Exploring Hong Kong

We went down to the shopping mall underneath the hotel for breakfast. Found a nice French restaurant (French! In Hong Kong! May we be forgiven…) I ordered waffles and green-tea, Husband ordered Full English, and English breakfast tea. When it arrived, the tea was a teabag in a bowl, and a teapot of hot water. Various comments about the lack of cup, milk, sugar…but we coped.

May is rainy season, so the weather was damp, but Hong Kong has lots of pedestrian walkways and subways and places to shelter, so we walked down to the quay. The streets outside the hotel were refreshingly normal, after the glitz of the hotel and the designer mall. Many of the shops could have been in Europe, but there were also shops with huge teapots in the window, selling cups of tea to shoppers; and Chinese medicine shops, with their boxes of expensive potions; and shops for tourists, piled with leather goods and silk shirts and ornaments, so we never forgot we were in China.

There were also lots of normal people wandering around, mostly wearing white trainer shoes. There seems to be a lot of white trainers in Hong Kong, worn with trousers and skirts and even quite fancy dresses. I guess it’s practical – there are a lot of puddles. I also wore white trainers — an old pair of Reeboks from 1994 (vintage).

Some of the streets were lined with ancient trees, a kind of ficus, with aerial roots that grew down until they reached the earth and could form another trunk. I’ve seen them in botanical gardens in England–here they are everywhere.

We stood for a while on the quay, looking across the water towards Hong Kong Island and Central. It was so exciting, just to be here. (Sometimes I have to remind myself: I’m in Hong Kong…Wow!) The Star Ferry was shuttling backwards and forwards, and there was a junk–one of those ‘typically Chinese’ ships, with big sails (a tourist boat, not an ancient one) selling rides.

We saw the clock tower, which is all that remains of the old Kowloon Station. Luckily it was closed, so we didn’t have to climb it.

We also saw the cultural centre, which for some reason is covered in pink tiles (pink!) and despite having the best view over the water, it was designed with no windows. We didn’t go inside, so perhaps the interior is fabulous.

We walked a little way along the docks, but they’re fairly industrial, so we walked back inland and through the Elements shopping mall where we had dumplings for lunch at The Night Market restaurant.

In the evening, we went to the night market — the real one — in Temple Street. I have heard about this market on previous visits, and it features in all the guidebooks, so I was expecting something interesting. I was disappointed…

The market begins with a Chinese gate (a paifang) and a whole lot of tourists taking photos underneath. The market stretched, damply, for several streets, and is well lit with bright lights, and all the stalls are covered, so the rain didn’t matter (unless you stood in the wrong place and got a fat drip of water on your head). It was quite busy, though not too crowded, and the stalls were full of bright, interesting items.

However, I had expected something more authentic, something where local people might shop for a bargain. It wasn’t, it was a tourist market, and the stalls sold much of the same product, repeated over and over again. The prices were fluid, and you were meant to barter, but it wasn’t fun, the stall-holders seemed bored, if I’m honest. They were obviously selling stuff they’d bought cheaply in China and were selling for a profit – so no one had any really interest in what they were selling, they hadn’t made it, they didn’t seem to even like it. There were leather-bound notebooks, and silk clothes, and paper-cutting novelties, and toys, and fridge magnets. The prices got cheaper the further into the market you went, but after seeing about 10 stalls, really you had seen them all, as they simply repeated. I didn’t like the atmosphere in the market. Usually markets are fun, and the bartering is almost a game, and people laugh and are pleased to make a sale. But this one felt as if something dodgy was happening in the background, and the people selling didn’t really want to be there at all. Perhaps it was the rain and the jet-lag, perhaps it was just me, but I found it unexpectedly disappointing.

The streets surrounding the market are full of street food. People were perched, trying to avoid the rain, and eating freshly killed fish and vegetables and noodles. We walked around, absorbing the aroma and the ferocity that is Chinese cooking. The streets are cleaner than places we’ve visited in China, and the main areas are well-lit and safe to wander around at night (I’m not sure about some of the back streets, but it’s a city—you should always be careful in a city.)

