Not to be read if you get upset

Too different a subject, so you've got three posts today. This is more of a pouring out, so I suggest you go to the first of the day and appreciate Jaywalker instead.

I was just leafing through the day's papers when I came upon a report that a woman, a mother of two small children, had died because the wiring in the rented home her family had just moved in to was incorrectly wired. She was having a bath, turned the tap for more hot water and was electrocuted. Her husband, at the inquest, said that steps should be taken to ensure that standards are met.

But steps are - or they should be. I've a few charges, such as the energy efficiency survey, that I resent paying for at my two London flats, but the ones I don't mind at all relate to the annual check on the electricity and gas. It's worth a few hundred pounds a year to know that I'm not going to be responsible for someone's death. Five or six years ago, two young men died over Christmas in Yagnub at an over-shop flat they were living in because the gas wasn't properly ventilated and they were overcome with fumes and died in their sleep. I was terribly upset, though I didn't know them, because it just shouldn't have happened. There are rules that are not made to be broken.

But that's only part of the reason I was upset by today's report. When I was a child, we had a car accident. We were on the way to my mother's godson's christening - it must have been 1962, so I was 8 or 9, depending on when at the end of the summer it was. We were hardly out of Lowestoft, driving along the A12 towards Kessingland, when my father pulled out to overtake a Morris Minor pootling along. We were in plenty of time, so we weren't going that fast ourselves and, for some unknown reason, the driver behind us tried to overtake us too. There wasn't room - he hit us, we hit the M M, spun round and went on the verge. If that had been clear, we might have got away with it, but there was a telegraph pole and we hit that and ended up in the ditch.

I remember sitting there, wondering if I was hurt, deciding I wasn't, looking at my parents, deciding they were still alive and moving, feeling relieved and then looking across to my sister and seeing all the blood. It wasn't as bad as it looked at that moment - is it lucky or unlucky to get cut by glass at the side and above your eye, when you could have been blinded? My father also had been cut in a minor way and my mother had whiplash, but I was unscathed. I always was. It's not just marrying the Sage that has brought me luck; I've always had it.

We were just outside a little pre-fab house and the family came out to help. My sister had to go to hospital, so when the people offered to take me and look after me until they got back, the offer was gratefully received. I don't remember much. The mother asked if I was all right, I said yes. She was looking at my hands and I looked down and they were trembling and shaking. When I knew they were, I could stop it, but I hadn't known. We had lunch, boiled salt beef and carrots. It was delicious, but I doubt I ate much. Afterwards, we played a board game. The girl nearest my age (there were several children) was particularly kind and friendly. I don't remember her name now, but I remembered it when I saw it in the paper a year or so later.

Her father and a friend had rewired the house. Something wasn't quite right. One evening, the girl went upstairs for a bath. While she was in the bath, a kitchen appliance was turned on. She reached for the tap for more water. Wires touched and she was electrocuted.

I'm still awfully scared of electricity. I take no chances. If I'm doing more than changing a light bulb, I turn off at the mains. How that poor kind father must have felt still haunts me, when I think about it.

Z is not inspired

It was something of a wasted visit to the school as the music teacher wasn't there and the supervisor sent couldn't cope with a few of the pupils. I got them doing something constructive while she was out of the room, but I know my limitations and that I get more with patience and good humoured acceptance of what I can't control than by getting annoyed. When it was decided that all the class would watch a film instead of doing any work, I politely said that I wasn't going to be much more use and left. My ears are still mildly deafened from the drumming - one lad, who's actually a very good drummer, uses knocking nine bells out of them as a ploy "but I'm making music, miss" to avoid listening to a teacher - I know that I just have to wait until he stops as, if I shouted or tried to take the drumsticks away, I'd only look pathetic; but the supervisor didn't.

I arrived home to find an email reminding me of a meeting at 2 o'clock that I didn't know was happening. Oh joy. I'd better go. You miss something, you never catch up.

I'd better get on. I may add to this later, if anything interesting happens.

Z is rendered breathless

Jaywalker always writes wonderfully. This, today, hit me right in the chest.

School Daze

The Sage was very sorry to see in the paper that an old school friend of his had died suddenly. They had only seen each other occasionally, but had know each other for nearly 65 years. Today was the funeral and off he pootled in his elderly red van. Several hours later, he came back saying how many old friends he had seen - there's something about the Norwich area, people tend to stay here or else, if they've moved away, gravitate back as retirement beckons. Anyway, he seems to have quite enjoyed the post-funeral get-together, at any rate.

