Somewhere in Scotland. What an interesting little place. Likely the tales of ghosts and witches were based on suspicion/ fear and just trying to keep people from getting hurt in there. Now it’s locked. What a sad, and yet sensible, ending.
There must have been (or still are) other places like this. Is it even a well? Seems an odd structure to use for water, wouldn’t it get stagnant without some sunlight and air flow?
Below is the Red Well, said to date from Roman times, also said to be haunted by an old lady ghost and to be aligned for sunrise sunbeams on the summer solstice. I lived in Whitehills for a short time as a child and remember the beehive shaped building being called ‘the witch’s hoosie’ and kids shutting each other in there for ‘fun’. It’s now locked.
Source: going coastal – Ailish Sinclair
Grade I listed Hadlow Tower near Tonbridge, Kent, was commissioned by wealthy businessman Walter May in 1838 because he suspected his wife was sleeping with a local farmer.
Source: Kent’s Hadlow Tower where 19th-century businessman locked up cheating wife goes on sale | Daily Mail Online
The tower and the story were interesting to read about. But, it was this space – the kitchen furniture and set up which I especially like.
I had just gotten in the door tonight when the phone began to ring. The setting was right as I had no lights on yet, even the upstairs people had turned off the back lights for some reason (they’ve never done that before). Of course it was repairman calling. I had begun to think my brother was right and the guy wasn’t going to call. But he did. I had thought about him as I was walking home from the bus, wondered if he could be parked there waiting to see me come in. It’s possible he was but I don’t know.
Anyway, he said who he was and I pretended not to know. I actually only knew because the only people who have my phone number here are family and telemarketers. No other strangers call unless they are selling me something.
I was firmer with him on the phone. That relative safety of having at least a door between us. I still had the door open though as I had really just come in and only just put the groceries down without closing the door. As he was talking and reminding me of who he was and how we had agreed he would come over I closed and locked the door. Wishing it was a much stronger and better lock. I pretty much hung up on him, saying I did not want him coming over. I hope that is clear enough for him and the end of it.
I phoned my brother right away to let him know the guy had called. Graham said he had called the guy and told him not to call me but the guy had never called Graham back. I guess he wouldn’t likely do that either way though.
Still I am feeling creepy about the whole thing and not very safe tucked away down here. So I looked up the website for the local police division (#55 as it turns out) and sent them an email giving a quick run down on what had happened and asking for suggestions on how to deal with that now and in the future. I don’t know if I will get anything other than a form letter reply. I did say it was a non-emergency as I wouldn’t like feeling stupid if they ask me the guy’s name or anything I could tell them about him. It would be a really short list. I still didn’t really catch his name though he told it to me on the phone tonight.
Anyway, that is the update. Fun wow.
I can’t believe how I always get screwed by pieces of damned paper. I actually like paper, I read from it and I write on it frequently. I even compost and recycle it. I have been known to pat, not quite hug, a tree. So why does paper seem to curse me on a regular basis.
I think it’s not the paper, I can’t blame something so white and simple looking. It is the people who are behind the paper. The people who love to make things complicated and nitpicky. I detest and despise people who do this. It causes so many stupid and unnecessary and pointless endless tangles and headaches. Not to mention all the trees who have been sacrificed for these people. Do they even consider the blood on their hands. Well, more like sap I suppose. I doubt it crosses their mind. Maybe once in a while when they bump into a recycling box and kick it aside out of their way.
If I wasn’t such a quiet, nice grrl I would join up one of those revolution dump-the-government groups. Though it’s not just the government. I’d have to look for one that included anyone who puts paper ahead of people. Anyone who has forgotten there is real life outside of their fancy little collections of paperclips and paper holding folders.
The group I would join is one who wants to gather all the paper people into a corral made of cardboard and give them broken staplers and dried up pens as their only method of escaping and ever seeing daylight again. Assuming they still remember what daylight (real light not the inside lightbulb kind) is. Who knows when they last looked up from their piles of paper to see the sky. Likely it was the last time it rained and their paper got dripped on by God (whatever god-like creation you choose to believe).
The biggest problem I have with these people is not that they exist. It’s the way they have of attacking at just the point where you think things will be ok, that you have it worked out at last. Suddenly they swoop down on paper airplanes and take things away from you until you offer them a form (their fancy name for paper) which never existed until now or one you already gave them but not at the right time. Or maybe you just didn’t get it from the right place or signed by the right person or whatever their excuse is for such shoddy behaviour and the abuse and destruction of forests of trees.