We went back to the hotel, and tried to sleep. I’m not sure what time zone I’m in now–neither UK time nor Hong Kong time. Ah well, I guess it doesn’t matter.

Hope you have a good day.
Stay safe.
Love, Anne x

Looking for a great read? A great waiting-for-a-train read…a great stuck-in-hospital read…a great going-on-holiday read…a great in-a-waiting-room read…a great I-want-to-relax read…

It will make you smile…

The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary

by Anne E Thompson

Available now from an Amazon near you.

To Hong Kong

Posted by anneethompson

To Hong Kong

Last Friday was a busy day. I had to sort the poultry (new eggs safely in incubator with instructions left for family to top-up the water regularly) then I took Mum to Lunch Club. It wasn’t my turn to cook, and plenty of people had turned up to help, so I left the termly letter and came home – because I needed to pack. I was also feeling quite tired, because since I decided to join Husband on his business trip to Hong Kong, I had been adjusting my clock.

Hong Kong is 7 hours ahead of UK, and our trip was for a few days. That’s not very long to adjust to a big time difference, and my body is fairly rubbish at adjusting to anything these days. Gone are the days when I would arrive in a country, set my watch to the correct time zone, and after one day of feeling wonky, I would be fine. Now I find my body is exhausted at all the wrong times, and simply refuses to go to sleep when it’s put to bed – which often results in a 3-day migraine. Bit of a waste of a trip abroad. So, I decided, in my wisdom, that I would adjust gradually, an hour a day, until I was 4 hours ahead of UK time. Then I would stop, because being 3 hours behind Hong Kong time wouldn’t matter, I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone, I could just get up late.

It all started rather well. The dog wasn’t too impressed when I appeared in the kitchen at 3am, but other than that it was fine. I rather liked being awake before the rest of the world, having a couple of hours to myself before the family got up and set off for work, going for walks in the clear morning air. No one was at home during the day, so I kept my meals on ‘Anne-Time’: lunch at 10:30, dinner at 3pm (the rest of the family had to reheat theirs when they got home) bed at 7pm. Actually, the going to bed bit was quite difficult, as I think I possibly have the noisiest family in the world.

Anyway, I thought it was all going well, until the day we travelled. We had 21:50 flights – that was the middle of the night Anne-Time. I took ear-plugs and eye-mask, and tried to nap in the lounge after we’d gone through security (we were travelling posh-class as Husband was working and I was on airmiles). But it was way too noisy and bright. Honestly, airports could save a lot of money on their electricity bill if they cut out the awful music (Wham! They were playing Wham for goodness sake) and dimmed the lights a bit.

I made it onto the plane (picture ‘walking dead’) and as soon as they allowed us to remove seat belts, I settled down for the night. I did sleep for a few hours, which is unusual for me, and then woke at 7am Hong Kong time. The rest of the plane was asleep – I don’t know why more people don’t change time zones before they travel. Odd that.

Hong Kong airport seemed nice. It was well-organised, and immigration was efficient and quick. The washrooms were clean and everything was automated. The taxi rank was easy to find, and we were told to get a red taxi (not a green one) as we were going to Kowloon. A man was translating, so we only needed the English address (in China, you need to have the address in Mandarin if you take a taxi).

The ride from the airport took about half an hour. I’ve visited Hong Kong a few times, but not for a few years. The first impression as you leave the airport is of towers of apartments, there are loads of them. There are posh towers, and new ones, and towers that look as if they’re waiting to be demolished. And trees – there are a lot of trees, growing up the mountainsides, giving everything a green border. But there are no parks, no fields, no gardens – in fact, no flat spaces at all. (There are parks, but you don’t see them from the taxi.) All you see is apartment blocks and office towers and trees, perched on the sides of the hills – which are very accurately called ‘peaks’. They are not the Sound-of-Music gentle slopes, they are great rocks, lumps of granite, jutting up towards the sky, with water lapping to the edges.

