Wishes

 At the beginning of the autumn I decided to do three things every day in order to slow down the aging of my brain: practise my sax everyday, learn Italian, and…I’ve forgotten the third thing. Oh, get some exercise outside. Or was it paint? 

😼

Anyway, I’ve done the exercise, and the painting; the sax practice sessions have not been regular, unfortunately; but I’ve kept up the Italian. I’m learning on free Duolingo. Someone told me that if you wait till the New Year, Duolingo often has a special offer when it’s cheaper, so that’s the plan: I’ll subscribe then. This means that in the meantime I have to put up with the annoying adverts, and I’ve seen one lately that I really don’t like.

The advert is for an app called Go Wish. It allows you to create a wish list, which you can share with other people. That’s fine. I can see it has legitimate uses. Sometimes Cece has wanted a lot of things and sent me a wish list so I can choose what I want to buy for her for Christmas. It’s the ad, not the concept that I detest. A healthy and good looking, extremely well-heeled and well dressed father and daughter (11 years old?) are talking about what she’d like for her birthday. In the first scene she says she doesn’t know. (What? There is nothing she yearns for?) But then in the second scene she has found the Go Wish app which will list suitable presents for someone her age and gender. So she has made a long list, and sent it to her father.

If a child has really no idea what she wants for her birthday, doesn’t that mean she has everything? And therefore wants for nothing? And needs nothing? 

Is it just me? Is it my fifties upbringing in which I was well fed and well looked after,  but couldn’t have everything I wanted because there was no money for the five of us kids to have everything we wanted, and anyway, even if there had been more money I’m sure we wouldn’t have been given everything we wanted. 

To be clear, I have nothing against wish lists. I just hate that ad.

And now, it is - shock horror - 8.50 a.m. so I really must get up. I had a trip to IKEA yesterday with MsX and her mum, the lovely Jaine, and when I got home my head was buzzing and I had a terrible night.

It’s laughable what a quiet life I lead, so that a trip to IKEA with the girls over-excites my brain. As I texted to Het this morning when she laughed at this:  “I’ve only ever been to IKEA three times in my life and it’s the first time I’ve had lunch there with Swedish meatballs, so give me a break!”

And yes, I did buy MsX something she doesn’t need but really, really wanted - a cuddly toy. AND we did have to go back to the beginning of IKEA and start all over again to find one. Of course she has a mountain of cuddlies at home, but what can I say? This will be my last grandchild and I’m an easy mark, despite my upbringing. 

And now, as there is no picture on this post, here is the birthday cake that MsX’s other gran made for me a long time ago. Isn’t it exquisite and amazing?

Hospital

 I went to have a check-up of my artificial knee last week. I’ve had it for 19 years and it’s still going strong, which is amazing. I am so grateful for it. I had to answer a questionnaire and have an X-ray which meant a 45 minute drive to a big general hospital in Sheffield. There wasn’t an appointment. I could turn up any time with my letter, which was a good job.

Driving through fast and busy traffic in Sheffield isn’t pleasant and makes me tense. I arrived at 10.15 and searched and searched for a parking space. I drove around five of the car parks in the huge grounds and still found nowhere. So I drove out again and parked on a side street ten minutes walk from the hospital grounds and fifteen minutes from my target building. The letter had sent me directions which didn’t work, so I had to ask for help. When I got there it all went smoothly, but by the time I got home I was drained.

Yesterday I had to go to a different hospital, for something else. This place is in Chesterfield, 25 minutes drive away, and an easy drive. We found a parking place straight away. We didn’t have to pay. The waiting room was quiet and serene with no blaring telly in the corner. The chairs were comfy, and the hall faced one wall which was completely covered by a photograph of a view from Baslow Edge, similar to this, but not this:

My appointment was on time, slick and swift, and I came home wishing all hospitals could be like that. 

And having written all of that I’m thinking how fortunate I am to live in a country which has any kind of free health care. We moan on and on about the failings of the NHS, and I don’t deny them. The recent press stories about the inadequacies of maternity care in particular are shocking and make me sad. I had such good care. The NHS has been marvellous for me, and life saving in at least one case. I’ve had four major operations, plus I’ve had my cataracts removed. 

I’m truly grateful.

At last some good world news!

🌊 🌊 🌊 🎉🎉🎉🥂🥂🥂🎈🎈🎈

My bad mood day

 I felt cross yesterday morning. A couple of things were eating me. But it was a lovely bright day and it was a Monday morning so I knew the Trail would be quiet. Dave had gone out early. He was out for the day. I was in the kitchen making a flask of coffee for my bike ride when he rang.

