My Last Apple

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Two glasses of champagne – in my tummy.

Tuesday night was the first time I have consumed alcohol since I decided it was the major contributor to my Clinical Depression. And while I have occasionally missed the experience of drinking champagne from my hand-blown glasses, the truth is that it hasn’t been difficult.
Even easy.

And I feel fine today, and I felt fine yesterday.

No lingering or niggling feelings of the Blues. I stopped after just two glasses and as I was not ‘topping up’ my alcohol level from any previous drinking sessions, my body metabolised the golden bubbles very quickly.

I do feel a little tired, but that’s only due to my insomnia. An annoying side-effect of The Black Dog that I’ve had for over a decade. I usually feel tired. Most days.

No matter.

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I didn’t think that I could manage to find more ways to cut my living costs – but the truth is that I need to find a way. Despite a part-time job, that I am increasingly grateful for, and avoiding all manner of expensive bibs ‘n bobs like going out, clothes & treats – I still can’t manage to save the money I need to build a kitchen.

So I need to find a new way to get more pennies into my piggy bank.

Buggar!

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 I was blessed with a special gift when I moved into the Purple House. An adult & fruit bearing apple tree – Royal Gala to be precise. How awesome is that?

And while the possums and rats have decimated the tree each summer, I have usually managed to protect at least one piece of fruit, each fruiting season.

Voile curtains have a better use than hanging from a window – like encasing budding apples on a tree to protect them from marauding marsupials!

This year, only one apple survived – which is a shame as I am removing the tree over winter.

.Last Apple

.

All fruit trees have a ‘life’ and I’m fairly certain that my apple tree is over thirty years old. I can turn the branches into something crafty and the trunk will make it into the garden as sculptural stands for my numerous terracotta pots.

In it’s place I am planting a row of Peppie trees, so that the possums have somewhere to live and won’t reside in my ceiling any more.

Well that’s the plan, anyway.

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