‘You spend too much time talking!’ the Sister on the ward once told me. ‘Get them in and get them out!’

    Get what in and what out, I thought to myself. Was she referring to people or injections? Surely she couldn’t mean the patients. Not these patients, who were facing life changing therapies. So I nodded and smiled then continued just as before. I was a nurse after all and since when had the word reassuring been switched to chatting?

     The following day I was called into the Sisters office. She was on the phone when I entered, so I gazed out of the window and across the car park. My eyes were drawn to an old campervan, something I had always longed for. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, I thought, to just up and go! No more shifts, no more sadness, no more being told to stop chatting.  

     ‘Sit down!’ the Sister said in a voice that told me this was serious.

      ‘You are a wonderful nurse!’ she said as my eyes wondered again to the top of the camper, waiting for the ‘but’ to come next.

      ‘But,’ there it was, so I looked directly at her and waited for the blow, ‘you are a Social Butterfly!’ she said peering at me over her glasses. And she smiled a sickly smile that even I would refuse to wipe up. All the while, I hadn’t said a single word.

       ‘The pace in this department is quickening and there is no time to chatter. We have to get them in and get them out! Do you understand? There is no time to talk!’

        The old camper across the car park looked more alluring than ever. That is all I could think of! Not rules or regulations. Not ways to save money. Not forgetting to nurse holistically.

         ‘You have to toughen up if you’re to survive in nursing,’ she kept going on. ‘You will burn yourself out!’ I already had, I thought miserably, and she had started the fire, not the patients. Oh she was right, of course, in a strange sort of way, but not my way. My way would cost the department a lot more time and money.

            As I walked across the car park, on that late summer’s evening, I noticed the old camper, still sitting there as if waiting for me. It was in perfect condition, considering its age. The pale blue curtains matched the bodywork and then I saw it. There was a butterfly sticker on the side of the window with the words ‘A butterfly never lands on the hand that grasps it!’ What a coincidence, I thought, remembering what the Sister had called me earlier that day...A Social Butterfly!

           ‘It’s for sale if you’re interested,’ the voice startled me and I turned to see a handsome man standing there. He looked the clever sort, the sort that is kind and unassuming!

So I bought the old camper and married the kind and unassuming man two years later.

‘Shall we climb a mountain?’ I asked my kind and unassuming husband, ‘a very big mountain, the highest in Wales.’

     At first, he wasn’t so keen. He had heard about the dangers of climbing Mount Snowdon. Almost every year, it claims the lives of about ten people and many more are injured. But we decided that we were both in need of a challenge.

      Leaving our home for waifs and strays, even for a day, is a challenge in itself. We have to arrange animal sitters around the clock. But we are very fortunate that many of our friends are only too willing to help us out. So we set off for a weekend away in our faithful old camper.

     The rugged landscape of Snowdonia in North Wales is nothing less than impressive. These mountain ranges, the result of volcanoes from the Ordovician period, are the highest peaks south of the Scottish Highlands.

      As my kind and unassuming husband and I climbed the strenuous path, we were constantly in awe of the magnificent scenery that surrounded us. From the sculptured crests above us, to the shimmering lakes below, it was nothing short of a miracle. And the air! I thought nothing could be as sweet as my sweet tea, but this was sweeter.         

       Standing proudly at the top, we repeated the mantra, ‘Getting to the top is optional, getting down is mandatory,’ over and over again. We were exhilarated.

        That evening, in the shadow of the mountains, we sat with friends around a campfire. As our supper slowly cooked, we sang, we talked, and we laughed. And we eventually slept.

        First thing the following morning, I said to my kind and unassuming husband, ‘Let’s climb Ben Nevis!’

        I’m still waiting for the reply!

‘I’m thinking of becoming a cleaner,’ I recently said to my kind and unassuming husband. ‘I’m fed up of working shifts and I need more time to write!’

     My kind and unassuming husband did not answer straight away, but I knew he was thinking about this. He was rubbing his chin and thinking very hard. So I went to work and came back home again.