“I’ve done a stupid thing,” he said. “When I was packing up the car, I put my smart shoes on the roof but then I forgot they were there, and drove off, with them still on the roof. Would you mind looking along the lane to see if you can find them?”

Dave only has one smart pair of shoes and these were they. So I quickly packed up and jumped on my bike and cycled off. The first part of the journey was on my way anyway. They were not on our lane, or the next one, so I passed the track up to the Trail and carried on along the main road towards Bakewell, scanning the verge and the road all the time. I saw them and stopped suddenly without thinking. There were two or three cars behind me and I had been thinking only about the shoes. Fortunately the driver behind me had been driving carefully and nothing happened. But I felt really stupid. There I’d been congratulating myself on finding them and my quick reactions, when I should have been thinking about safety. 

Anyway…all was well. I packed up the shoes in my pannier and cycled off to join the Trail further down, where I stopped and sent a text to the person Dave was with. (Dave refuses to have a  phone.) 

I was still in a bad mood. Now I would have to cart the bloody shoes on my bike ride or detour and take them home and then set off again. But really, there was nothing to be cross about, as they fitted in the pannier and they were bulky rather than heavy. But I was in a bad mood. 

The Trail is looking particularly lovely at the moment 

and I noticed and enjoyed it, but I was still chuntering on inside my head about the stuff that was annoying me, and I couldn’t reach a place of equanimity. 

MsX and her parents were visiting in the afternoon, so when I got home I played the Out of Africa soundtrack loudly while I got out the ingredients to make a lemon cake. The Out of Africa soundtrack is my all purpose soothing music: it calms me when I am stressed and comforts me when I am sad. It always helps. I first started to listen to it for solace when my mother died.

So, I got the cake in the oven and lit the fire, and had some lunch and then the family arrived. 

MsX told me about their half term holiday and what she liked about it and then said she wanted to paint. And she wanted to paint in my studio, not on the kitchen table like she did last time. So that’s what happened. 

And this was the result:

She started with a blue sky because she said “You like blue,” which is true. It’s my favourite colour. Then she painted the daffodils and then the snow topped mountains between the sky and the foreground.

I was in my happy place. 

Then we all went outside to play football, which turned into a fun game of hockey, with the three adults playing the shots, with MsX joining in occasionally but mainly contributing hilarious trash talk.

Then we went in for lemon cake. 

More playing.

When they left, my bad mood did not set up shop again. I was cured. And exhausted. And thankful. I am so lucky to have a grandchild so near that she can come to play. A long time ago we had grandchildren locally but they’ve grown and flown now. And then I had to travel to Colorado for playtime, where they hung Sylvanian families’ washing on my knitting wool - while I was knitting. Now those two are teenagers and fabulous in a different way. 

The best thing about yesterday

 It was a strange day yesterday. Dave was out for the day, and when Dave is out it means I don’t have to tell anyone what I’m doing and when I’m doing it and where I’m going and what time I’ll be back. Basically, Dave likes to know “the shape of the day” and sometimes I just want to free wheel and be shapeless, so when he is occasionally out, I enjoy it.

So…I had that freedom, and yet I had no zest. And the day was pretty much meh. I have just finished a painting and loved doing it and now that it’s finished I’m lost and don’t know what to paint next.

I practised my sax but didn’t do well. I made myself go out on my bike but didn’t launch down the lane with glee as per normal, I dilly dallied, calling in on my neighbour first to arrange something, and then I met the postman and asked what’s happening with the post. Are we on that alternate day delivery thing? He spent ten minutes trying to explain the new system amd all the ramifications, and I think the gist of it is that we get first class post and packages and NHS letters one day, and second class the next day. And people have been chasing him round the village for their copies of the Radio Times which apparently comes second class. 

So I finally got going on my ride and saw some lovely autumn colours, 

but had no oomph to go far. And I came home thinking how when you’re old you’re supposed to keep having exercise, and I do, but how do you know how much exercise is enough to stay healthy?  

The best thing about my day - by far - was Wendy texting

So I rang her.

Long time readers will remember ten years ago on the blog when Wendy had heavy duty surgery and all the awful rest of it. 

And now at last she’s signed off. 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎈🎈🎈🎈🥳🥳🥳🥳🥂🥂🥂🥂

How I wish I could go out and celebrate with her, but I’m not visiting the USA for the time being. And I so miss going to The Buff with her for breakfast and Bloody Marys 

and to the Rio for lunch and margaritas

Here’s to you, Wendy. ❤️ You’re fabulous.  How lucky our family is that you used your excellent chat up line on Isaac all those years ago.

