Razor-blade of Life

Six dishwasherfuls later...

2012-01-29T17:52:00.000Z

That has all gone well. As I said yesterday, the new dining room is a complete success and it ties the house together - rather than it being a purposeless room at the end of the house, it now is a lovely room which suits its use very well. In fact, everyone spent the morning in there (except me, I was in the kitchen) and didn't want to leave. The children spent their time in the sitting (ex-dining) room and upstairs in their 'den'.

I seem to have prepared a lot of food. After last night's meal, I cooked sausages, bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and a lot of toast for breakfast today, and then cooked pot-roast shoulder of lamb Provençal with pommes boulangère, carrots and courgettes for lunch. I was nearly undone with the potatoes. Stupidly, I forgot that tinfoil seems to completely exclude all heat in the Aga and left it on top of the dish, with the result that it barely warmed up after half an hour. The dish was too big for the microwave, so I hastily split the quantity in two and gave each a ten-minute blast, then a couple of minutes under the grill and lunch was only ten minutes late (this so goes against the grain, I tend to produce a meal at the minute I say I will). We had eaten all the eggs, so I was slightly stuck for a pudding until it occurred to me that I had all the ingredients for trifle (yes, bought sponge, you got a problem, darlings?) and that was quick and easy.

To fill the ten minute delay, I hastily got out champagne from the fridge and I don't think anyone minded...

After lunch, the family looked at some of the things I've fetched out that had belonged to my mother. Several items have either been borne away happily or else left with us for safekeeping, to be fetched at another time. Other things will be sold or given away. So a start has been made, at any rate.

Z cooks Christmas dinner

2012-01-28T21:42:00.002Z

It's been brilliant. I cooked the roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and so on that I would have cooked for Christmas if we'd all been together then and we've had a very entertaining evening. Everyone loves the new dining room, and it's great to have so much space. It's a big room, 24 feet by 18, so the 8 foot-something table looks quite small in there. Another table is added to make it long enough for all of us to eat at, and there's still plenty of room. It's really warm as a bonus.

Afterwards, Al and Dilly produced a pack of indoor fireworks. I was thrilled! We used to love them when Weeza and Al were little, they were hilarious, especially the one that expanded like a snake across the table, giving off noxious sulphurous fumes. They still have that one, but overall they don't seem quite as smelly and smoky as we remember - although members of the family who left the room for one reason or another during the display didn't return. In the end, it was just Al, Dilly, Wink, me and the children who stayed, loving every minute until the end. Everyone else said that it was too smelly and smoky. Hah! They don't know what's good. I've requested some for my birthday celebrations.

Al and co live next door so they went home, of course, but everyone else is staying over, so that's brilliant too. No rush home to put children to bed, everyone can have as much as they want to drink - not that it's been much, actually. We all seem to have been quite abstemious. We ate early because of the children, so no pre-dinner drinks. And I got a big enough joint of meat for Sunday lunch for everyone, in case they could stay, so it seems that we'll do it all again tomorrow. Excellent. Nothing I like better than cooking for lots of people.

Z is upbeat

2012-01-27T23:02:00.000Z

Today has gone well. I arrived in Bury St Edmunds in good time, found the car park without difficulty, having finally managed to secure a mental map of the area (which is not the part of Bury that I usually go to) and parked. Last time I had a meeting there, I got out of the car to get the ticket, then realised I'd lost my bearings and had no idea of the direction to walk to the building I was aiming at. I walked a few yards and the heavens opened. I had to accost a woman (who, unlike me, had an umbrella) and ask, and arrived at my meeting a few minutes late and soaking wet. They had started without me, so I had to begin taking notes at once, dripping messily into my notebook.

Anyway, I sensibly (have you ever noticed how sensible I am? Yeah, thought so) looked about to get my bearings before I left, and noted the distinctive colour of the building, so was able to find my way back today.

