MEMORIES; LIKE THE CORNERS OF MY MIND...

...Or, alternatively, Like the Ones in Our Book

Hello to you and a Happy (if belated) New Year!

Wooohoooo 2014!
Not sure why that elicited such a whoop from me - I was after all expecting it to be 2014.  As far as I know there were no plans for a 2013a.

And what will this New Year bring, I wonder?  Who knows.  So far in our area we've had torrential rain, resulting in swollen rivers and muddy dog-walks - and, on a more personal note, I've just done 2 hours of ironing.  Who knows what else is in store?  Not me, that's for sure-as-susan.

To wantonly misquote the lyrics from 'Road to Nowhere' - "We don't know where we're going, but we do know where we've been".  It's just we can't always remember the details.

HOLIDAYS CAN BE THE GLUE THAT HOLDS A FAMILY TOGETHER ...

... But what's holding the pages in my book?

We've just got back from a week in Sunny Portugal and, really, my head is still there. 

I know for sure my body isn't, however.  It's been busy doing a hundredweight of washing a day and refusing to fit into most of my clothes since it got back. 


But back to Portugal.  Man it was HOT! 
One day the temperature in our Hire Car read 46 actual degrees - although it did 'cool down' to a frosty 42 degrees by the time we'd driven for about 20 minutes. The English tabloids would have gleefully emblazoned 'Phew! What a scorcher!' on the front pages every day. 
And maybe the Portuguese ones did too - I can't read Portuguese so I wouldn't know.

Anyway, I believe I have established that it was hot.  Now here's a thing -

A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN ...

...Or, If you've read V.Woolf's book you may find this confusing

Confession : I am the kind of person who sees a photo in the paper and, rather than actually read the article, makes up the story to go with it.
I just can't help myself.  I'm not dangerous though - I don't then pass on as fact the story I have just invented.  And if something really catches my eye I do read the whole article (or at least until the words get too long) so I am not a total heathen.

Perhaps it's a creative exercise (or urge) that I can't control.  I used to love it at primary school when we were shown a photograph of some gnarly feet, or played a piece of classical music and told to write what it suggests to us.