Please help!

In the past few days, Israeli forces have forcibly displaced more than 3,000 Palestinians from their homes in Hebron, in the occupied West Bank. We are witnessing ethnic cleansing in real time.

Among the Palestinians forced from their homes are pregnant women, people with disabilities and elderly people with chronic illnesses. Many have left behind the medicine they rely on, while Israeli gates and checkpoints cut off access to hospitals and essential supplies. The thousands of Palestinians displaced in Hebron now join more than 40,000 Palestinians who have been forcibly displaced in the West Bank since 2025 – many of whom are still unable to return home.

What’s happening in Hebron is not an isolated incident. It is part of Israel’s ongoing ethnic cleansing of Palestinians: a state-led policy, carried out alongside state-backed settlers. Your MP can place pressure on the UK Government. Please, take 2 minutes to ask your MP to demand the Foreign Secretary takes action to stop Israel’s ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. If you need help with what to say, you can find an email suggestion here. The charity, Medical Aid for Palestinians,  is mobilising emergency medical supplies for hospitals in and around Hebron, and working with their local partners to meet the immediate needs of displaced families.

So far, they and their partners have:

• Prepared to distribute around 900 psychosocial support kits, including toys for children, and 368 dignity kits which has sanitary products for women.

• Distributed medical equipment to emergency departments of all government and INGO hospitals in Hebron, including 25,992 units of saline.

If you are able to, please make a donation today. Your support could help our team in the West Bank respond to growing humanitarian needs. Together, we'll ensure we're prepared to support displaced Palestinians communities when they need us most.

You can donate here.

This weekend

Dave gave up wearing a watch ten years ago, and he doesn’t have a mobile phone. And he loathes, I mean loathes, changing the clocks. We have a lot of clocks in the house, partly because of an Aspergery fixation he had a few years ago, when he made a lot of wooden ones. This is one he made for me, with Courage carved across the middle:

But it’s not the physical act of changing the clocks that he kicks against, it’s having it imposed on him. He hates anyone telling him what to do. And if it’s the government, he especially hates it. So his way to deal with this imposition is to take charge and change them early on the Saturday morning, the day before clock changing day. Yes, it’s annoying. Very annoying. 

But the unhappy thing that happened yesterday was something else. 

In 2001 I went to Centre Parcs for a few days with the family member who declines to be named, and I brought home a pine cone. I grew six pine trees from that cone. Two survived. I gave one away, and the other has been growing happily against our back garden wall to reach the height of 45 feet. My tree! I was very proud of that tree. 

Yesterday I went out into the garden and found that it had been split in two, and half had fallen in our garden. 

Thank you storm Austen. It’s very sad, because the tree had to be felled. The split went right through the trunk, vertically, and the damaged half could have fallen on the shed, or over the wall when there were cows in the field. Our garden is very exposed to the prevailing winds. So having checked with our farmer neighbour first, Dave got out his chain saw and felled my tree. 

Today he is sawing it up and processing the greenery. He’s very handy and very hard working and I’m thankful for that.

He has left the trunk like that because he is planning to carve it into a seat for MsX to sit in when she talks to the cows.

April 2020

A short post

I made the mistake this morning of reading the news as soon as I had taken my first sip of Yorkshire tea, instead of glancing at it AFTER doing Connections on the New York Times puzzle page. The dystopian wider world was just too much to cope with in an early morning state of mind. 

So I turned away, and drunk more tea, and did the puzzles and felt slightly better. Some people I know think Wordle is the be all and end all, but I prefer Connections. Have you tried it? Sometimes it’s a bit too American to be possible, but most days I can have a decent bash at it, and so far - sometimes with Dave’s help - I have a 71% success rate. If I have any remaining ambitions in life apart from having a painting in the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, it’s to get to a 75% cumulative score on Connections, which is much less achievable than it sounds.  

The other gentle thing to do first thing as an antidote to the need is to turn to Garrison Keillor’s Writing page on his website. It usually make me smile. 

Another day

 Autumn is definitely here.

I am currently sitting in bed with a thick jumper over my pyjamas, and Dave is at his desk wearing a hat and a scarf.

The trees  are looking lovely.

On the Monsal Trail - spot my bike.

And MsX is wearing her coat when we go outside in the garden to play.