I hadn't been home long before Wink arrived, so all is well there too. The two flies in the cheerful ointment are that my laser printer has gone on the blink (it's still under guarantee, if I can't resurrect it) and that the cordless phones have unaccountably stopped working. I used one at noon before I left, and we received an answerphone message since, but there is no ringing or dial tone and nothing happens when you pick up. There is one corded phone which works, so I'm not fussing for now.

Actually, it would be a long time before I missed the landline. It always rings when the Sage and I are talking about something that matters, he can't resist rushing to answer it and it completely interrupts our train of thought. I'd give it up if not for the Sage, honestly.

Further good news is that I checked app downloads a few minutes ago and there are two new levels out in iAssociate 2. Jolly good. I shall enjoy them.

Z is cheerful

2012-01-26T23:42:00.000Z

Lovely music lesson today, I had chats with several of the children who are quite interested, in a bemused sort of way, about me going in to help as a volunteer. And then, waiting to see the Head after school, a girl whom I'd got on with well last year came past and stopped for a chat. I do enjoy going in to the school regularly, it makes all the difference when I start to get to know individuals, both staff and students.

Most of the furniture has been moved about now and we'll see how it works out. Of course, we may not like it and change it all back after a while. I don't mind, I love moving furniture. My mother's furniture stayed in one place throughout my childhood - well, afterwards too, in both of her next two houses. Once she'd decided where something was going, there it stayed. I like to ring the changes, which is something I've got in common with Dilly.

Wink phoned this morning to say that various things had cropped up and so she's coming up tomorrow instead of today. I was upstairs changing beds at the time and didn't hear the phone so rang back. Later, changing our bedclothes, I got the reminder on my phone that it was time for Meals on Wheels - just as well, I'd have forgotten (mind you, of course, that's why I set an alert) and hurried out. It wasn't until about 6.30 this evening that I remembered that I hadn't remade the bed. I'm so glad I did remember then, mind you, not the most fun job to have to do that when you're rather hoping to get straight in the bed.

I've got a lot done today, but it doesn't really feel as though I've made much progress. I could do with another day before the weekend. There is one, of course, but I've got to leave at noon for a meeting in Bury St Edmunds and I'll have to get ready for that first, which will take at least an hour. I haven't had time to read the newspapers all week. Still, I daresay they'd only depress or annoy me. Maybe it's the absence of 'news' that is making me feel so cheerful.

Z does her looking back and forwards thing

2012-01-25T18:10:00.000Z

I always feel a little thoughtful in the last week in January, because it contains both the anniversary of my father's death and of my stepfather. I don't do anything to mark or commemorate this, because I don't believe in marking bad events. Anniversaries should be happy ones. One cannot help remembering, but that's all.

I am conscious, however, that my age is approaching that of my father when he died. I remember working out when I'd be thirty-three and a third (conveniently, it was a leap year), when I'd been married half, and two thirds of my life and so on. Another fourteen months to go before I outlive him in terms of our ages.

Rather more cheerfully, this week will mark the sixth birthday of the Razorblade. Not today, I have never commemorated its blogday and I won't be starting that either. Although if it's still around in four years time, I might bake it a cake.

My sister Wink is arriving tomorrow afternoon for the weekend. The whole family is coming here for supper on Saturday, so we'll need a usable dining table by then (the dining room is chaotic and I'm keeping out of the way) as there will be fourteen of us, including the babies. It'll be brilliant. Weeza and co are staying overnight, so all the bedrooms will be full. I love that. I always have. Nothing better than a full house of people I love.

Update I was just publishing this when Jamie, who dropped in to help move the heavy furniture, came in to ask me to come. I was apparently needed to direct operations.

The Sage has cut chunks out of the door frame. He's so resourceful. I'm lost in admiration. Don't worry, it's not ancient oak, it only dates (in situ, that is) from 1928. And now it's part of the house's history.

Z runs late

2012-01-25T00:16:00.002Z

Just realised how late it is. Whoops.