     ‘I’m definitely thinking about becoming a cleaner,’ I said as we sat down for dinner. ‘I’m worn out every time I come home. It’s not good for the creative mind!’

      My very kind and unassuming husband looked at me sympathetically but he also had a sort of smirk on his face.....perhaps I shouldn’t say that, he had a wicked look on his face was more like it. Anyway, I asked him what he thought about me giving up nursing to become a cleaner.

      It is only now, a few days later, that I can tell you what he said.  I had to think about it a lot! You see, the reply he gave me came as a big surprise. He said that his advice would be to practice on our own house first, to see if I even like cleaning!!!

      Well I couldn’t reply straight away, it took a moment to analyze what he just said and what it implied.  I was trying my best to be diplomatic. This is at the advice of a very dear friend of mine. You see, I have a tendency to speak without thinking and the same often goes for my writing. My kind and unassuming husband thinks about everything he says, but I did wonder if he thought about what he just said to me. After all, the house is always welcoming and warm. There is always enough food to feed an army, home baked too! Yes, there are books everywhere and pots of paints and paper. And all things musical are left in random places. But it is home. It is the home for waifs and strays. It does not say take your shoes off before you enter (though sometimes I wish it did) and it does not say take your feet off the sofa (probably because they are aware of Jake and Jako) and it does not say excuse us while we have our food, it says join us for a meal, even though it isn’t prearranged.   

        I have to confess that I do not like cleaning all that much.  A friend of mine even bought me a book on household hints, how they did it in Victorian times. I tried if for awhile, but it didn’t inspire me at all. This same friend has a strange fascination for housework and helps me out on occasions. I call her my posh au pair. She goes home with a box of vegetables and lovely fresh eggs, which she collects herself.

        As I sat there picking at my food, thinking about all these things, my kind and unassuming husband placed a cup of sweet tea in front of me. He told me not to bother practising cleaning on our home, as he liked it the way it was. He liked the smell of the logs and the books and the paintings I leave everywhere to dry. He liked the fact he could discover a hen sleeping in a corner of a room or a cat curled up by the fire. He liked to see the herbs drying from the ceiling and jars of all things edible sitting on our shelves. He said I had made a wonderful home for us, and for all our waifs and strays.

        And so to this I simply replied, that I had changed my mind anyway, I no longer wanted to be a cleaner for I was sure it would dust my mind of all things creative.

 One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries. —A.A. Milne

Aled Evans watched as his hampster ran like crazy around a wheel inside her cage. 

      ‘Don’t your tiny feet get tired?’ he frowned. ‘Don’t you feel sick?’

     The hamster slowed down and looked at Aled. Aled stared into its eyes for an answer, but he didn’t get one.

     ‘It must be like living in school every single day,’ Aled looked disgusted. ‘If that’s how it feels, then I have no choice but to set you free.’

      The hampster went faster than ever before.

      ‘Wouldn’t you like to be free to run around the world?’ Aled shouted into the cage. But the hamster ignored him.

       ‘Oh, I would love to run around the world,’ said Aled leaning against his bed. And he wondered if this was possible. Everybody would notice me then, he thought, even my teacher.

       ‘I will start practising,’ said Aled to the hamster. ‘And when I am ten, I will be fit enough to run around the world.

      So Aled Evans ran around the garden five times, then ten times, then fifteen times. By the end of the week he could run around the garden fifty times without stopping and without getting out of breath. It was a good sized garden too.

      The following week, Aled began to run around the village of Gusty Gully. This was more of a challenge. ‘I can do this,’ thought Aled. I can do anything if I try hard enough.’

      Aled Evans smiled to himself as he ran through the village. He saw people watching him. He could see them peeping around the curtains of their homes. 'I like this,' he thought. 'No one has ever noticed me before.'

      ‘Where are you running to?’ shouted Phil the Fish as Aled whizzed past him. Ugh! The smell of fish made him feel sick. So Aled ran faster and shouted, ‘around the world!’ on the top of his voice.

