chips EVER!

We are feeling particularly Christmassy this weekend after kick starting the Festive Season by bearing witness to the big Turn On in Frome.   Standing in the cold, wet and windy market square in Frome Town has become as much a tradition as putting up the Christmas tree, or eating turkey.  This year was particularly impressive as building projections played a part of the seasonal illumination.

Carnival

I love Carnival.  I suspect that the word ‘Carnival’ has conjured up images of feather clad women shaking their booties to a heavy samba beat and that’s why you’re nodding in agreement.  Actually, Somerset Carnival couldn’t be further from this.  The Carnival I am actually talking about is a procession of decorated tractors in November, which, let’s be honest, isn’t that conducive to feather bikinis.

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Honey Tree Post and the Art of Writing

‘They’ say that letter writing is a dying art form.  ‘They’ say that handwriting is a dying art form.  And it’s all thanks to email, social media and texting; the rise of portable technology fulfilling our need to connect with other human beings through instant gratification and some well chosen pointer finger placements.  However, like many dying art forms, handwriting and letter writing could be on the verge of a resurrection, rising like the proverbial phoenix from the flames.  Why?  because of stationery supplied by companies like Honey Tree Publishing.

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