Once you arrive on Kowloon, there is more flat land. That’s because the land has been reclaimed. We arrived at our hotel, The Ritz Carlton. All very posh.

I waited on a sofa while Husband checked in, and a man (tall, good-looking, European – in case you were wondering) came and offered me some green tea. It was cold. I then worried whether beautifully presented cup of green tea would make me ill, and interrogated man about whether the water was boiled, and whether ice had been added. Decided to risk it. It didn’t taste like green-tea, it tasted like lemon tea. Perhaps it’s the American equivalent. I didn’t like it much.

We went to the room and unpacked a bit (only a bit, because there are hardly any drawers in the room). We let the family know we had arrived safely, then set off in search of dinner.

All the restaurants in the hotel are hideously expensive – the cheapest meal being a burger for £40. Not really our style. Beneath the hotel is a shopping mall, called Elements, and there were places to eat there. The prices of the restaurants were comparable to English prices, which is probably loads more than a traditional restaurant in Hong Kong, but I prefer to eat in ‘safe’ familiar places – always hard to juggle ‘experience’ with dodgy health.

We ate at a restaurant called The Night Market which is a Taiwanese restaurant. We had dumplings and soup and noodles. The dumplings were wonderful. It was all very clean, and they brought water with the menus, but we didn’t drink it as it was probably tap water, and we had tall glasses of local beer (much nicer).

We walked around a little, but it’s the beginning of the rainy season, and we were tired, so we went back to the room fairly soon.

I will tell you more another time. Thank you for reading.

Hope you have enough sleep this week.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

If you enjoyed this, why not read my latest book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary?

I have sold lots already – if you have read a copy please could you be very kind and put a review on Amazon? If you haven’t read it yet, the UK link is below.

Chicken Choices

Posted by anneethompson

I can hardly believe it’s May already. Many of the spring flowers are already over, though the bluebells are holding on – just! My garden is at that wonderful stage of every weed going completely bananas, and growing much faster than I can pull them out.

The animals are also going bananas – especially the foxes, and I have some bad news to report. When we arrived home from Norfolk, I let the chickens out of their cages again so they could roam around the garden during the daytime…and I think there must be fox cubs somewhere near…and I hope they are happy. I am left with one cockerel and two hens.

I therefore decided that I would hatch some more eggs. As the cockerel is related to the hens (mother and sister) I thought it would be best to buy some more eggs on Ebay. I’m not sure that the morality of the situation matters, but the hatchlings might not be very healthy with such closely related parents.

I then had fun choosing which eggs to buy. The chickens I currently own have at least some Maran in them, as the hens are dark and the cockerel has lovely chestnut neck feathers. However, Marans were bred initially for cock-fighting in France, and some of those fighting genes are still in evidence today, so I decided to try a different breed.

I ordered three different types of eggs. Some are Cream Legbars, which will lay beautiful blue eggs. It’s an English breed, and a cross between Barred Plymouth Rocks (a speckly grey bird) and Brown Leghorns (a brown bird). The adults should be a sort of pale brown, slightly speckled bird – but the main thing is those lovely blue eggs, so I do hope some are female. These chickens were ‘designed’ in Cambridge, and the hatchlings are different, so the males have a white spot on their heads, so I’ll know immediately if I have some females. (Usually, sexing chicks is pretty impossible!) I will keep them all, whatever the gender, I’ll simply be depressed if they’re all male…

I also bought some Leghorn eggs. These are big white eggs. The birds came from Italy, they are big white chickens, and sometimes their crown sort of flops over, which I think makes them look very Italian!

Finally, I ordered some Speckled Sussex eggs. These chickens are brown, and speckled (no surprise there) and they have been in England for years, are a very old breed. They lay a pale brown egg — which is smaller than I was expecting (so I hope the seller didn’t send me bantam eggs — that’s the trouble with Ebay, you can never be sure).

