The jobs a good'un !

The screaming roar of a distressed vehicle's churning engine, in low gear, drew my nosiness to the direction of the racket. It was a small red flat bed truck, loaded with the biggest dog kennel I have ever seen and a set of steps. It was stuck in a muddy sandy puddle, in front of the "Sassenach's" static van. The driver was a woman, a lot of woman. Obviously she had never been stuck in wet sand before but she knew how to handle a truck. She revved and revved but she was going no where. The effect however was spectacular. The sand, mixed with water and top soil fountained into the air spraying the caravan, its lovely new decking and anything within seven foot to the rear of the commotion. It would have made a farmer proud.

Next to join the pandemonium was a little green hatchback. This pulled up about six foot behind the now still flat bed. The doors of the car opened and the tribe of Manasseh spilled out. "These are some poor sods new neighbours", was my first thought. "Oh God, the empty van is next to mine", was the second.

I digress.

As the tribe organised themselves and started dispensing advice, a leader emerged from the group. A short bald chap with bandy legs. He bundled the lady out of the flatbed and got into the driving seat pointing to the front, and shouting instructions. A small crowd of men was gathering around.

"That's neighbourly", I thought " they have come to lend a hand", but I suspected all eyes, young and old, were fixed on her cleavage, it was spectacular.

Boss Manasseh started up the red devil and proceeded to rev and spin the wheels as before, but this time in reverse. The added extra however was the lady, with strong hands on the bonnet, started to pump it up and down. Nothing much happened. "Go on love you're doin grand!" someone shouted". Another encouraged "Keep going Lass, Put your back into it!" The truck slowly rolled back and everyone cheered. The lass straightened up puffing out her chest wiping her hands on her tight jeans saying, " The jobs a good'un!" as she strode off proudly.

I asked an old chap from the group later on, why he didn't lend a hand, he said," I was having too much fun where I was. It's a while since I've had an eyeful like that!"

Nothing new to see here?

Paper and pens ! "Nothing new to see here," I bet you said. Not the case, these pens are bamboo, yep, recyclable bamboo dip pens - how cool is that ?

You can use them as they are or trim them down with a craft knife to shape the nib into a point that suits you. I have tried them and I enjoyed using them. £2.03

I found this cotton rag textured paper in the same place.

I have used it with ink and acrylic and l am happy with the price here too.£13.99 for 35 sheets of A4. So good l have ordered A3.

Ink, bamboo pens and rag paper

I found these gems on https://artway.co.uk/

And the discount ?

35% if you order £200's worth, sounds a lot, however if l put it this way - spend £130 and get £200's worth of art gear. That's only the price of one little painting. Ah'em. Now you're asking "What are you getting out of this?" That's what I'd ask too, don't trust the buggers!

Nothing. I'm just a old granny giving some interesting tips! (I think.)

Now the banging makes sense

In a quiet coastal meadow where my studio sits, nestled cosy among 200 other static vans, on the Yorkshire coast. l heard a strange banging. It was about 10 pm. last night. I was in the kitchen preparing my evening medication.

I wondered why someone was starting DIY at this time of night . This was not consistent with my elderly neighbours routines. l looked out the window, no lights on, no car parked. l swallowed down my drugs and shuffled off to bed.

l awoke this morning early, pulled open the curtains and shocked the be Jesus out of a tall leggy, busty, blonde in a Sainsbury's uniform, puffing on a fag surrounded by a smokey halo. In the pouring rain too. I had never seen this woman before.

No, this didn't make sense, must be hallucinating.

l looked again the vision of loveliness was nowhere to be seen. "Its a bit early for Sainsbury's deliveries", I thought.

Sitting in my comfy seat by the window heat pad and massager on gently warming and jiggling my sore spots, Alistair delivering breakfast as he always does (he spoils me rotten). A Sainsbury's uniform again, like lightening racing to a car discreetly parked behind another neighbours van. What's this? A racing man dressed in black fast on the heels of the burgundy and orange uniform. I am not delusional, I know this man, that's not his wife!

Now the banging makes sense!