It made me think. If I met a whole lot of people I was at school with from the age of 8 to 13, I wonder how many of them I'd recognise. Not many, and of those, I'd remember fewer names. I am still friends with a couple of them - once, whom I remained in touch with throughout, now lives in Kent and the other moved to Yagnub from London a few years ago. One, I saw in the Times, died about 6 years ago at the age of 50. I can't remember her married surname, but I recognised her maiden name, as well as her brother's name which, being Errol, was a bit unusual in Suffolk in the 1950s. Another friend died about 3 years ago - it's disconcerting when someone of your own age dies of natural causes.

I think I drifted through much of my schooldays in something of a daze, however. If I didn't see someone for a bit, I hardly recognised them. I'm not all that good with faces anyway - I'm much better now, which makes me appreciate that it's not something I couldn't help at all, but that I didn't concentrate enough. In fact now, I sometimes disconcert people by remembering more about them than they remember about me. I try hard, by associating facts with a name and face - it's not that it's easy.

My sister, on the other hand, is brilliant at it. A couple of years ago, we were at a wedding together. We had been on holiday to Cornwall, and she'd been invited to the wedding of the daughter of a schoolfriend, in Devon, so I was, kindly, included. We drifted apart, doing the social round, and after a while, on my own for a few minutes, she waved me over to where she was chatting with two couples. She introduced me to each person by name and mentioned an interesting fact about each of them. There was a stunned silence. "Gosh," said one of the women. "You are my new best friend, I realise."

It's never occurred to me to want to get in touch with people I knew at school. After all, if we'd been that bothered, we'd have stayed in contact all along. Some schools have reunions of course - mine wouldn't have. Frankly, no one would have gone along. We were very laid back and didn't take the place seriously at all. It closed down a year after I left, actually. I'd propped the place up for 13 years and they couldn't manage without me. It was a convent school - the convent itself was next door to the school. Funnily enough before it became a convent, it was the childhood home of my grandmother.

Most of today was cancelled

I spent half an hour printing out photos for the snapshot competition at the festival this weekend. I should have had them properly printed of course, because they'd have looked better professionally done rather than by my bog-standard printer - but there it is, they're done and I've expended a fiver to support the display.

At 8.30 this morning, it was raining a bit, so I texted Dave to say we'd best call off bricklaying today. Rain threatened all morning and there were a couple of showers - not as heavy as we've had in the past days, but enough to have made it a tedious stop-start affair. And Dave has a sore throat, which the Sage does not wish to catch (if it's catchable), as his auction is on Friday week and he shouldn't strain his voice. This afternoon, when it was supposed to rain, it became sunny, which was rather a pleasure. Weeza and Zerlina came over to babysit, so we all relaxed together and went to the playground when Dilly came home in the afternoon.

I also had a message to say my hairdresser was unwell, so my appointment was cancelled. I am rather shaggily hirsute by the time my 5-weekly appointments come round, so I'll be trailing round with hair almost down to my ankles within a couple of days.

Yesterday, I went with the high school headteacher to be told all about the latest Ofsted guidelines for school inspections. During a break, he was discussing with me the emphasis on the monitoring role of governors, and how they should have high expectations and make sure they're met rather than simply being supportive - "not brown-nosed, but hard-nosed" I agreed helpfully. "*The chairman of governors* wouldn't have quite put it like that" he said, suppressing a chortle (unless it was a shocked intake of breath that I misinterpreted). I assured him that if he wants an interjection of vulgarity, I'm the woman to provide it.

Z is not trampled by cows

Again, heavy rain showers with sunshine in between them. We keep checking the online weather forecast, trying to decide whether it's worth bricklaying tomorrow - it can go from one to the other in a few minutes so looking at the sky in the morning, unless it's pouring then, is no indication of the day.

The farmers came to fetch 3 of the 5 cows on the fields yesterday. Big Pinkie and one other are left behind, but the others are expecting their calves in about a month and they'll be given extra feed in the meantime. They were all fetched onto the Ups and Downs (descriptive of the field which is mentioned on maps as 'Anglo Saxon earthworks' and has probably, apart from some gravel extraction in a few places, not been dug up since), some railings were put in place to guide them, and then Johnny noticed that the wire was low at one place. "I'll stand there" I offered. "Would you mind?" he accepted and I stood, slightly nervous of a couple of tons-worth of cows jostled for position around me. They were all emptying bladders and bowels in preparation for their journey -you can see that they are all seasoned mothers, isn't that what we all told our children to do before a car trip?

The grass, which had been close cropped and browning last week, had already started to grow again, especially in the dips in the fields. Pinkie and the other cow, whose number I didn't notice and who hasn't been named, wandered over and accepted some apples. They will be pampered in the next few weeks.