Well, the eggs arrived, delivered by the postman with a letter from the bank and a leaflet advertising new windows. They were packaged quite differently (the eggs, not the letters) — some in a polystyrene box, some in egg boxes surrounded by either straw or scrumpled newspaper within another, bigger box — but they all survived. The people selling the Sussex and Leghorns added a few extra eggs (perhaps because they were packed less securely). I actually have more eggs than I want, but I don’t know which ones will survive, so I will put them all in the incubator. They have to settle for a day first, pointy end down, then they go into the incubator and I just have to wait 3 weeks. If I have 18 cockerels I shall be annoyed.

I would like one of the outside hens to go broody, so she can raise the chicks for me. I am leaving her eggs to encourage those broody hormones. So far, she has about 20 eggs – which she just keeps looking at – no sign of broody at all! Maybe she remembers the trouble that chicks are, and has figured out what makes them hatch (I can relate to her feelings of not wanting the hassle of more children, honestly I can). Am hoping she changes her mind. I will let you know. If the hen goes broody, I can then give her the hatchlings from the incubator, and even though the eggs she’s sitting on are infertile, she will hopefully accept the chicks…hopefully.

Hope you have a good week.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

A Walk to Cley

Posted by anneethompson

A Walk to the Beach at Cley

We looked at a map (why did no one think of doing this before?) and realised that it is pretty much impossible to walk to the sea from Blakeney. I received feedback about my ‘by the sea’ cottage. The best way to reach the sea, is to walk along the road to Cley Next the Sea.

We set off with the dog and a supply of overly thin nappy-sacks that Husband had bought instead of doggy bags. Road was horribly busy. The dog always poops at inconvenient times, and the walk along the busy road was enhanced no end by also carrying flimsy bag of dog excrement.

Cley Next the Sea (I still cannot cope with the lack of preposition) is a pretty town with a windmill, tiny shops, and a narrow road that winds through the centre. The narrow road was very busy on Easter Saturday.

We stopped for ice-creams at what is possibly the slowest place ever to buy an ice-cream (very nice ice-creams though, if you have 3 hours to spare). While we waited, a small white VW approached the bend in the road, made a weird noise, and died. Instant traffic-jam.

Jay went and spoke to the driver, offering to push the car to a safer spot. A bolshy woman in large Range Rover behind the VW, honked loudly on her horn (perhaps she thought the VW driver had simply stopped for a chat). I went to speak to the Range Rover driver, to explain the VW was broken rather than incompetent. Driver of Range Rover rather rude to me. I slipped into ‘school-teacher-very-posh-you don’t mess-with-me’ voice (you never lose the ability) and very politely ground her to mincemeat. Family impressed by my telling-off abilities, even when holding flimsy pink bag of poop. (Actually, to be strictly honest, I think I had binned the poop by this point.)

I then went to save Bea, who was attempting to stop traffic from whizzing round blind bend where males were pushing car, whilst also holding 3 ice-cream cones, and a German Shepherd dog intent on snarling at a small white poodle.

Eventually, small VW was safely positioned in a side road, dog was back with me, ice-creams returned to owners, and bolshy Range Rover had driven off. As we left, we saw a coach approach the bend, which it couldn’t navigate due to a small VW being in the way…and all the traffic ground to a halt again. We left—someone else could solve that one.

We found the path to the beach. The beach is shingle, has a shipwreck in the sea, and has heaps of lobster pots and a few fishing boats. We walked towards Blakeney, but there wasn’t time to walk all the way to where the seals were—maybe next time.

Thanks for reading about our Easter trip, it was rather sad to leave Norfolk and drive home. Hope you have a lovely day.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

If you enjoyed this, why not read my travel book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary? Available from an Amazon near you, UK link is below (you can read it for free if you have a kindle).