Photo by the lovely Jaine

This is us looking at the cows over our garden wall. She stood for a good ten minutes looking at them. She likes animals. That’s why she’s a vegetarian, she told me yesterday. You can just spot her Bluey ears she was wearing. I always have so much fun when she comes. My head was buzzing when she and her mum went home for tea.

Today it’s a trip to Aldi, my flu jab, painting, bringing the pelargoniums inside for the winter, and the first time I make soup for lunch since the spring.

Letter from home

Dave has always hated being away from home, and has had to be dragged on holiday. 

Now he never goes anywhere, so I have to make my own fun. That’s fine. I can do that. But this year it feels as though I’ve overdone it. I have had a lot of short trips, more than I’ve ever done before. 

I went to London in January

with our daughter to see two wonderful exhibitions and The Mousetrap;

To Wensleydale with my sibs;

To Wensleydale with Liz;

To Pembrokeshire with Liz;

To Cornwall to visit Het;

To Winchester on another short sibs get-together;

and lastly to Scarborough with Chrissie.

It’s been a bit mad. And a bit much. 

And it’s a weird and huge relief to know I’m not going anywhere for the next two months, and nothing is planned beyond that. You’ll have to watch this space to see if I am climbing the walls by January, because winter here can get a bit much.

Anyway, today I am going to see an art demo and take part in a workshop. I’m slightly nervous because I don’t like painting in the company of other people. And I don’t like painting in a hurry. I am a very slow painter. And very messy. They will be horrified when they see my protective gear. (Ignore the pyjama trousers - it’s still early!)

Oh well. It will be challenging. And that’s a good thing when you’re ancient (77), isn’t it?

The cold

The autumn and winter catalogues have been arriving in our postbox and as usual the colours are drab and dingy. I know I’ve said it before but if I was in charge of the fashion world I’d make the winter colours bright and vivid in winter to make up for the grey skies and the khaki fields and the lack of flowers. Dave sees the catalogues (e.g. Poetry, Wrap, Baukjen and NRBY) and  says “Why have you got these? They’re for young people,” and I correct him. Vociferously.

This year, however, I looked at the trousers and found nothing I wanted to buy, because they’re either weird unflattering shapes - barrel, carrot, balloon - or they’re too wide for everyday country life, or they are cropped. Who wants cropped trousers in the winter? I want warm ankles! When I said this to Chrissie, I realised that it shows I am officially old. On Everwood all the women wear cropped tops and low slung trousers, exposing three inches of abdomen, even in a Colorado winter. If my gran were alive she’d be worrying about them getting chills in their kidneys, and now I’m the same. Hey ho.

Talking of cold, my big sister just texted to ask if we have enough heating oil. We didn’t stock up on the heating oil before the (unexpected) war on Iran began in February, and the price of it now is literally double what it was in January. Imagine if your gas or electricity bill doubled. And the price is not regulated, as electricity and gas prices are. The price of heating oil seems to be a blind spot for this government and yet 1.5 million families depend on it because, like us, they are off the gas grid. The government has been talking about regulating it for months, and they are still talking. They offer a small amount of financial help right now to people on very low incomes, but we are not in that category. 

So we plan not to have the heating on until it becomes absolutely necessary. We have enough wood, thanks to Dave, 

and I just have to remember to light the stove before I get to the stage of feeling miserable.

But we are lucky. We’re not living in a tent in Gaza with no food and at daily risk of being killed. 

Here is a link to Gaza Soup Kitchen 

https://gazasoupkitchen.lonelyorphans.org/

Lastly, I just reread The Correspondent and enjoyed it all over again. It’s one of my favourite books from the last few years.

I am now reading Helen Garner‘s collected diaries. The book is called How to End a Story. It is 800 pages long! It’s gripping. Also very unusual. I can imagine some people not liking it at all.

What are you reading?

Places and moods

It’s been a good week.

Tuesday was a perfect early autumn day at Hepworth Towers. Warm sunshine, no wind at all. Completely still days are rare where we live. We are on the edge of the village and our garden is exposed to the prevailing westerly wind, so when there is no wind, it feels magical and serene. Perfect for table tennis, perfect for gardening. I took down the sweet peas and planted the wallflowers and enjoyed it just because of the climate, because I was in a place I love, because…

…the feeling was akin to the one described in that paragraph from The Shadow of the Rock (Willa Cather) that I’ve quoted before

On Wednesday I travelled by train to join Chrissie in Scarborough 

where she’s been renting a holiday cottage. 