Some good news tonight - Wink rang to say she'd had a message to say that our friends in India have had their first baby today. Her name is Aisha. It was to attend their wedding that I first visited India. They've been hoping for a baby for several years, so this is an especially joyful occasion.

Fête intervenes

I looked at my watch. 6 o'clock (pm, that is). Time for a drink! I went to the kitchen - and returned with a pint of water. Yes, I am virtuous beyond bounds. I doubt I'll be able to keep it up once I don't have the sunshine to remind me - unless the feeling of health and well-being people talk about is more truth than myth.

I've been unjustifiably lazy today. I have all sorts of jobs to do, and have ignored them. However, I have done some paperwork that's been hanging over me for some time, including two items which had been requested by 1st July - however, that was the sort of deadline suggested more in a spirit of hope than expectation, and the acknowledgments I received sounded appreciative that I'd done it at all. Having often sent out emails requesting help, information or opinions and had little if any response, my conscience pricked me into responding, even if belatedly (having had a reminder, *cough*). Indeed, having sent out a request for volunteers to help at the village festival this weekend and had one reply between Tuesday and Saturday, someone who'd been on holiday then told me I'd not attached the rotas. No one else, it appears, had noticed. At present, needing 8 people to serve teas at the church on Saturday, I've had one chap, when approached, agree to do an hour. I've put myself down for 2 hours, but I'm busy on the village green, as are the 5 people most likely to offer (all of whom are helping on Sunday) and besides, I want to go to the rest of the festival myself - John takes over the village hall with his excellent selection of guest beers and I need to sample a few. Also, I can't join in village activities if I'm not there, wallet open, supporting everyone's stall and watching the dancers and musicians who are giving up their Saturday afternoon for us. Last year, when the High School music teacher asked if anyone would like to join in the djembe drumming, I was the only volunteer (I was at an advantage as I had had a go already at school) - but there it is; while the wind band was playing it rained for a few minutes; they carried on regardless and so everyone stayed to support them, whereupon the sun came out and stayed out.

But this is a difficulty - everything, apart from our own business, that I'm involved in depends on volunteers. And people who volunteer are often already quite busy. And you can have a team of people who always join in, that falls apart for one reason or another. That's what's happened here - one lady's father has died and her elderly mother needs a lot of support, and she's adjusted her working hours so that she can be with her mother a lot in the week and work weekends. She needs no additional pressure at all. Another couple; he's just started a new job which involves a commute in the opposite direction from hers, and they've only got one car. She's not very well and they have two family members who need back-up at the moment. Nor do they. Another is recently out of hospital, one has moved away from here, another is not well. The people left are feeling that they are on their own - which includes me. This is not a complaint; indeed, I'm sympathetic and can see that people are doing everything they can. They are right to put their families first, too. No one has stepped in to replace them, however - though again, everyone is busy, what is supposed to give?

I remember, a couple of years ago, being very pressed for time with a lot to do, and work for the Sage was part of it. I spent several minutes having a moan - "I've got this and that, and then there's a deadline looming and so-and-so is relying on me..." I whinged. "Then there's your work - of course, you take priority". I saw his shoulders, which I hadn't noticed were tense, relax. I was so glad that I'd said that - it's been an enduring lesson to me; of course it's true, but it's also something that can be not said. We both sometimes feel that the other is always so busy that we don't have time for each other, but we know what and who matters most when it comes to it.

The Evergreens at Christmas. What? Yes, I know it's July

Kaz’s description of the ham salad of her childhood reminded me of a conversation I had yesterday about becoming part of the community and how long it takes. That could be a post for another day, but Kaz reminded me of one of the signs I cited; of having been asked to help prepare, serve and wash up for the Evergreens' Christmas lunch. I apologise for the use of the C word in July, of course.

I turned up, not knowing what to expect, to find that the tables had already been laid in festive manner, with crackers and the like, and preparations were going on in the tiny Village Hall kitchen. To be fair, actual cooking was hardly possible there - the layout and equipment is much better now, but it's still small and awkward.

It's the menu I'm thinking of. To wit -

Large vat of soup, made by putting catering-sized packs of dried vegetable and dried onion soup into boiling water and simmering for quite a long time until there was a dark brown ring round the top of the pan, then adding more water until the spoon didn't stand up in it any more, then stirring, realising it was a bit thin again and simmering until just right, then serving.

Appropriate number of slices of excellent quality ham and turkey from local butcher, who home-cooks all the meat he sells cold. We rolled the ham to look pretty and put it, with a slice of turkey, on each plate.
Tins of new potatoes, which were heated up in another large vat, put into serving dishes and had butter pats put on top.
Large packs of frozen peas which were put into boiling water rather a long time before any of the guests arrived so that, when they were eventually dished up, they looked nice and yellowish-green, like tinned peas do. They were then put in tureens with more butter.
On the tables, we put dishes of sliced pickled beetroot from jars, bowls of pickled onions and mustard. There was no salad cream or chutney - this is Christmas dinner, not Sunday tea, remember.

