Trellis on Mandelson

The good lady from North Wales is still freely offering her advice to the deserving.
Dear Miss Mandelson, she writes, my mother-in-law, that is, the mother of my late husband, Mr Trellis, has sent me a copy of your recent book, "The T'urd Man".
I didn't realise until I got it how much she hates me. She always thought herself a cut above other people. A bit like you really, very lah-di-dah. All swank and no knickers, as you might say. A bit like you really.
Be that as it may, ours was a happy if disjointed marriage, and I hope one day you too will find someone to settle down with, but do try to avoid those heavy women on motorbikes with facial hair - they could do you a serious mischief.
Yours sympathily
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, Rtd.

Muntjac in the garden again

The other misty morning, I looked out of the kitchen window as I munched on my muesli and saw that I was not the only one having breakfast. This muntjac deer was under the bird feeders hoovering up bits of sunflower hearts that the birds had let fall from their beaks.
He must have spotted movement in the kitchen as I prepared to take the photo, because he is in alert posture, presumably a stance he learned by watching nervous lerts.

It's getting better!

Thank you, all, for your messages of sympathy and shock. As you can see, the hand is still far from beautiful, but it is much better that it looks. I have been practising waving it the way HM the Queen does hers (languidly), and I should be ready for a stately drive up the village High Street in another week, acknowledging the forelock-tugging peasants as I go. Languidly, of course.

Hand out

If this is my lifeline, it must be a palmist's nightmare.
Anyway, it's not as bad as it looks, should be healed in another 2 weeks or so. Meantime, I am milking it for all the sympathy I can get.....

si Þin nama gehalgod

Fǽder ure, Þe eart on heofonum, si Þin nama gehalgod. Tobecume Þin rice. GeweorÞe Þin willa on earÞan swa swa on heafonum. Urne dǽghwamlican hlaf sielle us ti dǽge, And forgief us ure gyltas, swa swa we forgiefaÞ urum gyltendum. And ne gelǽd Þu us on costnunge, ac alies us of yfele.

No prizes for recognising the above, but isn't it fascinating how near and how far we are from this now?

PS Yes, my hand is mending nicely. Still bandaged, and a spectacular scar from annular finger to wrist, so I will really be able to show off once the stitches come out next Monday.