I spent all day in school and had a lot to catch up on this evening. Admittedly, however, I've spent quite some time reading the papers when it probably would have been better to get the typing done first. All finished now though, except one document stubbornly refuses to save when I set it out as I want it - I had to combine several reports and just wanted to put a page break between each. Won't let me. Or rather, it lets me, just then won't save it. I've got to email the document out, but I'll work it out tomorrow, I've had enough of it for tonight. I had a similar problem a while ago, can't remember how I resolved it. I suspect I had to retype the document rather than copy and paste it.

Trying to move our dining table from one room into another, it's been discovered that it's 1/4 inch too high (tipped on its side, that is, it's certainly too wide). The Sage is blithely going to saw a bit off. I'm going to make sure I'm out of the house when that happens, the whole business is too nerve-wracking for me. Having said that, I'm sure he'll be successful, he usually gets away with things. The other day, mind you, a table wouldn't go through the same passageway. "It came in here all right, how about taking the door off?" The door was lifted off, but it still wouldn't fit. "How about the window?" The Sage was perfectly sure it wouldn't work, but every other method had failed so he tried in the end. And that was it. I tried and failed not to look smug.

Not sure if we'll like the dining table in there, mind you, it'll be a bit embarrassing if I have to ask them to take it out again. I'd forgotten how low the ceiling is in that room and it's rather dark. Still, I daresay it'll be fine. At least the room is cleared now. Well, nearly.

A Z and her marbles are soon parted

2012-01-23T22:24:00.001Z

There was the sweetest little girl in church yesterday. Her name is Toni, she's ten months old and a clever little thing. She was crawling around in a good humour, making those sounds that just precede speech, very interested in her surroundings, could stand confidently and walk with one hand held. Her parents were lovely too, kept a close eye on her without interfering unless they thought she might be bothering someone or getting too near to something she shouldn't touch.

Weeza and Phil spent the weekend in London with the children. They stayed in a friend's flat - the friend actually moved out to give them space! and had a get-together with friends in the evening and went to the Natural History Museum during the day. Zerlina was very impressed although she didn't believe the dinosaur skeletons were real. Quite understandable. They took her shopping for clothes and she fell in love with a really gaudy Barbie-pink bag. Not Weeza's style at all, but they relented because she was so besotted and Zerlina is extremely happy.

I seem to have slightly screwed up. I received the draft minutes from the last governors' meeting when on the way to London back in November. I thought I'd been through them, made any necessary changes and sent them back ... it seems not. The deadline is tomorrow. The job has been done in some haste - fortunately, the only sections where there were queries were bits I remember - it had been an extremely long day, one meeting after another from first thing until after 6, ending with a pupil exclusion, and I felt quite ill by the end. So details were a touch hazy in my memory, I must admit.

Now to think about the agenda for the next meeting. I'm not with it at all tonight. If I was confident of my usual three wakeful hours in the night, I'd leave it until the early hours, but I can't bank on that and I've got to be out of the house by 8.30 tomorrow morning so can't leave it until I'd normally get up. My brain seems to be a bit too relaxed for a Monday.

Z prepares to learn her lesson

2012-01-22T23:02:00.000Z

I've sort of bitten the bullet. I've emailed the school music teacher to ask her to let me have the name of a local clarinet tutor. I don't know anyone, if anyone does she will. It rather commits me. I'm not quite wholehearted about it, admittedly, and feel quite anxious. I feel as though I'm setting myself up, if not actually for failure, for something less than success.

However, I know what I'm like. I'll turn the feelings around. Flight will turn into fight, as it were. I may be indecisive (or I may not be, who knows?) but once I've made my mind up, I go for it. Well, I hope I will, anyway.

This week, it\s Governors' Link week. Most of us - the ones who are able to get into school during the school day - are linked to at least one department and periodically go to meet the staff, see what's going on and, at least once during the year (could be any number of times) go into lessons to see for ourselves. Talking to the pupils is a big part of that, it's no good sitting back and just being theoretical about things.

