How is it you know that the house you are about to buy is the house for you? When we drove into the street and parked I knew instantly that the house was the house for me. It had an air of prosperity and well being and I immediately fell in love with its character and outlook. I literally flew down the driveway and as soon as I stepped through the door I was filled with warmth. Strange as it seems I cannot account for this sense, almost a kind of ache of familiarity - of coming to a place that knew me and seemed to engulf and expect me. I went through the house in seconds and walking through its bare rooms the feeling remained.

I know that the house reached out at me with a certainty of knowing. Certainly, on a conscious level I felt warmth. How can one have expectations without memory? A strange familiarity - it knew me as I knew it - I felt as if I had come home. Everything seemed so oddly and yet so comfortingly familiar. I’ve attempted to connect the place to memory or a dream, to help me process an explanation for the familiarity and warmth I felt. The call of the place, its knowingness, the longing it evinced makes it all quite certain, even before I knew it myself, that the house had its origins in my existence and was waiting for me.

Yet, as much as I love the house and care for it, I know that at some point in time the house and I will part. This knowing does not sadden me as I am only a guardian of this place but I also know that when I leave a part of me will remain. As the house ages, so will its memories, its very being. The house will live, grow and age, as I live grow and age. As I move on so will the house.

The time will come when its calling will once again be heard and another family will find contentment within its four walls ...

So, after my wild ride last night thought I’d get down to more earthly things. Like brewing a few portions and cooking up a few spells. Cat is still ignoring me and I swear I can still hear Broom sniggering in the cupboard. I almost feel like I should take him for a good hard sweep around the garden. That might just stop his sniggers.

But here I am in the kitchen, a couple of pots boiling on the stove, my husband in the leather recliner watching the soccer on TV, wondering how on earth I can bring myself more into this computerised world. Obviously not by riding an electronic mop! (Your suggestions would be most welcome).

You might ask “What’s it like being a Witch in today’s world?” Let me tell you it’s not easy. Firstly, real witches are few and far between (we’re a dying breed) and secondly, we’re not the world’s most favourite people. We’ve got a bad reputation, which really is a load of hogwash as we don’t dabble in the black arts to concoct evil and raise the Devil nor do we dance naked in Covens.

Now you might laugh and say to yourself, Witches don’t exist. I agree entirely with this statement we don’t exist as we’ve been depicted. But, believe you me, we do walk this earth and do go a-flying by night (not that you would ever see a Witch flying – any Witch worth her salt would never be seen!). We tend to keep ourselves to ourselves. We live in a secret world, more secret than the likes of the NSA, CIA, FBI, and other such abbreviated namesakes.

Of course, you have those who announce themselves as being Witches but let me tell you anyone who was a real Witch would not walk around looking like one, or dabble in arts that they can’t control, or announce to the world that they were a Witch. (You might ask yourself, then why am I writing this blog, isn’t that what I am doing? Well, yes, but you don’t know me or know who I really am. I’m entirely faceless to you – one of the advantages of this computerised world!)

No, it’s not easy to spot a Witch or even know one, not unless you’re in the family and to be in the family you have to be born one – like me. And if you are born one, you really don’t have a choice. As the saying goes, born a Witch always a Witch.

So do we wriggle our noses like Samantha (wish I could) or continually fight evil as depicted by those nubile young lasses on TV? (You’ve got to be joking, I’d run a mile rather than come face to face with some of those demons!) No, its more subtle than that. We don’t interfere with the lives of others, we work within the natural state of things. We work with nature. Oh yes, we do have spells and concoctions but the spells are passed down through the generations and if we use them, we use them for the good of ourselves, or to benefit nature or the earth. To misuse our talents would bring down the entire wrath of the family. You learn at a fairly young age, what you can and can’t do. What is allowed and isn’t allowed. Overstep the mark and well … it’s really not worth thinking about …

So my friends, you might ask what can I do? What is my craft? I can stare into a pot and speak of the future that might or might not be. I can brew concoctions and turn a spell or two but more on that tomorrow …

Toby-Cat wasn’t very pleased with me last night. It was a full moon and I opted to take my new electronic Kenwood steam mop for a ride rather than the Broom.

