Val Cowan

[Val Cowan @auntieval50]

@autcareandshare Happy birthday Ryan!🎂🎉

[Val Cowan @auntieval50]

In a world full of despair this…….

[Julien Cohen @itsjuliencohen]

My BIGGEST Flashmob Ever: Carol of the Bells with 100 Musicians in Paris!!

With @Violinphonix, @DEVIALET @GardeRepFR

[Val Cowan @auntieval50]

@karenfthompson I have just got back from Supermarket with the things I was missing for Christmas pudding - at least this year I checked before I started- soaking tonight cooking tomorrow. Nothing beats home made Christmas pudding!

[Val Cowan @auntieval50]

@mrmarksteel Put the TMS crew in a openers?

[Val Cowan @auntieval50]

@karenfthompson Glue!

[Cian McCarthy @arealmofwonder]

J.R.R. Tolkien, in a letter to his son Christopher in 1944, wrote the following, and it has damn well made me tear up.

(As ever, may it do something for you, also.)

"I sometimes feel appalled at the thought of the sum total of human misery all over the world at the present moment: the millions parted, fretting, wasting in unprofitable days – quite apart from torture, pain, death, bereavement, injustice. If anguish were visible, almost the whole of this benighted planet would be enveloped in a dense dark vapour, shrouded from the amazed vision of the heavens! And the products of it all will be mainly evil – historically considered.

But the historical version is, of course, not the only one. All things and deeds have a value in themselves, apart from their 'causes' and 'effects'. No man can estimate what is really happening at the present 𝑠𝑢𝑏 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑒 𝑎𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠. All we do know, and that to a large extent by direct experience, is that evil labours with vast power and perpetual success – in vain: preparing always only the soil for unexpected good to sprout in. So it is in general, and so it is in our own lives.

But there is still some hope that things may be better for us, even on the temporal plane, in the mercy of God. And though we need all our natural human courage and guts (the vast sum of human courage and endurance is stupendous, isn't it?) and all our religious faith to face the evil that may befall us (as it befalls others, if God wills) still we may pray and hope. I do."

[Michael Sadgrove 🇪🇺 @MichaelSadgrove]

Lucy Winkett (a priest in the ⁦@dioceseoflondon, so knows about her leadership style⁩) writes about ⁦@bishopSarahM⁩’s appointment as #ArchbishopofCanterbury. ⁦@OfficeofABC⁩

[Simon White @simonjhwhite]

What an amazing joint confirmation service today at St Mary's Stannington. 10 amazing candidates. @NclDiocese. Thank you @BishopBerwick and all who made it possible.😊❤️

[James Tate @JamesTate121]

One month before her 95th birthday, Patricia Routledge wrote words that still echo softly today:
“I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.”
Her life didn’t truly take shape until her forties. She had worked steadily — in provincial theatres, radio plays, and West End productions — yet often felt adrift, searching for a home within herself.
At 50, she accepted a television role she assumed would be small: Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances. To her surprise, it carried her into living rooms around the world. That role, she later reflected, helped her embrace her own quirks. It healed something in her.
At 60, she began learning Italian — not for work, but so she could sing opera in its native tongue. She also discovered how to live alone without being lonely. Each night, she read poetry aloud, not for diction, but to quiet her soul.
At 70, she returned to Shakespeare’s stage, no longer burdened by the need to prove herself. She performed with stillness — and audiences felt that she was no longer acting, but simply being.
At 80, she took up watercolor painting. She painted flowers from her garden, old hats from her youth, faces she once glimpsed on the London Underground. Each painting was a memory made visible.
Now, at 95, she writes letters by hand. She bakes rye bread. She breathes deeply each morning. She cherishes laughter but no longer seeks to make anyone laugh. The quiet is her dearest companion.
And with that quiet came her message to us all:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years be your treasure years.
You don’t need fame. You don’t need perfection.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
With love and gentleness,
— Patricia Routledge

[Val Cowan @auntieval50]

Shine Jesus Shine!

[Simon White @simonjhwhite]

This made me laugh! 😆

[Val Cowan @auntieval50]

@TheStourbridge Mornington Crescent!

[Madeleine Davies @MadsDavies]

Excellent speech from @bishopSarahM, England’s former Chief Nursing Officer, on the Assisted Dying Bill https://t.co/fNGnWULiiz

[Love Music @khnh80044]

Freddie is looking down and giving y'all a standing ovation. That's spectacular!😍💗
The most INSANE Bohemian Rhapsody Flashmob you will ever see!!
With 30 musicians and singers in the STREET of Paris 😍
Cre : Julien Cohen Pianist

[Old School Eddie @Old_SchoolEddie]

I did not write this, just passing it on..

Don’t Mess with Anyone Over 60.

Seriously.

They’re not just older, they’re a different species.

Built from cold toast, hot tempers, and instincts sharper than any app.

These are the people who:

Could read their mom’s mood by the slam of a cabinet door.

Wielded a flying slipper like a heat-seeking missile.

Knew by age 7: “Lunch is in the fridge. Heat it up. Don’t burn the house down.”

At 9, they could cook soup — no recipe, no measurements, just vibes.

By 10, they were fixing taps, dodging stray dogs, and wearing buckets as armor.

They grew up outside.

No phones. No screens.

Just monkey bars → creeks → scraped knees → home by sunset.

Their Wi-Fi? Instinct.

Their antivirus? A garden hose and a gut of steel.

Bread with sugar. Cuts patched with spit and a mystery leaf.

Allergies? Maybe. But unless something fell off — “You’re fine.”

They survived it all:

Transistor radios and vinyl stacks
Black-and-white TV with rabbit ears
Cassettes, Discmans, and pencils jammed into tape reels.

Now they carry every song ever made in their pocket but still miss the sweet grind of a cassette rewinding.

When they got a driver’s license?

They crossed countries with just a paper map, egg sandwiches, and pure faith.
No AC. No GPS. No reservations.

Just: Go.

They remember life before the internet.
Before "low battery" was a thing.

Before birthdays needed reminders.

If they forgot yours? They just didn’t show up. No big deal.

These legends:

Fixed everything with duct tape and a butter knife
Had one TV channel and loved it

Think “scrolling” still means flipping through a phone book

Believe: “If you didn’t answer, you must be alive. Call back later.”

They’re not soft.

They’re forged from rusted metal swings and emotional asbestos.

Tough skin. Sharper minds. Ninja reflexes from dodging life the hard way.

They’ve seen more. Felt deeper.

And they’ve got a Werther’s Original in their pocket that predates your TikTok account.

[Schizologius @bibeIradikaI]

That's right Orthochud, the last descendants of the Eastern Roman Emperors were Anglicans!