As we were serving the main course - giving each person a plate with the cold meat on, serving hot peas and potatoes from the tureens and letting them help themselves to pickles, the Christmas puddings arrived. There were half a dozen huge ones, home-made by Mrs B, and they'd been simmering in and on her Aga all morning. We boiled more kettlefuls of water, put the water in the washed-out soup vat and stirred in a catering pack of instant custard (that is, it didn't need to be made with milk). We opened a huge tin of mixed fruit salad for those who didn't eat Christmas pudding and put a small carton of cream into a jug. We put the puddings onto plates and served it into bowls, then took them round to the guests,

We put small cellophane packs of cheese onto plates, small foil-wrapped packs of butter onto plates and mixed crackers onto plates and put them on tables. We made instant coffee, pots of tea and served them.

The entertainers had been given lunch too of course, they then entertained while we washed up. Then Father Christmas arrived with his sack of presents, he bore in the Christmas cake (also made and decorated by the splendid Mrs B) and it was brought back for us to cut up and serve with more tea.

Everyone received their present, including the helpers, and we washed up again.

Oh, and everyone received a glass of sherry on arrival, including the helpers. We sort of polished off the bottle while we were washing up, too.

I've got somewhat carried away and described the whole thing - but what bemused me in those far off days when I was a young and innocent thing of about 43 was the juxtaposition of cold meat with hot vegetables and cold pickles. After a few years though, I learned to rather enjoy it. But what I'm wondering is, is (or was) this normal?

Z Parties On

Indeed, two parties today. Actually, I should have gone to a third, but something had to give. The first was a 90th birthday, the second an 80th birthday and the third was an ordination, but lots of people were going to that and I sent a card and an apology.

So, all in all a jolly day. It had started with Al ringing to ask if we'd got some cucumbers in the greenhouse, as he'd forgotten to order any. I was still in bed at that point, but dutifully went down and out and picked cucumbers, and globe artichokes while I was about it. Things improved after that, but it was actually too hot for me to want to hang around in the kitchen for the water to boil for tea and for toast to cook. So I had dry bread and water for breakfast. I know. Even this afternoon, I couldn't face the kitchen so drank more water for tea. Caffeine deprivation is no problem however. I bear it manfully. Actually, when I went to make coffee last night I discovered I had run out, so inspected the cupboard carefully in the hope of finding a squirrelled-away packet of beans; what I found was a pack of spiced orange coffee that I'd acquired somehow a couple of years ago. I made a pot, and it was as disgusting as it sounds. I'll be coffeeless for a couple of days.

Yesterday, I asked the Sage to pump up my bicycle tyres. Yes I know, I should do it myself. But I'm a weak and feeble woman, especially where my arms are concerned, and a man is so strong and masterful and enjoys helping, so I do him a favour by being grateful. The result is, of course, that I whiz around like a speedy person for days afterwards, as I'm not riding along on half-flat tyres. There was a race on today - the local cycle club is very keen, and the village bypass has a convenient straight 5 miles or so to the next roundabout, though this time they were cycling into Yagnub as well. I was overtaken by fit looking men - no women - wearing Lycra and those strange-shaped helmets, on bikes with a rear wheel without spokes but solid instead. I plodded along regardless. I don't mind being overtaken, which is just as well.

Anyway, the parties. Very jolly. One is our opposite neighbour (we have fields all around, so each neighbour is quite a way away, but he's nearest) and he's lived locally all his life. I was glad I'd worn a skirt to show my slinky hips when I saw that one of the guests was my doctor, who ordered me to lose weight. I didn't talk to him as it happened, though I had a chat with his wife. He is Town Reeve this year; a prestigious local appointment, rather like a Mayor (there is a Mayor too) but a more ancient office. The Sage's father and two uncles were both, in the past, Town Reeves, though the Sage won't be as he hasn't ever had a business or lived in the town.

This evening's party was for the elder brother of a lovely friend, who, with her husband, has been friends with the Sage for over 50 years. The men (birthday boy and his brother in law) used to shoot with the Sage at Bisley. A couple of people remembered my father and grandfather - it was a Lowestoft party. My grandfather died before I was born, in 1952, and my father died in January 1970, so it's not often that someone comes to me and speaks affectionately of them. I was very moved, it was lovely. On the 10th of this month, it's the 99th anniversary of my father's birth.