Anne E Thompson has written several novels, available from bookshops and Amazon. She also writes a weekly blog — describing her travels, her animals, and life in general — why not sign up to follow her blog today?
anneethompson.com

Lazy Days in Norfolk

Posted by anneethompson

Continuing our Easter holiday diary…

Wells-Next-the-Sea

After attempting (and failing) to walk to the coast from Blakeney, we decided to drive to Wells-Next-the-Sea—another name with no preposition, but we coped. We parked amongst pine trees and walked over the hill to the sea.

There was a row of pretty beach huts, and we borrowed the porch of one to eat our picnic, while looking at the beach. Wells-Next-the-Sea has a lot of beach—miles of it.

Dogs are allowed on the beach to the left of the steps, so we left mother dozing on the beach hut steps, and wandered off towards the dunes. In the distance, we could see a digger, dredging the river (family commented that in Norfolk, people take their sandcastles very seriously, and perhaps we should invest in a digger too, to keep up).

We walked for a long way. After a while, we stopped to rest in the sand-dunes, feeling the warm sun, listening to the waves. Two seconds later, Emm was bored, so took the dog into the distance for a walk. We wanted to leave, so sent Jay after him. Jay never came back (probably forgot what he had gone for). Husband then decided to go and tell them to come back – but he got side-tracked too, so I left him and walked back to sleepy mother.

Wells-Next-the-Sea is a lovely beach if you like lots of sand, but you need determination if you plan to reach the sea. It has a very nice car-park, with toilets and cafes and a shop selling clothes you will never wear except on holiday. Some people danced in the car-park. It was a lovely place to visit (I cannot explain the dancing).

Tea in Cromer

When I was child, we visited Cromer most weekends in the summer. We camped, so I pretty much hated Cromer. However, now I’m all grown up, I can see that it is actually a very nice town, and the sort of place where I too might choose to take children. (Not to camp though, I have promised myself I will never have to sleep in a tent, ever again.)

We booked afternoon tea at The Grove guesthouse in Overstrand Road. It costs £14 per person, and is a very generous tea, with sandwiches and cakes and scones. The fruit cake was my favourite. They also provide boxes, so you can take home the leftovers (trust me, you will have leftovers).

After tea, we walked down the steps by the lighthouse to the beach. The lighthouse is short and fat, and very disappointing if you are a child and expect lighthouses to be tall and slender and standing on rocks with the waves crashing. Cromer lighthouse is on a grassy cliff, and not even particularly near the sea. (As I said, there was a lot about Cromer that disappointed me as a child.)

We walked, past bright beach huts and wooden breakwaters, past rusty tractors attached to fishing boats, towards the setting sun. The tall church tower looms above the town. We walked to the pier, and stood, looking up at the cliffs and wondering why the dominant hotel facing the sea is called the ‘Paris Hotel’.

The beach at Cromer is lovely. So too is the town (if you’re not camping). I stole some snippets of the town for my book, Counting Stars—why not read a copy? The link is below.

Hope you have a nice day.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

Counting Stars is an exciting novel, set in the near-future. One of the children (a bolshy teenager) pretty much sums up my own childhood feelings towards Cromer…You can buy a copy from an Amazon near you, UK link below:

Morston Seal Trip

Posted by anneethompson

Morston Seal Trip

We’re staying in a house in Blakeney, and at the pretty quayside, there are advertisements for boat trips to see the seals. We phoned the number displayed, and booked a trip. We were then told that we needed to be at Blakeney Quay an hour prior to departure to pay, and then drive to Morston (a couple of miles away) where the boat departs from. I felt the posters in Blakeney were rather misleading, as they imply that the boats leave from Blakeney quay, but they don’t.

We followed the instructions, and arrived at Morston quay in good time (not easy with six people). We then took longer than expected to find our boat, as several different companies depart from Morston. Our boat—Bishops—was a muddy walk away. The boats can only leave on certain tides, so the times change about an hour every day.

We climbed aboard the boat, leaving a trail of muddy footsteps. The skipper was mopping as we walked—which meant that all the seats were wet—but we pretended we didn’t mind having wet bottoms, as this seemed like a fishermen thing to do.

