And whiskers on kittens? Perhaps. But here are a few of my favourite things 🙂

Well given that I really have to stop being super lazy and write posts, and due to the fact that there was thunder here today, I’m popping in a new topic.

Things I love.

You know, the things that make you smile. I’ll write up a few on each day and comment with your own thoughts!

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1.  Thunderbolts  and Lightning. Very very frightening? No.

I love a good storm. My favourite stormy memory is of the muggy day that my neighbour (Also known as Santa, I am not kidding. He is the spit of good old Santy Clause, who used to own horses and carriages he was english and had grown up showing them) called to the house and asked if I wanted to go in the cart with him (and 3 of his grandkids) to leave the horses at his other farm for a few weeks. I’d like to say I replied with a dignified ‘I shall of course accompany you’, but if I remember correctly there was more squealing and excitement and attempting to jump into the cart with a solid helping of joy.

So off we went back the road, feeling like I was back in the 50s or such. Then the weather broke. And it broke with a bang. An almighty bang. The horses didn’t so much as bat an eyelid.. We got absolutely soaked. But none of us seemed to mind. It was all so wholesome and happy. Bring on the nostalgia..

The one really vivid memory I have is of a lightning bolt or a reflection of one coming through the trees and hitting the ground beside the horses with an almighty crack. They shied over a little but carried on, not a bother on them. They were the nicest horses! Apart from my current lovelies…

And just to really get the ball rolling…

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2. Wheelbarrow rides

Long ago when I was but a wee one. Or wee-er than I am now anywho, I would sidle up to my Daddy, who was inevitably chipping away at something on the farm.. In fact, thinking about it, I have no idea what he did seeing as the farm and garden are always a big mess.. But he often had in his possession an old and rickety wheelbarrow, and that would draw me towards it… for with a wheelbarrow, there was a always a chance of wheelbarrow rides!

They were the best.

Climbing into the wheelbarrow we’d inevitably fall over or sideways or backwards or forwards in the process, and acquire a large and painful bruise to show off. But eventually we’d make it in, and sitting horribly uncomfortably (but not caring) and brimming with excitement, you shout ‘GO’ and off we went, poor Dad trying to run as fast as possible and not topple you out (pretty sure he was tempted to), and when he stopped, trying to catch his breath and simultaneously avoiding heart attack, screeching ‘AGAIN AGAIN’ in our charming and eloquent country farm voices…The best of times really..

Ok, I’m off to find someone strong and acquire a wheelbarrow.