‘Judged by some an eccentric retiree of outstanding abilities, Mr WH considers himself a chandler and soap maker. An able chef, accomplished in jam and marmalade making, his most favourite of pastime remains unquestionably and without a doubt: ‘A connoisseur of old English ales and the finest of wines, with a penchant for excellent cheese and good quality chocolate.’

Whilst content to rustle up the odd jar of pickles or chutney, Mrs WH prefers to grow her own vegetables, fatten up the local wildlife or sit tapping away on her tablet. However, her most recent dalliance, to wit, the amateur writer, allows her the opportunity to set her imagination free, delivering her unique style of poetry and short stories, whilst putting the finishing touches to her first novelette. Albeit, she is never happier than when, along with her darling husband and two doting dogs, she can sit in a local ale house, conversing merrily with all who pass by their table.’

Greetings

Good morrow, I am Mrs WH. If you were to meet me you might find me to be a number of things. First and foremost, 'OLD', like your nan. I am old. A real life gammer, it's just that my brain doesn't know it yet. I am extremely proud to say that my life has entered that autumnal era of a woman's life, the stage known as the 'crone'. If you aren't familiar with this term then I suggest that you might endeavour to look it up. I am absolutely delighted to be a crone because it means I get to worry less about things that don't require worrying about at all. A Capricorn crone, not a wise one yet but I'm getting there. That's basically me in a nut shell. Oh, and I love Kate Bush. And wildlife.

One would undoubtedly describe me as long haired. Colour wise it's pink and green and I like it that way. Exactly how long it measures I do not know but I shall soon be able to rest upon on it, should I find the need to. A wanna-be 'hippie' type crossed with an old woodland faerie, living on the edge of a quiet village, usually with dirt under her fingernails. A stranger once compared my image to Stevie Nicks but other than that no-one has ever really noticed me, apart from that one time when someone randomly asked me if I lived on a narrowboat. I don't yet own a narrowboat but if folk think I do then that's fine with me. A bit of a gongoozler, I live that life vicariously. I'm not quite sure exactly what it is but there's something quite magical and mystical about living aboard a narrowboat. It remains an alternative lifestyle I may yet get to experience having already 'cosmically ordered' it. Along with an array of other longed for wishes, it sits patiently in my shopping basket.

Talking about being noticed, I recall a few years ago, stepping back into a Tuesday evening, in the midst of a gathering of 'fellow and spiritually like-minded souls', an unfamiliar face leant in to inform me, rather candidly, that my 'colours were cold'. She elaborated. Apparently, this had nothing to do with my aura, just that she felt I exuded cool pastel tones, emphasising that this was in no way a negative thing. A short time later, the lady's eager voice still in my earshot, it was my friend's turn for enlightenment. Descriptions such as sunflowers, pumpkins, cloudberries and clementines rang in the air. Much warmer tones than I. It didn't mean that it was true but she was entitled to her opinion. We all have them; it doesn't mean that they are right.

In life, I choose to follow my own path, possessing some strong beliefs. Albeit, I do not expect or wish for anyone else to agree with or even share those beliefs, they are my own, they are mine. Not that I voice them vociferously (except to Mr WH over breakfast). However, they are extremely important to me. Opting to live simply and humbly, holding very little value in material things, a vegetarian and caretaker to the earth, I find that happiness stems from within. If you are true to yourself and who you are, you are on the right path. It is my thinking that no-one else can be held responsible for your happiness, only you, your pets and the local publican. And now we find the birth of 'wastedhippie' because a happy life is a life well spent.

A Life Well Spent, by Mrs WH

Most days I am lucky enough to be one of the 'fortunates'. Fortunate enough to be able to get outside, be it rainbows or moonbeams, wellies or walking boots, tamed hair or tousled. Stepping out into the green open spaces that surround me, it is so invigorating to just stand still. To just stand and breathe, allowing the fresh air to gently fill up my lungs. Feeling set free from all the constraints and shackles that unfortunately go hand in hand in today's modern society. Pausing often, to take in the view, whilst armed with my hip bag full of potentially life-saving tools, I utilise my binoculars eagerly. Here, I can ramble along in total silence, simply just being me. Whether it be foraging from the hedgerows or photographing gnarly trees, I find contentment. Sometimes opting to sing a simple song, either to a hazel or an old oak tree or breaking briefly, in order to appreciate the sight of the swifts, swooping and scythe-like in the summer sky. That said, I have been known to get into all kinds of trouble when in the company of mischievous miscreants, those woodland pixies, especially when they have been on the elderflower wine.

Dragonflies and damselflies are so enchanting. Vibrant in colour, dainty and delicate, a beautiful sight to see as they dance and skim the glistening cool waters of ponds and canal. Hardly anything escapes my gaze when rambling, not least the herons. They possess an aura of grandeur, standing statue-like whilst posing proud. They are indeed a creature rather symbolic of a prehistoric time.

Wild flowers entertain me and I am only now starting to remember some of their names, albeit I draw the line at learning any Latin. It's the memory you see, it struggles to remember everything, thus I now do crosswords to help me with this. Most likely a 'crone like activity' undoubtedly associated with becoming wizened.

I really do live on the edge of a village. Along with Mr WH, our dogs and the wildlife, we make for an alternative set up. I love our garden and we have, over time, begun to make it our own. Planting flowers for the bees, vegetation for our sustenance and fruit for the jam pot. Seeds are abundant for the birds, healthy snacks for the wood mice and squirrel, a supper platter for the badgers and fresh water for the occasional hedgehogs that drop by. A small garden pond sits discreetly in our Fairie Corner, still establishing itself.

It is in this very garden that I have become a harvester. During the summer months I will harvest a cucumber like a revered actress, stepping up to rapturous applause as she eagerly makes to collect her well-earned accolade. I inhale deeply, hold for the count of four, exhale for five, compose my inner goddess and step stylishly forward into the kitchen. Last year, upon proffering a marrow sized cucumber to Mr WH, he patiently paused upon his sudoku, raised his head and proclaimed, "Wow, that's a big one, my love." Grinning, I allowed myself a naughty slice of pride before flouncing off to harvest more vegetables, this time for friends and family. To reiterate, it's a life well spent.

Mr WH Comments

Graduating from the University of Life, Mr WH now has time to spend on motorcycling, walking, MTB (cycling) and adding any new skill to his bow. When he finds the time to sit and edit you too will be able to see what he has been up to, simply by viewing the pages within this site.