The boat was wet and windy, but it was a lovely sunny day. Unattractive beany hats which had been shoved into pockets were pulled out and jammed onto heads as we drew near to the sea and the breeze became a wind. The estuary was studded with a thousand colourful buoys, and water birds stalked the sand dunes. People were holding onto the sides, and staring across the water, everyone unsure if we would actually see seals.

We rounded Blakeney Point, and there they were, like fat boulders lying in the sunshine. There were grey seals (the most common) and common seals (which are, bizarrely, less common). Every so often a seal would move, humping its body awkwardly to a new position. They were unperturbed by the queue of boats full of tourists snatching photos on their phones—they didn’t even look at us.

The most exciting views (I thought) were the glimpses of seals in the water—the flash of a Labrador-like head, the lazy dive under the waves. There was a long line of tourist boats, and we circled a few times, watching, before going back to the quay.

The trips can be booked in various places (though they all leave from Morston). It cost £13 for adults for a one-hour trip. It was worth it. Wear old clothes.

Hope you have a good day.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

If you enjoyed this, why not read my new book?: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary (You can read it for free if you have a kindle.)
Available from an Amazon near you, UK link below:

Walk to Cley Next the Sea

Posted by anneethompson

Walk to Cley Next the Sea

We were staying in Blakeney for a week. Mostly, this was lovely, though a couple of things were unexpected.

The quay at Blakeney is very pretty, with a few boats, and views of the river meandering through the salt marshes. It’s a wonderful place for watching birds, and even has a duck pond (my kind of place). The duck pond is surrounded by a tall electric fence, which keeps the ducks safe from foxes. The pond was full of exotic ducks (much prettier than the ducks on my own pond) but also had a lot of wild mallards who flew in for a holiday. There were ducklings too—but not for long, as the seagulls swooped in and ate them.

Anyway, next to this, leading away from the quay, is a footpath, which looks as if it’s heading for the sea. When I booked the house, I thought Blakeney was next to the sea. Every day, a long line of hikers set off to walk this footpath, complete with woolly hats and leather boots and binoculars (for bird spotting). We decided to join them (though we don’t own binoculars, and my family is way too noisy for bird-spotting).

The pathway bends towards the coast, tantalising you with sand dunes in the distance. You walk along the raised footpaths, above the boggy salt marshes, and then, just as you feel you’re almost at the sea, the pathway curves back, away from the beach. You can see dunes, and fishing boats, and hear the whoosh of waves, but you never actually reach the beach because a river winds alongside the path, cutting between the town and the beach.

Instead, you pass acres of rushes, golden brown and hissing in the breeze, tall as a man; and fields of cattle grazing, and the river—green brown and sluggish, sitting in a valley of mud with long-legged birds busy on the banks.

Eventually, the pathway takes you to Cley Next the Sea. (People in Norfolk have an aversion to prepositions, which I don’t really understand.) As you approach the town, there is a windmill. You can admire the scenery, and breathe the salty air, and discuss (at length) why there is no ‘to’ in the name, and what it is like to sleep in “a coffin” (see previous blog, Bea was not impressed with her bunk-bedded child’s room…)

We had drinks in the garden of The George, and then we walked back to Blakeney. But we never actually saw the sea.

As we returned to the house, we noticed several signs on Blakeney quay, advertising boat trips to see the seals. We decided to book one, and hoped that unlike our walk to the sea, we might actually see some—though if I’m honest, I expected to see tiny black dots in the distance which someone would tell me were seals. I’ll tell you about the trip tomorrow.

Thank you for reading. Hope your day is not disappointing.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

Trip to Blakeney, Norfolk

Posted by anneethompson

This year, we decided to go away for Easter. Usually we stay at home, and I attend roughly a million different church services over the Easter weekend, and then on Bank Holiday Monday, I spend all morning making scone dough, and all afternoon cooking scones and serving them to about 90 people who come to our house for a country walk and cream tea. It’s usually exhausting, and I love doing it. However, last year I was aware that all my children, who have grown up, returned home for the Easter weekend, and I spent the whole weekend not seeing them. Which seemed wrong. So this year, we decided to go away.