If your own family has long grown up, it can be quite daunting going in and talking to teenagers, hitting the right tone, but once you're used to it, it's great. Since I've been involved with the school for years and going weekly to music lessons there for about four years, I'm reasonably confident about it and I'm looking forward to it. I'm the Special Needs governor, but I'm not going into classes concerning that this time round, I'll do that another time. I've got meetings instead. I am, however, going into several music lessons and that'll be brilliant. I learn a lot in those lessons and I love to see the enthusiasm and enjoyment shown by the students.

Having said that, I haven't got any lessons tomorrow, now I come to think about it. I suppose I should have written this post tomorrow. Um. A day in hand. What shall I write about tomorrow, I wonder? Any ideas?

Awesome genius?

2012-01-21T16:41:00.000Z

Laugh out loud moment today was prompted by the last line of a report in the paper which said that Paul Daniels, the magician, had cut off the tips of two fingers when making a new prop for his forthcoming show. I didn't laugh at that, of course, no laughing matter at all. The report ended by saying that, after surgery, he's been back working in his shed, where he makes many of his own props. "Next week he will be making a guillotine," it finished drily.

Speaking of crossword puzzles, as I was yesterday, reminded me of an anecdote told me many years ago by Captain Sheppard. He was a great friend of mine when I was in my late teens and early twenties. My mother's gardener died suddenly and, in a spirit of great kindness, he turned up on the doorstep and offered to help out. He was an elderly bachelor who lived in a caravan a couple of miles away, one of those men who had never quite achieved the knack of looking after himself and so looked - well, frankly, a bit of a tramp. He was immensely intelligent and cultured, but I rather think he had, or had had, a drinking problem. He certainly lived a very simple life. I liked him a lot and we had long conversations.

We shared an enthusiasm for cryptic crosswords, although he was way more intelligent and clever than I, but he was very kind to me and never showed any indication that he was aware of that. And he told me of his favourite crossword clue.

Torquemada was the pen name of a compiler of fiendishly difficult crossword puzzles back in the 1920s and 30s, for The Observer. Puzzles of this sort were ones I rarely attempted and never could solve. I can't remember the name of the compiler in my young day, my father could do them but they were horribly difficult. Anyway, Captain Sheppard taught in a boys' boarding school and all the masters lived in. One night, no one could solve the final clue - For the alleviation of the labour of childbearing (4).

And I'll say no more about that until tomorrow, because you might see it straight away or you might not. There were scientists, linguists, classicists, no one could get the answer.

Rog has given Chris a prize for solving a very nice clue, but he deserves one from me too. Chris dear heart, what is your favourite pudding? It shall be served on 26th May and you will receive the first helping. Assuming you make it to the party, that is.

Nod and Wink

2012-01-20T21:45:00.001Z

On Granny-duty with young Hadrian this morning. He was slightly alarmed at first, having seen me in action (inaction? That's better) at the pub last night. He enjoyed it there, actually. He chewed Diana's spectacles case and didn't drink my beer, wise child. I showed him The Cat In The Hat on my iPad, which seemed to go down quite well, but he was tired by the time his mother showed up.

One good thing about my lazy week is that I've got back to doing the Times crossword. I always used to, but now I've got out of the habit, it's a whole lot more difficult to get started. Mind you, I have to do the cryptic one. I can't understand so-called 'easy' crosswords. My vocabulary isn't up to them. I have to have sufficient clues to check that all the letters fit, once the flash of insight into a possible word strikes.

It's been a busy day, actually. I fell asleep after dinner, which I hate doing. I don't mind an afternoon nap if that strikes, but anything after 5 pm is likely to keep me awake at night. Still, done now, I couldn't help it and, unfortunately, I was asleep for the better part of an hour.

I had a chat with my sister earlier on. Not sure if I mentioned a few weeks ago that her office closed down, which was a bit disconcerting as she'd worked there a long time. However, she has got a good redundancy payout and has been offered relief work at a neighbouring office of the same company. She's feeling pretty good about things, and will have more free time which won't be unwelcome. We're hoping to have a holiday together in the summer.

