
Meet Big Jim the chilli! That’s the actual name of this variety. I haven’t tried the peppers yet as this is the first. They smell sweet as opposed to fiery, but taste will tell!
I haven’t grown too many plants this year what with a surprise pregnancy and some ill health, so it cheers me no end that my windowsill chillies are bearing such luscious looking fruit.
What should I cook with it? Answers in the comments please!

I love getting books from authors I have not read before, as I have no expectations and can approach with a totally open mind. I was particularly looking forward to reading Imelda’s volume, as it deals with supporting the spirituality of younger people and children. Having children myself (and another on the way!) and remembering how my own spiritual journey stems back to when I was very, very young, I was intrigued to read the thoughts of someone who deals with this every day of their life.
From the start, Imelda’s book is very accessible. Although there are some parts which deal with practical shamanic work which will be of most use to experienced practitioners, Imelda is clear to point out which sections these are, and even so, as a ‘shamanic lay person’, I found these sections fascinating and enlightening.
I don’t want to hyper-analyse the contents of each chapter, as this will leave no beautiful surprises for you as you read the book. And believe me, there is surprise and delight throughout this volume. Imelda uses the phrase ‘It takes a village to raise a child’ very early on in the book, and I immediately grinned, as we use this saying (and its follow up statement!) amongst our own tribe, as we allow our children to (within reason and safety) roam from homestead to homestead when we gather. I also resonated with Imelda exploring the idea that sometimes we strive for perfection as parents, without giving in to being ‘good enough’. I certainly struggle with this. Sometimes I feel like I am only just good enough. I need to realise that being good enough for my little ones is special, and not something to be criticised.
Imelda’s style is positive and direct, and she covers challenging subjects with a compassion and thoroughness which is so often missing today. Topics such as losing a child, either before or after birth, are often tip-toed around, but Imelda faces them head on and shows how the experiences can be understood at a deeper, spiritual level to help families heal. Imelda also writes at length and with authority on children with special needs.
One of my favourite sections was the examination of brainwashing and radicalisation. The sense that the separation from Divine Unity is occurring over and over made total sense to me.
I won’t say too much more as you really need to read this book. If you have children yourself, it is invaluable. If you know children, or are interested in shamanic practice, or simply have a keen interest in human nature and spirituality, you will appreciate the level of experience, knowledge, skill and compassion which shines from every page.
This gorgeous creature is a good couple of inches long. We discovered it as it was clinging onto my fiancé’s foot on the beach of Port Cristo! I rescued it (and him) and sat it in the shade until it recovered enough to move on.
Sadly, these beautiful insects are seen as pests as their grubs destroy palm trees from the inside out. I love palm trees too, so I understand why the weevils are not popular, but I can’t help feeling the weevil has a right to life too…
This one lived to chew another day, anyway.
Arachnophobes, look away now!
A cellar spider (pholcidae) in our bathroom, clutching her egg sac. She’s been there for days, determinedly carrying the unborn babies everywhere she goes, and even fighting off a rival (they sometimes eat each other!). I’m moving her soon, as we don’t want the babies spreading out over the bathroom and drowning or being crushed by little feet.
There’s are days when getting up and dressed seem a major achievement. I found clothes! I put them on and don’t look utterly stupid!
But then I feel stupid for congratulating myself over such a tiny thing. How can I be proud of myself, an adult, a parent, over getting myself up and dressed?
I have to fight this feeling, because depression wants me. Its black tentacles are oozing sinuously closer, to grasp at my heart. I can’t promise I won’t let it; I’ve never been strong enough to fight it all the way off; no, strong is not the right word. I’m certainly not weak; competent? Capable? Knowledgeable? I don’t really know. I know it’s no failing of me or my brain or body that depression lurks constantly, a serpentine cephalopod of silence. It makes me silent; I don’t want to speak, or even sing some days.
When I stop singing, I know it’s bad. Some days tears roll down my face when I’m singing. I can cope with that. If the emotion is still there, I can cope. It’s when it drains away; that’s when I start to crumble.
So today I got dressed. Must remember it’s ok to clap myself on the back. Now I have to go get a parcel; see friends; cook and eat. Must remember to eat, and eat well. Slap away the tiny tentacles that sneakily steal these instructions from my mind: eat, sleep, wash, smile. Cope.
Sitting in bed
Waiting for the world to end
Or maybe to start.
My heart
A battlefield of friends
And enemies
Love and passion
Embers fizzling in the rain
The aftermath.
Scared to read, scared not to read
Fearmongers long for both
But my eyes eat it all
All the bitter, nasty bile
Vile accusations and
Trial after execution
Just like the last six weeks.
So many lies,
I can only hope
This is more of the same.
Lying in bed,
Waiting for the world to end
Bending not to my will,
My vote, my hope,
Or that of
58% of the others.
I’m languishing in bed feeling sorry for myself at the moment, however at the start of the Easter break I did manage to get out and about a bit. Nathan and I had a lovely walk to our local town, via the woods that have overtaken the old railway cutting. Here’s some of the treasures we found.
A daisy with something in its eye.
Ladybird on bramble.
Forget-me-nots.
A new friend.