I booked a house with HomeAway—an online cottage rental service which I have never used before, so it was all a little scary. However, we needed a 5 bedroomed house, with an enclosed garden, that would allow me to take a dog, so there weren’t many options. I found a house in Blakeney, and we loaded the car with the dog and my mother and a lot of bags, and off we set.

The drive took about 6 hours, because the Dartford crossing was terrible and we stopped on the way for lunch at Castle Acre. We found a pub—The George and Dragon — next to the road, and the dog sat under the table, and the food was okay.

We arrived at the house. The last house I had booked was bit of a disaster (it had sewage coming out of the drains) so the family was slightly worried about what we would find. The parking place was outside the house, on a blind bend, so that wasn’t great. But the key-safe was where the instructions said, and the key fitted the door (these are all things I worry about) and we went inside.

The downstairs was great. There was a little hallway, with stairs lined with bookshelves (excellent start). A through-room led to a long kitchen, and it all looked clean, and there were hot-cross buns and local beer and a tea tray waiting for us, which was lovely. There was also a tiny sitting room, with a door handle that fell off when we opened it. But we could manage without a door handle, so no worries there. Then we went upstairs.

The top floor had a large room and a bathroom, with lovely views across fields. We (I) decided that Emm could have that room, when he arrived, as he was taking a holiday from work. On the floor below, were 4 other rooms. We took a room with an en suite bathroom, Jay took a double room, Mum took a twin room. Which left the remaining room for Bea, who was arriving at the weekend. It was a child’s room. With bunk-beds. And Mr Men books. I was worried about this. Bea (works in a posh bank in the city) wasn’t really used to rooms like this (not since she was 5 years old, anyway). The boys assured me it would be fine. But I was worried.

Thanks for reading. I’ll tell you more about our trip tomorrow.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels, which are available in bookshops and Amazon.
Anne writes a weekly blog – why not sign up to follow?
anneethompson.com

If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary. It will make you laugh, and you can read it for free if you have a kindle.
Available from an Amazon near you, UK link below:

Why the Bunny?

Posted by anneethompson

Have you ever wondered why we have bunnies at Easter time? Chocolate bunnies, eggs with bunnies on, greetings cards with bunnies?

Or why we have chicks? Or eggs? Or artistic photos of sunrise? Ever wondered what, exactly, they have to do with the Easter story? I have many times sat in churches where this same question is asked: “Now children,” (because for some reason, the preacher always thinks the children are the best people to answer this question) “Now children, who can tell me why we have eggs at Easter?” (Or bunnies, or chicks…or sunrise.) Someone (usually an adult) will then say that we have eggs (or bunnies, or chicks…you get the picture) because they represent new life, and Easter is all about new life. However, this reason is not, actually, true…

Way before we began to even think about God or Jesus or the stories in the New Testament (such as the resurrection story) we were pagans. (I use ‘we’ lightly here, I am not suggesting that you personally were a pagan, more the people who populated this green and pleasant land.) Every year, there was a festival, in honour of the goddess Eastre (sometimes spelt with an ‘o’) who was the goddess of fertility. People gave gifts that represented fertility, such as eggs or chicks…or bunnies, and she was thought to be represented by the rising sun.

Later, the Christians came, and wanted to have a time when they remembered that their faith is based on the fact that Jesus didn’t stay dead; they wanted to celebrate that Jesus is still alive, and that we can come to God because he will accept us. Someone (probably a committee) decided that the pagan festival to Eastre was a good time to pick (I guess because it coincided with the Jewish Passover festival, which was when Jesus was killed). The christians therefore chose, at this time, to celebrate that Jesus is alive, and all the other symbols were floating around, so they sort of got muddled in.