In the Chesterfield station waiting room a woman in her thirties was having a FaceTime conversation with a work colleague so unreservedly that the whole waiting room could hear the details…unit prices, engaging a solicitor, what to say to a client, etc, etc. It went on and on. I turned to the woman next to me and said “Isn’t that person annoying?” And she said: “Yes, I put away my mobile phone and have been listening to her instead.”

It was a strange day for rail travel in the north of England. There were serious incidents on three different lines in different directions, which meant the transport police were called in and the lines were closed. If you were hoping to travel due north, or southwest of York, you were screwed.  Fortunately for me, the line to Scarborough was open.

Since I got here there has been much talking, much walking, excellent fish and chips, margaritas, and a paddle (of course)

A steep climb up to the castle

Where the views were terrific

The south bay

The north bay

And for some reason I have fallen in love with the Grand Hotel. I’ve not been inside,  but the building looks so impressive from the outside:

Of course, Scarborough does have other stately buildings, because in earlier times it was a favourite resort of the well-to-do. 

Home today, back to Hepworth Towers…not stately, but much loved.

Bits and bats

 In the light of the Green Party's vote on Zionism, I commend to you this article by Jonathan Freedman. It’s well worth reading. It made me think.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2026/oct/02/green-party-anti-zionism-motion-attempt-tell-jews-how-to-think

On the home front, the news is that I picked the last of the sweet peas yesterday,

 

and the frame is coming down today to make way for a holding bed for some wallflowers I bought from the market. Many of my perennials have been punished by the heat and the lack of rain this summer, but the cosmos and Japanese anemones are still flourishing, and that’s where I usually plant my wallflowers for next spring.

MsX and the lovely Jaine came yesterday and we walked through the village to find autumn treasures, and when we got back, the three of us made an autumn crown with them for MsX. She looks a peach in it. You’ll have to take my word for it, because I can’t share photos of her on here. She still looks like a Mabel Lucie Atwell girl with blue eyes, pink cheeks and a round face, but she has very long hair and a cheeky grin. She is physically fearless, rarely runs out of energy, and is a hoot.

Meanwhile, the Colorado girls define the word teenager but in very different ways from each other. It would not be right to say more. Watching children grow up when you’re not in hands-on everyday contact is so interesting, isn’t it?

Finally, as this is the third post on returning to the blog, after my unequivocal “final”signing off at the end of July…I ought to say something. 

Yes, I have decided I’m back. I wasn’t well from June onwards but in an ill-defined way it was hard to explain to the doctor. Everything got too much, and the quality of blog was ailing in consequence, and that was upsetting. Also it became a pressure when I was feeling so discombobulated. Thankfully, I feel so much better now. So…I have learned my lesson. Next time I need to lay the blog down I will tell you I am taking a break, not ending it for good.

When I told Isaac I was writing the blog again, he called me a blogaholic. Maybe I am.

P.s. a note about comments: when you comment, I am sent an email and then I publish the comment. That’s why you might have to wait to see your comment posted. 

Ever-dreadful

Have you ever been hooked on a television series you wish you could stop watching? I turned to a gentle small town drama called ‘Everwood’ - which has an excellent score on Rotten Tomatoes - when I couldn’t find anything else. I enjoyed the first series, but now it’s irritating the hell out of me. And yet I am still watching it. 

I turn to it when I am too tired to do anything else. I suppose it’s taken the place of the defunct ‘Neighbours’ in my lexicon of slumping television. The main character is conceited, annoying, a terrible father, and unattractive (though I get the impression he is supposed to be appealing on all counts except fatherhood.)

Admittedly he doesn’t look bad in this photo, but trust me, he’s a turn off. The main female lead (a 16 year old) started off well but has become beyond tiresome. The small town values are irritating, and there is a folksy intro at the start of every episode. It is also repetitive. Aargh. Why on earth am I still watching it? 

AI describes it as “a heartwarming and emotional family drama which won strong critical praise for its realistic writing and small town charm.” Perhaps one problem is that I don’t find Amercian small town charm charming. I find it small minded. 

So, the upshot of this is that I am looking for something else (fictional) to take its place. No whodunnits please, as when I am tired I don’t want to be trying to work out who the culprit is. Any suggestions? 

Friends

I’ve had a quiet day on my own after a very busy few weeks, and during those weeks I have thought from time to time that it might have been a mistake to give up the blog. I am still considering it.

Today I have written in my journal, mended the pocket of a pair of Dave’s shorts while listening to a fascinating and erudite discussion about Casablanca (the film) on In Our Time (BBC Sounds), started two new paintings, done my Italian session on Duolingo, practised my saxophone, visited my neighbour to give her probably the last bunch of sweet peas this year, and lain on the sofa exhausted.

