Shredded Wheat.
Shredded Wheat:
Bet you can’t eat three!
Last week, we promised you ducks. Only one was available. Dusty Duck. Seen here with Bobby and his virtual sweetheart, Merrill. Dusty lives at the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust. (WWT). In two weeks time we are going back to the Cotswolds and hoping to spend a day at Slimbridge. Headquarters of the WWT. The duck blog will come from there.
… probably best not to ask …
But this week, a seemingly sad event has led to an impromptu blog. They are knocking down the Shredded Wheat factory at Welwyn Garden City. (more…)
A Return to Salzburg.
A Return to Salzburg
But first…
We would like to introduce you to Sonny. Bobby’s grandson. The new recruit to the team of Mindfully Bertie. His title is “YouTube Technician”. But we think his ten year old IT skills will go way beyond YouTube. As the only grandson at the time, he and Diddley had a very special friendship.
Sonny showing me the respect I deserve!
A Year in the Life of a Bench.
A Year in the Life of a Bench.
We are so grateful to the National Trust for allowing a very special bench to be installed on beautiful Abinger Roughs. In particular, our thank you to the warden Rob who not only gave his consent but actually did the work of installing it with Chris here. (Rob took the pictures). Unofficially it is now Diddley’s View. Virtually a place of pilgrimage to remember Diddley and find peace and consolation in such a lovely place. It was installed on 17 January 2017. Here is the first year in the life of a Bench.
About Bobby’s Girl.
Bobby’s Girl.
Love is a Many Splendoured Thing:
It can be disguised as infatuation. The dictionary describes this as temporary madness. For when the dust has settled, as it inevitably must, you could be at the start of a true romance. Or wake up, look across the pillows and think: “Oh my God. Who the hell is that!” (more…)
Spitalfields 2017.
Christmas Day Morning in Spitalfields 2017.
A few years ago Bobby read a glowing book review of “Spitalfields Life”. By the Gentle Author (GA). He bought the book. Took it to Skomer Island and read it avidly for a whole week. Little did he know that was the start of an adventure. Not just in words, but in footsteps. Culminating in waking up this Christmas morning in Spitalfields with just me, a teddy bear, for company. (more…)
I Died Today…
I Died Today…
The original handwritten poem (slightly edited…)
Gor blimey Bobby. Who do you think you are. Shakespeare? This blog is supposed to be fun. Entertaining. Cheerful. Not bleedin miserable. (Sarf London). I Died Today?
But, of course, there is a point and a story or two, or three or four. But first, if you are lucky enough, give him or her a big hug from us. Bear hugs are best, but don’t squeeze too tight. (more…)
Little White Bear.
Little White Bear.
COMPETITIONS AFTER STORY. VALUABLE PRIZES!
Listen with Bertie!
Bertie: “Cor blimey. Wots the matter with you, Little White Bear?”
LWB: ”You!”
Bertie: ”Wot have I done mate?”
LWB: ”Nothing. Nothing at all. We have lived in the same house and shared the same sofa most of the time and you have never spoken to me once. Why now?”
Bertie: “Well, I don’t know what your name is, or even if you are a boy or a girl.”
LWB: ”That’s it. Nor do I. I am a ‘Bear Without a Name’ (see The Kitchen Window) or Identity. Nobody cares. Bobby bought me the same year he bought you from the same teddy shop. 1991. He immediately called you Bertie. Took you to Scotland years later as best man when he married Diddley. Had all sorts of adventures that you never shared with me. And you even became chief mourner at the funeral. And now you are soaking up the love and praise in the other room with Bobby 2 and Betty, leaving me on this couch alone. Writing your own blog. Becoming more and more famous. While I sit on this couch without even a name.”
Sofa Bear!
Bertie: “The trouble is, Little White Bear, that Bobby never had a teddy bear. I was his first. His son, Andrew, started collecting posh bears in the 1980s and even called his first flat “Nutwood” after Rupert Bear.
The Followers of Rupert.
If you read the first blog, it’s all there. I am going to ring Andrew now and find out about those bears.”
Andrew: “Yes, I still have most of them. In the loft.”
Bertie: ”WHATTT!!! Even Paddington?”
Andrew: ”Oh, I sold him…”
Bertie: ”Ohhhh. Ooooerr. Oh dear.”
LWB: ”No respect for a bear’s feelings. In the loft! Sold. Slavery comes to mind. But then you’re not much better ignoring me for 26 years!”
Bertie: ”Right! That’s it. You really are getting on my goat now. So I’ll tell you the truth. Bobby thinks you are bleedin miserable (Sarf London). Always downtrodden. Cheesed off”
LWB: ”It’s not my fault. It’s my beads. You have stuffing. I have beads. And not enough, it would seem, so my head droops. I am posher than you you know. And English. You are foreign. And common!”
Bertie: ”Gor, love a duck! Whatever next. But there is one thing you should think about. There have been lots of bears here, but now it’s just you and me. I think Bobby could warm to you if you made an effort.”