I assume the changing of the gifts to chocolate based ones had nothing to do with the Christians, and was more because modern children wouldn’t be very excited if given a real egg (and their parents would make a fuss if you gave the child a real chick or bunny). Though it would be nice if this was due to the Christians, as I’m rather partial to chocolate.

So, does it matter that we no longer remember why we have the bunny? I guess not…other than sometimes Christians can be rather smug and slightly superior to those outside of the church. Our religion has evolved, over time we have adapted to the world around us – God hasn’t changed, but aspects of our religion have. Perhaps Easter should remind us to be humble, remind us that there are some things we do in church that we don’t even remember why we do them, and that we don’t always have all the answers.

***

Thanks for reading. Hope you have a happy time this Easter.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

The festival was for Eastre,
Goddess of fertility
But they swept it away
With a cross of humility.
They took over the sunrise
Coloured eggs were hidden,
They introduced religion
And pagans were forbidden.

Then the bunnies
Hopped back,
With the chicks
And the eggs.
Spring flowers
In bright posies
Feast times with friends
And fun with families.

But beneath it all
Well hidden within,
Was a story of death
And the blackness of sin.
The anguish of God
Turning his back.
A story of tears
When the world went black.
That tragic tale,
Which wont go away,
Has a promise of peace
That we long for today.
And the torture and pain
And despair of that day,
Is why God turns and listens
When we kneel and pray.

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels. They are available from bookshops and Amazon.
You can follow her blog at:
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow today?

Birds

Posted by anneethompson

I thought I’d give you a quick animal update (because the rest of my life is pretty boring at the moment — I’m doing lots of writing, and not much else, which doesn’t make for a great blog post!) However, while I am writing, I am frequently disturbed by a tapping on my window. We have some chaffinches who must be nesting nearby, and they spend a lot of time on my window sills, tapping on the window. I’m not sure why –whether they can see their reflection and want to say hello, or whether they are keen to get inside, I don’t know. They’re very pretty though…and absolutely determined to not be photographed. I have many photos of my empty window.

At first, I thought I had siskins, as I had only seen the females, and they’re a greenish yellow colour. When you see a blur of colour disappearing from the bathroom window, it’s hard to identify. The males are bolder though (so much I could say) and I’m sure now that they’re chaffinches. I have managed one photo. Just one. So enjoy…

My rather bigger birds are the chickens. They caught a mouse the other day, and I spotted them running round the garden, trying to snatch it from each other. Not sure which one eventually won. Also not sure if the eggs will taste different if they start eating mice — not something I want to think about really. We’ve had another raid by the fox. I did have two quite stable flocks: the father cockerel with two hens, and three of the surviving five cockerels that hatched, who live in a different cage at night and wander round the garden during the day in a sort of uneasy truce, not quite daring to approach father cockerel, but also not wanting to be too far away. But then the fox came, and ate the father cockerel, which was a great shame as I’d had him ages and he was a lovely temperament.

As soon as the father was gone, the three young cockerels tried to move in on the females. They’re mother and sister, so I wasn’t keen for them to breed, and if the fox is around, I’d like to have a few more chickens (because I don’t like animals in cages, and yet if they’re loose, I’m sure to lose some). So, I’ve shut the females into the aviary. At the moment, I’m removing their eggs (because they’ll still be fertile). After a few days, I’ll let them go broody. Then I’ll buy some unrelated eggs from Ebay, and replace the ones they’re sitting on, so they will hatch and care for the new eggs. In the meantime, the cockerels can take their chances in the garden…and hopefully help the cats to keep the mouse population down.

Non-bird news is that Milly has decided she no longer wants to live outside, and has pretty much moved into the kitchen. She’s very snuggly (but only when she feels like it –there’s still a lot of wild cat in her.)

We also have lambs in the field next to the house. They are always so pretty. I smile everytime I see them scampering around. Hoping the fox doesn’t venture over the fence. Life is precarious…but maybe that makes it more precious.

Have a good week.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: