I received a small package in the post recently and when I opened it a small stone fell out. This stone came with a story about the harsh reality of life in eastern Africa.

     Searing heat and the lack of rain is almost unheard of in Wales where I live with my kind and unassuming husband, but in some parts of Africa the lack of rain also means the lack of food. It is so bad in the Mwingi district, that families are forced to cook meals of stones.

     Mothers will light a fire and upon it, they will place a pot of water. After adding some stones, they will sit with their children and listen to it bubbling. They will tell stories to the children or sing to them until they are asleep. Of course, they are still hungry but they have a full helping of their mother’s love.

      As the letter explained, the recipe also shows you something else. These farmers are resourceful and resilient and with good quality seeds they could survive and children would not have to sleep with rumbling tummies. The seeds in question have proven to survive droughts and have high nutritional and commercial value.

       Farmers, lucky enough to be given some of these precious seeds are then taught how best to plant them.  They dig a zai pit into the ground and then add some goat manure. A thin layer of soil is added after the first rainfall, only then can the seeds be planted. It is the manure that helps retain the moisture in the soil, making a little rain go a long way.

       It is hard to believe that here in Wales, we have more than our share of rain, I wish I could bottle it up and send it to the farmers so their crops can grow.

If anyone is interested in the work of FARM AFRICA, please check out their website.

Engrossed in my writing at our home for waifs and strays, I didn’t see the sky on fire until it was ablaze. For a moment I was mesmerised by the sheer beauty of something so natural. I wondered if I could capture it on canvas, seeing as reds are my favourite colours, but I am no match for the real thing. So I watched until the fire burnt out.  Thankfully, I had time to take a photo to share with my readers.

     As I watched I remembered a saying from Shakespeare’s Venus & Adonis (1593) that went like this.....

"Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd wreck to the seaman - sorrow to shepherds."

But as for the red sky at night, there will be a good chance of fine weather as the clouds are in the east and would already have passed us by.

     It’s dark again and behind me a different fire burns and the smell of logs fill the cosy room. I notice a silence...not eerie, not lonely, just a silence that lingers around the house. Hurry up morning so I can hear the birds and see out of my window again!

He used to hang suspended from the ceiling. This was when he felt most comfortable. But he had little thought for anyone who was arachnophobic. 

      Twm was lucky to have lived as long as he did. If he had lived in any other house but ours, then his life would almost certainly have been cut short. To be honest, Twm came very close to it on many occasions, especially when people came to visit.

      A sign hangs from a wall in our home which reads ‘Don’t squish Twm! Don't eat Twm! He doesn’t bite (not much) and he belongs here in this home for waifs and strays!’

     Twm did what most spiders do and cleaned up after him, which is more than I can say for some people. He would roll up his old web before starting on another. This saved cleaning time for me also. However, Twm did shed his skin from time to time which my kind and unassuming husband described as revolting.

      Now Twm would scuttle about the house late at night when he thought we couldn’t see him...but we could! It was hard to miss those eight hairy legs and four sets of eyes. He became quite a character and we looked out for him.

      We always knew when Twm was around; our visitors would shout for help and occasionally scream when he was found hanging about in the bath.

       I remember once, when Twm ran across the room in front of our guests (now remember, that Twm was larger than most spiders, probably because he ate so much).  Anyway, Twm stopped dead, right in front of them. Legs flew off the floor and muffled screams filled the room.

       ‘He’s not staring you out,’ I said, though he did have eight eyes, ‘he’s just exhausted. It’s what spiders do!’

         We often thought that Twm had died, when he disappeared for long periods. But then he’d surprise us by scurrying across the floor whilst we were watching television. He would stop now and then to catch his breath and to give us a nod. I’m sure that if Twm could have talked, then he would have said, ‘I’ll be back now in a minute!’

It never ceases to amaze me why people are afraid of these facinating creatures. Their fangs are too small to bite through human skin (but I guess they would, given half a chance) and their blood is blue for heaven’s sake...Royalty!   And of course, they have a heart. So take heart next time you go to squish a spider....it could be a relative of Twm’s.

All she asked for was a size 20 coat! Preferably warm and waterproof! I thought this rather odd, as the person needing the coat was a size 12.

    ‘She’s homeless,’ my friend told me, ‘she needs a coat for the winter! One she can hide in!’

    One she can hide in! Those words  haunted me all the way home from the market town of llandovery, earlier this evening.

     I stopped for a while to watch the glow of the winter sun, settling down behind Paxton Tower in the distance. There was a chill in the air and I thought about the woman who needed the size 20 coat. At 67, my friend told me, she had witnessed the murder of her husband and some other family members. Traumatized, she made her way to our country in a ‘lorry’ for illegal immigrants. But despite her fight for survival, this incredible human being has lost her application for asylum.

     Alone, with no family or friends for support, this lady, at almost 70 years of age is still hoping that one day she will have a home again, or at the very least, a warm and safe place to live in. For you see, the longer she lives on the streets, the greater chance she has of developing illnesses and being an asylum seeker, she receives no state support.

     As I watched the pink sun dip behind the rolling hills of Wales, I wondered at the terrible past that woman had left behind. And despite the hardship she faces on the streets of Wales, she still sees it as a safer place than the one she once called home.

     As I opened the door to our home for waifs and strays, I made a promise to myself that first thing tomorrow, I will buy (at the very least) a size 20 coat that is warm and fully waterproof!

In the fields surrounding our home for waifs and strays, you can easily find dollops of cowpats. As children, we used to stand in the centre of these hot, fresh green moulds (with our wellingtons on of course!) and enjoy the squelchy mess it made. Bliss! But it was many years later that I learned of the benefits of these gooey green, meadow muffin cow-cakes.

     Despite their vulgar habits of farting and burping (which contribute to our greenhouse gases, due to the amount of methane released) the gooey green substance that cows frequently drop from their rear ends, are welcome by the dung beetle! These incredible tiny creatures are on a mission to save the world. By breaking down the dung these soldier beetles are indeed reducing the amount of methane released into the atmosphere. Well done beetles!

      The Maasai people burn cow dung inside their homes to repel mosquitoes. They also use the dung to cover and seal their homes. And in rural India and Pakistan the methane rich gas is used as a renewable and stable source of electricity. But the wonder of the cow and its dung doesn’t end there. The Hindus believe that each cow contains 33 million gods and goddesses.

      So, to all you cows out there, fart and burp as much as you like, it appears that the world needs you!