“I’m not going on that thing” Cat said, digging his claws in.
“Why not. I just want to take it for a quick spin to see how it goes – after all it is a new model”
“No way will I be seen dead (or alive) on that ... that electronic monstrosity”
I could hear Broom sniggering in the cupboard and I snapped at him
“You be quiet or you’ll end up in the kindling basket”. He bristled.
I turned to Cat “Okay your choice but I just might find myself a new cat. Now either get on the end of that mop or … “
“Okay, okay – don’t harp on so. Oooh, the damn thing vibrates!”
“Hold on, we’re off “…

We swept into the night sky, curving into a half arc. The full moon lighting our way. “Eeeow” he screamed from behind me.
I turned, Cat was clinging desperately to the end of the mop with his front claws, his back legs flying out behind him.
“What the hell are you doing” I screamed. “Get on the mop you stupid mog”.
He hissed at me, “slooooow down…, sloooooow down”. The mop came to an abrupt halt and Cat’s body went flying over my head and screaming like a banishee he fell like a stone. I dived rapidly downwards and caught him by the collar, heaving him onto the end of the mop. Still hissing and swearing under his breath he regained his equilibrium. I ignored him and we swept once again into the night sky twisting, turning and swooping. The mop bucked a bit and another scream emitted from Cat.
“Shut-up, I can’t hear myself think with all that noise, you’ll wake the neighbourhood”

We swooped over the Bay, skimming the waves.
“Is it a bird? Is it a bee? No, it’s super mop” I sang out. The Kenwood mop still had a tendency to kick but the vibration could hardly be felt and it seemed to have settled itself into a free-flowing movement. Feeling happy, I told myself that my purchase was well worth it when the mop suddenly shuddered, did four-to-five kangaroo hops and plunged towards the sea. Mop, Cat and I landed with an enormous splash.

Cat screamed hysterically and scrabbled frantically to gain a foothold on my head.
“I’m drowning, I’m drowning, do something”.
Gulping water, gasping for air and gritting my teeth I snarled “I would you stupid cat. Get off my head and grab the mop. Here”
Cat frenetically grasped the mop with his claws.
“Broom, Broom get here now” I screamed
“You called Madam?”
I looked up and above us Broom hovered. I could hear the mirth in his voice .
“Get down here now”.

Cat and I clambered onto his quivering frame. I was sure the damn broom was laughing at me. I grabbed the mop from the water and we took to the skies. Cat shivering and moaning behind me and Broom still shaking with laughter.
Arriving home I threw the mop into the laundry cupboard, ignored Cat and Broom and stomped off to the bedroom. I Silently undressed, throwing my wet black gown and hat into the laundry bin before rubbing myself dry. I crept into bed snuggling up to the warmth of my husband who wrapped his arms around me and fell asleep.

The following morning Broom still sniggered, Cat flicked his tail and ignored me and my husband commented about the wet spots on the kitchen floor and suggested we try out our new Kenwood Electric Mop …

Is this me? Am I here? Wow I'm creating a weblog. Can't quite belive what I am doing but let's give it a go.

They say that computer programming can be more of an art than a science, and that might well be true. In fact, dealing with computers sometimes seems like an art - a black art to be precise. There are times when they appear not to follow any kind of logic whatsoever, just the opposite you'd expect from computers.

Take, for example, yesterday and my computer display not working. I check the connections. Everything's plugged in okay, but nope, it's definitely not working. Logic dictates that it is probably either a problem with the monitor, or the video card.

Okay. So I call the IT people, who stand around my desk, fiddling with wires, pushing the wires at the back of the computer and shaking their heads as to why it is not working. (Why does it always take 3 IT people to fix a computer is beyond me!) They depart saying they'd be back in 10 minutes. An hour later they reappear lugging along another monitor, and another video card. They plug the replacement monitor in, and presto, it works. Okay. So it must be the monitor that's faulty, right? so they shut down the computer, and ponder where they can find another monitor to replace mine. They think they know of a spare one in another department and just before they go, they plug the old monitor in again. I'm not sure why. And I'm also not sure why they turn on the computer again but it boots up perfectly, display 'n' all, amazing us all. .

Weird. Black art, I'm telling you.