     ‘Can I join in?’ said Tom the Egg as he ran passed the home for waifs and strays.

      Aled put up his hand and nodded.

     ‘Can we come too?’ said Archie and Ollie as they walked home from school.

     Tom put up his hand again and nodded.

     ‘Where are you going?,’ shouted Megan and Hayley as they came out of the sweet shop.

    ‘Around the world,’ Tom the egg shouted back.

    ‘We’re coming too!’ said the girls and they stuffed their sweets in their pockets and began to run.

     Aled looked back and saw the trail of children following him. 'They will notice me now,' he thought, and grinned from ear to ear.

     Mrs Bumblebee was standing outside the school, watching them come up the road. When she saw who it was, she put her hand up for them to stop. Just like a lollipop lady. But they didn’t stop. They ran past her and kept on going. Mrs Bumblebee was so shocked, she ran after them.

     ‘Where are you going?’ she shouted breathlessly.

     ‘Around the world,’ they all shouted back. And by now, almost all the children in the village were running.

     It was Barry Book and Pencil that stopped them. You see, he was the village policeman. He jumped off his bicycle and put his hand up. The trail of running children skidded to a halt, almost crashing into one and other. Barry Book and Pencil lined them all up against the hedge at the home for waifs and strays. The kind and unassuming man watched in amazement.

     ‘What are you doing?’ said the policemen, reaching inside his coat for a book and pencil.

     ‘Running around the world,’ replied Aled proudly.

     ‘What do you want to do that for?’ Barry Book and Pencil was taking notes. ‘There will be no one left in the village if you all leave.’

    ‘There would be no school,’ said Mrs Bumblebee.

    ‘And no need for a village shop,’ said Ian the news.

    ‘And no-one to help look after all the waifs and strays,’ said the lady who’s garden was full of animals that needed a lot of love and attention. This made Tom the Egg feel guilty.

    ‘And who would buy my fish?’ said Phil the Fish ‘if there are no children to feed.’

    'They could live in the sea!' Aled thought happily, as he looked at everyone, looking at him.

    This is amazing, 'I could keep on running and they would all follow me!' He thought.

    But he didn’t carry on running. Instead, Aled stood in front of his friends and knew  that Barry book and Pencil was right, Gusty Gully would become a Ghost town and grow weeds. The crows and the seagulls would squat in empty places and there would be no one to help at the home for waifs and strays. No, he couldn’t do that. Not yet anyway.

    ‘This is our home,’ he said nodding his head. ‘This is our world, until we grow up and can go our own way. And we do need a lot more practice.’

     They all agreed and Barry Book and Pencil put his notes away and sighed with relief.

     That night as Aled watched the hamster run around her ball, he smiled at her.

     ‘And this is your world too,’ he said happily. ‘You are well fed, warm and safe.’

‘Goodnight, all you runners in Gusty Gully. Goodnight world. One day I will run around you...and all the way back!’

The Romans thought I had medicinal powers, how right they were. I am also popular in Belgium, where they have a museum in my honour, in a place called Le Musée de la Fraise.  I have a part to play in reducing heart disease and certain cancers and I’m related to the Rose family and smell just as sweet. Who am I? My name is Fragaria, (my scientific name of course) Lord of the Strawberries.

      Let me tell you a little secret, I am not a true berry. You see, true berries wear their seeds on the inside of their coats. Not me, I am rather unusual, inasmuch as I wear my seeds on the outside. Did you know that I am the only fruit that does this? How clever am I?

      Some like to pickle me (ugh!) and some eat me fresh. After all, I am low in calories and high in vitamins C, K, B6, potassium, amino acids and folic acid. How amazing am I? And would you believe that some people eat me when I’m green and tart! Oh, just the thought of it makes me quiver!  Now If you have to eat me at all, then please wait until I am bright red and juicy. I have to say, that I am rather sweet then too.

        Once you have made a home for me in a pot or in the ground, I will surprise you with fruit for up to five summers, if the birds don't beat you to it. But please let me sleep in the winter. It is not too much to ask.