LWB: ”What about Brooklands Bertie? I cost ten times what Bobby paid for him!”
Bertie: ”A toy. I’ll tell you what. It’s not good for my image, having you all grumpy about me. So come in here with us and I will make you an offer!“
The Three Amigos?
It’s true. I am becoming famous. And I have influence. How about me running a competition with my adoring followers? The entries can be judged by you to decide if you are a boy or a girl and what your name is? The winner gets a prize. A Bobballs!
http://www.keeltoys.com/ranges/bobballs/
and:
- You can help me on some blogs, starting today as a model. So try to be cheerful and
- You can help me rescue those bears of Andrew’s trapped in his loft!
LWB: ”All I really want is a Name. Being a boy or a girl doesn’t really matter for a teddy bear. With a name, maybe people will start to like me. Maybe I will become famous like you!”
Bertie: ”Maybe. But first, let’s see how you look in some familiar settings in Laurel Cottage.”
Amongst Bobby’s plane collection.
Hot Stuff!
You are going into a deeeep sleeeeep!
“Umm not bad.
…and now for a bit of promotional work. These may become blogs and are largely to do with Bobby’s younger days. Not every week. But now and again.”
Czechoslovakia. Australia.
India, Belgium, France, Cuba.
England, USA, India.
Deutschland, Italia, America, Great Britain.
Canada, America, Ireland, Germany, France, the World.
Compton, Surrey (a Bobby drawing).
Love letters from Skomer Island.
“Not bad Little White Bear. You do have a certain appeal. But we must get you a name.
So, Dear Reader, please send your entry for a name, male or female, to the comments box or by email. Winner gets a highly desirable Bobballs.
PS
The Sad Bears of West Street revisited. https://www.mindfullybertie.org.uk/blog-for-betty-boop/. It’s a year since we discovered the true story of the Sad Bears of West Street. Well, they are back. For Christmas only. Too posh to play with. Too tatty, too. Tattiness increases value…
This year I went down, with my elf helper Kyla, to see the Sad Old Bears. But recognised that there was a sad bear in Laurel Cottage. Waiting for a Name.
Sad Bears
I Don’t Believe It!
I Don’t Believe It!
This pannel is currently out of order. sorry for any inconvinience this may cause.
Best caption Cmpetishun!
Please submit entries to the comments box or by email. Winner wins the second Bobball.
Lighting a candle for Diddley at the Ramblers Rest.
At the Ramblers Rest, where Bobby first took me 25 years ago. His friends at the Legal and General had organised a redundancy party, but his wife at the time threw a wobbly so he took me.
1992
So here we are. Twenty five years later. 2017. The Three Amigos. Totalling 113 years of service at the same office. 22 of them at the same time. Lighting a Candle for Diddley.
Rob, Bobby and Dave. The Ramblers Rest, Chipstead Valley, Surrey.
The Ramblers Rest
Cotswold Granny.
Cotswold Granny.
It’s very nearly Christmas. Here at Mindfully Bertie we have a very special present for you. Our first book/booklet. Published in its 14 page entirety. Just as it was written in the fair hand of Diddley’s Cotswold Granny. Entitled “Things I Remember”. It’s best read in her beautiful handwriting but, if that is a problem, there is a type written script further down the blog.
Margaret Long was born in the five valleys of Stroud in January 1910. Living until 2001, she was Diddley’s Cotswold Granny. Her granddaughter had lots of stories about her, but this is Margaret’s story when she was growing up in Bisley in rural Gloucestershire. High up in the Cotswolds; surrounded by the valleys of Slad, the Golden Valley and Toadsmoor. Diddley told Bobby her granny had given her this book, but Bobby had never seen it until he was going through her own memorabilia recently. Inevitably, being written in Laurie Lee’s Cider with Rosie country, it is reminiscent of that era, but in fact represents a time probably a little earlier than his masterpiece.
Margaret Long. Diddley’s Cotswold Granny. Seen here with Vicky her beloved dog when she stayed at Laurel Cottage before Bobby’s time there.
The Kitchen Window.
The Kitchen Window.
But first. Here is our Christmas card for 2017. Bobby was going digital, but realised he liked the tradition of sending cards. There are so many ways now of personalising cards that you don’t have to buy the packs of really boring cards. The charities are complaining that they are missing out. But we hear that only a small proportion goes their way anyway. And there is the question of misrepresentation as a result. Whatever – here’s the electronic version of Mindfully Bertie. If you don’t get one through the post, let us know.
Merry Christmas – with love from Bertie.
Small Talk Saves Lives.
Small Talk Saves Lives.
Samaritans’ Poster “Talk to us if things are getting to you.”
Hasn’t it been a wonderful autumn! Here in the Surrey Hills that surround Laurel Cottage, the beech trees take your breath away. But, as I write this, the temperature is dropping, the wind gathering, followed by the leaves. Or as Eva Cassidy sang…
The falling leaves
Drift by my window
The falling leaves of red and gold.
I see your lips
The summer kisses
The sunburned hands I used to hold.
I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall. (more…)