There are Fairies at the bottom of my Garden

Ever wondered if Faries are real? Ever sat quiet at the bottom of your garden , waiting, waiting.....hoping that you would see one. Did your big brother tease you for wanting to have a pair of wings? Was there EVER such a time? well was there?

I moved into my new home on a cold and very wet September afternoon. I scuttled up and down the path, carrying boxes and bags, bits and bobs. All the while the rain poured down. Have you ever noticed how rain can trickle down your neck, until it is the most uncomfortable, soggy, freezing cold and wet spot. Right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

I noticed. I also noticed the soaking wet socks on my freezing cold feet, the faint red tinge my fingers had from needles of rain slapping against my skin and I was particularly observant when the rain, in a last final deluge, came pouring in huge gushing rifts down the beleagured drainpipe. The one I might add, that I had paused beneath to re-juggle the box which had begun to slip from my grasp.

All in all, it was not the most auspicious moment in my life.

My name is James, I am a free lance photographer and had just transferred from the cold and wet North West of England, to the even colder and wetter North of Wales. The cottage I had bought, was my dream home. A modernised Long House of the old Welsh tradition with an enormous garden and only one neighbour for miles. I had fallen in love with the cottage the minute I saw it. I didn't care about slipping slates off the roof, the broken old wooden fencing and the grimy windows. The tangled bushes and trees that had encroached from the forest into my garden, held no fears for me. I wanted the cottage and I paid a handsome price and looked forwards to the day it was mine.

Well today was the day it was mine. I was cold, wet, bedraggled and even with my furniture and everything finally moved in, the place didn't feel at all like mine. I felt like an intruder. I stood on the worn slate floor in the kitchen and stared at the boxes. All I wanted was a hot cup of coffee and maybe a bite or two of whatever was available as an instant meal and I would make the place home.

By the time I had eaten, grabbed the duvet, erected the bed and finally slept , I was one exhausted free lance photographer. I awoke to hazy sunshine struggling through the grimy window to carress my face. It was a pleasant feeling. I stretched and yawned a few times and began the days preperations. Loo, coffee, more coffee and an illicit cigarette. Illicit ? well yes, strict orders and that, to give up. My nagging sister however, was no where near, hence the smoke and a feeling of well rested well being stole into me.

I began the delightful (I jest) occupation of unpacking and arranging my belongings into some semblance of order and running a small catalogue through nmy mind of th absolute necessities I would need to buy.

seeing as the nearest large town (and supermarket) was a good twenty miles away I didn't want to forget anything. I had, of course stocked up on some things, but odd things, niggly little things I had forgotten would rise in my mind to mock my superior sense of 'being organised'....it was quite a list by the time I had finished my tasks.

Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither was my home, I fell exhausted into my comfy warm as toast bed and slept the sleep of the just once again. For a man who hadn't slept properly for months, this was indeed the luxury and the pleasure of my first few nights, it was a welcome reprieve from the tossing and turning, pillow thumping restlessness I had suffered from for so long.