Topsy turvy

Granny is back on her island, she's not sure for how long. Today, for one reason and another she spent very little of her afternoon upright. The second part she was down at a black beach, crawling round on rocks and in between this awkward form of progress (the rocks can be slippery and she does not fancy measuring her length at her age - or, to put it more crudely, going arse over tit) she was upended over a rockpool watching fish, etc, a soothing occupation when matters are in some disarray as they are around some of her family's lives just now. (Hence her uncertainty as to her movements.) Beloved was in search of anemones and sea water to add to their kitchen rock pool - plus weed plus the odd snail and hermit crab. Granny would have added some shrimps but had not had the forethought to bring a net; her fingers do not serve. She will have more sense next time. (Shrimps tickle fingers nicely, though, as they skid about.) The kitchen rockpool by the way now sports a weird creature - it's called a spider crab in Spanish, but Beloved says it is not what he - or the English - call a spider crab. And indeed it does look more like a marine daddy long-legs, all legs, very little body, except that the airborne variety of the cranefly - to give d-l-l its more official name - does not sport a dinky little pair of claws on its central legs the way this does. When food of any sort is in the offing it shoots out these inoffensive claws with amazing speed and GRABS. Oh the wonders of nature.

She spent the first part of her afternoon, on the other hand, in her hammock between sleep and reading the Saturday Guardian (the all-important - to her - book section) hat on her feet, apron on her head to keep the sun off. The appropriate reversal would have been shoes on her head, but her scruffy Birkenstocks wouldn't provide enough shade. The hammock now sits so low that her bottom hits the tiles, but it still feels as nice and is as difficult to get out of as it ever was for someone of her advanced years. She has to think about it each time; then place a strategic cushion, heave herself - she sometimes has to do this more than once to get it right - and effect an inelegant roll, ending on her knees. She DOES not do this when anyone is around to watch. For obvious reasons.

To go backwards - but then this post is like that, all back and no front - a rather hungover Granny and Beloved spent the morning clearing up in a desultory way from the party that wasn't. Curious? Well maybe she'll explain tomorrow - or the next post - all about that. Or maybe she won't. Tonight is for FIREWORKS. Really.