Z drinks a pint

2012-01-19T20:46:00.002Z

I went along to the meeting, which was to start organising the various events on in the village this summer. The good thing was that it was in the village pub, and I don't get along there half often enough. The rather depressing thing was that so many events will be sports related. And honestly, I couldn't be less interested. I'm trying to be good-natured about it, interested even, but I'm not. And the more there is on, the harder it will be to pretend. Also, I'm supposed to be secretary for this committee and I've been failing miserably for months. The couple of hours a month required seems to have just gone past my tipping point recently, and the chairman, a very good friend fortunately, has been sending out information instead. I apologised and she brushed it off; I said that I know the reason - that if she acknowledges I'm not keeping up to scratch, I shall stand down and she'd rather keep me on board, even if I'm a bit flakily unreliable for a while.

But what I'm wondering is, do you use the internet as a reward for having done work or as something to stave off the moment when you have to start it? I daresay many of us would admit to a bit of both, but I do generally set myself targets, if the work is boring enough. 'When I've written that letter and those minutes (or at least the first page) then I can spend ten minutes reading blogs.'

The phone and iPad do keep me off the computer to some degree, as I can read emails there as they come in without logging on to check if I've received them. I've not really missed the computer much, in fact - although actually, I've just staved off work that now I'm going to have to do in haste rather than spending all week on it. I've quite missed Facebook Scrabble, but not much else.

Frankly, I've never much been one for surfing the net. I find it quite annoying. However carefully one puts in the words for a search, there always seems to be a load of stuff that is well off-topic. Oh for the days of an encyclopaedia and a reference book. And yes, I know the advantages of having the WWW at ones fingertips, but there can be too much information. Norfolk isn't known for too many dual carriageways, never mind super-highways.

Not blogging makes the Z forgetful

2012-01-18T23:09:00.000Z

Sorry, loves, I didn't give blogging a moment's thought yesterday. That is, not until I was already in bed and, since I've stopped using the phone in bed at night for now, I didn't want to get back into bad habits quite yet.

It'll all change soon though, I've got a meeting tomorrow evening and another one on Friday afternoon so I'll have to get ready for those. I didn't tonight though, because I came over to Weeza's house to babysit this evening and I'm staying overnight, then out to lunch tomorrow in Norwich.

It has been interesting, though, to realise how much good switching off can do. Not just switching off the computer, because I don't think that was causing the problem and I've still dealt with emails in any case. But taking evenings off, reading books rather than documents, going for walks.

It looks as though 26th May is the definite date for the party, because no one has said they can't make it and all the other possibilities do not suit at least a couple of people. So, although it's far too early to make firm arrangements at your end (ends, indeed), please put the date in your diary if you would like to join us. There will certainly be some people who haven't yet met any of us, and at least a couple of non-bloggers, as well as partners of bloggers, so don't let that deter you. And you're very welcome to stay over, as long as there are enough bedrooms.

Zleeping zoundly

2012-01-16T15:39:00.001Z

I took the weekend off. I suddenly realised how tired I was, so have just been relaxing, computer switched off, going for walks and not doing much at all. I've not got a lot on this week - well, not until the end of the week, anyway, and then I'm going to be fairly occupied for some time, so this is a chance I wanted to take.

And last night, finally, I slept really well. It was lovely. Although I woke three or four times, I was able to drop off again without needing to distract my mind from too much thought by reading or playing games on my phone.

It had taken an effort to unwind that much, though. A few nights ago, I lay for hours and, every time I started to drift off to sleep, a random thought popped into my mind, within moments it had led to a whole train of thoughts and a minute later I was wide awake. And then, the only way I could distract myself was to start reading a book and half an hour later, when I put down the phone again and settled to sleep, the same happened again. And so, being the sensible Z that I am, I decided to clear my mind completely so that there wouldn't really be anything to think of.

I have to acknowledge, mind you, that I have been checking emails on the phone, but only a couple of times a day and I've only replied to those that couldn't wait. Otherwise, I'd have worried that something might crop up that I should know about.