And while I was lying here I have been thinking about friends, and how I have made friends through the blog, and blog readers I haven’t made friends with have still been friends of some kind, and how it’s a mistake to cut oneself off from friends of any kind. And that friends become more and more precious the older you get.

So I thought I’d say hello.

Het came to visit this week,

and she said I should drop a Christmas message here, but I couldn’t wait. So here I am, saying hello.

I hope you’re well. Say hello in the comments if you see this. 

Sx

Ps. These are my two latest paintings…

The end of the road

   

The blog is becoming sad and bedraggled, and spoiling its noble record. It’s not surprising…I’ve done it for twenty years. 

I first began in June 2006. Admittedly it was originally only a web presence, a blog in name only, hatched because PLOTTING FOR BEGINNERS had just been published. It only became a recognisable blog in the late summer of 2008, with posts like this: 

Wednesday August 27, 2008

DREAMING

Last night I dreamed I was in the kitchen with Dave, and he was prodding me with a fork. I said “Don’t! That’s not nice!” And he stopped. Then I woke up with a horrendous stomach ache.

I could hear from Dave’s breathing that he wasn’t asleep, so I said “I have this awful pain,” and he was full of sympathy, as he always is, and we discussed what might be the cause of the pain, and then I told him my dream.

“Was it a big fork?’ he said.

I pictured a devil’s fork, and couldn’t speak for the giggles. Then, when I calmed down, I said, “It was a kitchen fork, fool. But you had a look of malice on your face when you were poking me.”

“It’s so unfair to hold me responsible for my behaviour in your dreams,” he said. “And you know I’m not a malicious person. Scientific exploration is different. I could hold up my hand to prodding you with a fork to find out your core temperature.”

posted by Sue Hepworth at 5.49 a.m.

But now things feel different. We live in a dystopian world. Mad men are in charge of large countries, fascism is rising everywhere, disastrous climate change is upon us, and Israel is continuing its obscene violence on Palestinians both inside the West Bank and also in Gaza. And it is blatant now; but the issue has vanished from the headlines, the E.U. still counts Israel as an ally and trading partner, and Spain is the only European country to call them out. 

And then there is the universal war-mongering, the loud call from every side for the investment in armaments. “There’s going to be a war! X is going to attack us! We need to be ready!” 

As someone wrote to the paper a couple of years ago…

The world is too dark for me to cope with. But I can’t go on and on, telling you this on the blog.

This is not me in the picture, but I feel the same way:

This IS me:

And there is another problem. My mind is no longer tuned to writing about domestic happenings, making mental notes of funny things to tell you, or issues I want to explore. There are still times when I make a mental note that something is worth blogging about, but then my short term memory is so poor that the idea gets lost.

Other things have changed. I used to feel able to talk about my extended family and to share photographs of them. Now the internet feels like the Wild West, I don’t want to do that. Isaac and family have just left after a lovely, lovely visit. And our  whole family came for tea and outdoor games on Thursday - all three of our “children”, partners and grandchildren, and how I would love to show you pictures, but it’s not OK these days. All I can say is that I went to sleep happy on Thursday night, and I woke up happy, and all that is left is too much fruit juice, and a Dungeons and Dragons character sheet that Cece has made for me, with some dice. There was no time to play this week, so we plan to play on FaceTime. 

But back to the blog: the party’s over. I know I’ve said I’m stopping blogging before, but this really is it. Finito benito.

My view is that the blog had a heyday between autumn 2008 and autumn 2023. Then the latest war on Gaza began, in October 2023. There have been good posts since then, but not so many.

In early 2020, I chose the best posts of the years from 2010 - 2019 and they are available in my book DAYS ARE WHERE WE LIVE.

I have enjoyed writing the blog, and loved the interactions with readers. And it’s been amazing to make friends across the world, through the blog. It will still be online, so you can read it all. But there won’t be any new posts. You can follow me on Instagram @sue.hepworth where I post my paintings.

So, as the lady at the end of the Morecambe and Wise show used to say:

“Thank you everybody, thank you. I’d like to thank all of you for watching me and my little show here tonight. If you’ve enjoyed it, then it’s all been worthwhile. So until we meet again, good night and I love you all.”

On our bi-annual Bakewell Peace Vigil

Blogging in bed

One of my paintings 

Cycling in Boulder 

On holiday with Liz

On a gallery trip with Het

Having a margarita with Wendy 

Early morning sweet peas

Guess who