29 March 2011
"We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one. A daft old man who stole a magic box and ran away. You'll dream about that box. It'll never leave you. Big and little at the same time. Brand new and ancient. And the bluest blue ever."
Finally I bit the bullet.... All five seasons worth of bullet!
I have three Doctors to fall in love with all over again.
Have a great week Tardis travelers,
24 March 2011
This day (March 25th) a year ago The Daily Pie's (BIG) door was unlocked to the public.
Maybe I haven't shared the journey of our first year as well as I could have here with you, but sometimes it is hard to express the enormity of things when you are in the thick of them.
However in Celebration of our cafe being opened a year, for the following week I will be doing a 'daily' post on all aspects of the shop. Showing you fine people around.
|Photo taken by Barbie Robinson|
(Our Mayor John Shaw cutting the chain to officially open The Daily Pie)
Please keep arms and legs inside the vechicle and enjoy the tour.
21 March 2011
After walking for a while in crazy large crowds we found a free spot right on the lake's edge where we sat with our feet dangling above the water.
I'm sure it is my childlike heart that has me convinced I will never tire of fireworks.
I enjoyed capturing the evening through photographs and in the album of my mind. The lights reflecting, burning, shining were the cause of such smiles on my behalf. Simply dreamy.
Burn bright darlings,
11 March 2011
Pondering the mind of William Wordsworth, reading my favourite 'lines written in early spring'.
(Although autumn is upon me)
If in the day I must do, work, be;
then the evening I save for dreaming.
Have a delightful weekend,
I heard a thousand blended notes,
while in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran,
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:-
But the lease motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must thing, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man
~ William Wordsworth~