It seems the modern world is built on paper. If you are someone who doesn’t fit into the paper world you get screwed over regularly by those who thrive in it. As if it’s all a battle which they are winning. A battle to make the world smaller and smaller, like origami in tidy, tight folds. There really should be some kind of group for fighting back. Even if we have no hope of winning at this point. I think the paper people have created things too well for anyone to exist without their approval correctly sorted, dated and signed with several copies.
Think of the trees. Think of breathing the air without the trees. Paper people won’t notice when no one else can breathe. They will all be locked away in their own world, filing paperwork. Outside the world around them will die but it won’t change a thing. They can play together without us, they just need a good photocopier, office supplies and a huge stack of fresh paper. None of us were ever real to them anyway.
What to babble about… what to babble about… So many choices; so many really dorky thoughts.
I smell strawberry jam tonight. It’s interesting cause there isn’t any strawberry jam here. It smells as if we were making it and have all the shiny red jars setting out on the counter to cool. We don’t. The real smell I’ve been smelling all day (each time I step outside) is pig manure. One of the farms around here had it very fresh a few days ago and it still hasn’t faded enough. Though if you’ve ever smelled pig manure you know the aroma can’t ever fade enough. It does make you have more thoughts about the whole bacon issue. Depending on just how cruel and mad scientist you are.
There are things I could babble about. We had a houseguest who says he never used the upstairs bathroom and shower and yet – the toilet flooded when we came home last night. I was the one standing there in horror and suspense watching the water rise and hoping it didn’t pour out. It came really close, another inch and it would have been on the floor. I wouldn’t have liked cleaning that at quarter to midnight when I was so tired I was ready to be zombified. Luckily I was spared. But we did try to fix it ourselves today and still ended up having a plumber come out and fix it and charge $80.
Of course said house guest maintains his choirboy-ness. My Mom thinks I’m just being suspicious and not-very-nice but I think he did it deliberately. He wasn’t a thoughtful guest. He ate two servings of the dinner before we even started dinner. He didn’t bring out his plate and silverware to be washed. Even the 10 year old boy had better manners. (My adorable nephew). He left the blow up bed with the sheets still rumpled however they were when he got up in the morning. He used the shower we told him not to use because it doesn’t work well and the taps don’t shut off. (We were away four days -that’s a lot of hot water pouring down the drain).
Anyway, I think he got pissy becuase he is nosy and didn’t like that I locked my bedroom door all the time he was here. I locked it again when we left that morning so he never got in to snoop around. Jerk! Why do people want to snoop? I never do that when I go to someone’s house. My ex used to think it would be interesting to break into someone’s house and look through their drawers, closets and so on. I never even had the idea to do that. It’s just not something I would do.
It’s enough that I didn’t tell him to get lost when he asked me leading questions or made comments about things in my past (like my marriage, my Witchery and my ex and so on). I just don’t think it was any of his business. I’ve only met him once before and didn’t feel really close to him, or feel much liking for him. He likes to keep notes and corellated files on everyone. It likely did bug him that I restricted access to my most private and intimate space. But, bug off, no guy should feel he has the right to enter a woman’s bedroom without an invitation.
So, I thought I wouldn’t blab about all of that but I did. After all I can tell you whatever I want. I could tell you I just got back from a trip to Mars and for all you know I did!
Who do you see when you look in the mirror?
You have been with you all your years. When you look in the mirror now, do you see yourself looking back or is it some one you kind of know. Maybe the eyes are familiar. Maybe you remember seeing that kid around, wasn’t it a momentary flash in a store window last week?
We have changed so much, the physical appearance and our feelings about ourselves. It’s strange to look in the mirror some mornings and not really see yourself looking back. My hair is grey-free as far as I’m concerned. I don’t have chin whiskers either, my Mother has those, not me.
Today I was looking in the mirror and I thought about things I’d tell that woman, if I knew her. Oddly enough I know a lot about her. She needs to figure a few things out and then get more things done. She needs to find a way to get rid of a massive amount of anger which she keeps buried inside and locked away in a lead room. She needs to clean the house, scatter the dust bunnies at the very least. Proactive should become her new theme word.
I’d tell her all this and more, if I knew just who she is.