Anyway, it's worked. I will cook a nice, soothing meal tonight, probably risotto, because just the gradual adding of the stock and stirring of the rice is a pleasure, I'll have an early night and hope that I'll sleep again, and then I'll be able to get back to my normal self. If normal and Z are words that sit well together, that is.

Zedbras

2012-01-14T21:04:00.001Z

You know I said how I wasn't doing any clothes shopping this winter? I went to the dentist and then on into Norwich, just because I was nearly there already and there was something I did need to buy.

I no longer lack new clothes. Of thirteen garments tried on in three shops (one of the shops was back in Yagnub, mind you, I was on a roll by then), I bought eight of them. And that doesn't include my venture into the underwear department. Mind you, I didn't mean to include underwear in my complaint about clothes shopping in any case, because I rather like buying that.

I remember a while ago reading a complaint on someone's blog about the difficulty of buying cheap bras in larger sizes in the country where she lived, which I think was Spain. And I was a bit puzzled, although I didn't comment. The comments seemed mostly to be from people who refused to pay more than a fiver for a bra, and I didn't get it. I'm not saying that you have to pay whole lots for one designed or endorsed by a *name*, but surely every woman needs to get fitted properly and be prepared to spend enough to get something that'll do its job? Preferably, that's pretty enough to make her feel good about herself, of course.

Breaking the silence

2012-01-13T20:19:00.000Z

Phil's reference to falling asleep in front of his guests (not sure whether he was joking or not) reminded me of our friend Peter, who has always had a tendency to doze off after dinner, wherever he is.

It was a long time ago, before we moved here - probably getting on for 30 years, so he must have only been in his 30s, but he did it even then. On one particular occasion I remember us all sitting chatting after the meal and noticed him, elbow in table, leaning more and more heavily on the hand under his chin. What I didn't notice was the table buckling under the strain.

It was a very nice gateleg table, large enough to seat 8 people easily, oval but only just so (nearly round, I mean) and the flaps were each in two parts. And he was leaning hard on the very end.

Yes, it broke. A sudden snap, Pete and the remains of dinner on the floor. I had cleared away, I don't remember a pile of crockery, but a nice Victorian cranberry wine glass met its doom. We didn't use them often. Don't think we've used them at all since, those that remain.

Since then, we've always repaired rapidly to the sitting room after dinner so that any sleepy guests can nap in peace.

That's not the only piece of furniture that's come a cropper from the weight of a guest. The first time our friend Daphne brought her new husband to visit us comes to mind. At that time (again, in our Lowestoft house) we had a Victorian chaise longue in the drawing room. He went to sit down and pushed it back as he sat. Now, what he didn't know - and indeed, there was no reason to - was that the back leg was not very strong, so we had it bolstered up with a couple of stout logs. These, he'd pushed out of the way. So again, a loud crack and our guest on the floor.

Oh, how we laughed.

Z is a little rusty-fingered from lack of blogging

2012-01-12T21:20:00.001Z

Ah. Having missed two days blogging this year so far, I am already losing my blog-voice. Not sure what to write about.

It doesn't help that by far the most interesting and gossip-worthy thing that has happened to me in a long time is completely unshareable. Both cheering and startling, it drove me to the bottle last night. I can't deny it, I had one too many. I fell asleep on the sofa. This must indeed be a sign of age, hitting the cooking sherry (and I'll never do that again, own-brand Amontillado doesn't greatly agree with me) before drinking the normal quantity of wine simply sends me to sleep.

However, today was good, and no after-effects. My friend Mary came over in the morning. She, who is terribly busy and has an ill mother-in-law to look after, is always concerned that I'm doing too much. I do about a tenth of what she does, and with much worse grace, but she is so kind. I told her about the blog party and she was quite encouraged - huzzah, Z has friends! ... even if most of them have never actually met me.

"What's the name of your blog, again?" she asked. Several of my real life friends have asked me that, but it's rare that any of them actually checks it out. Anyway, it's at this point that I always feel a bit embarrassed that I chose a damn fool name for my blog. "razorbladeoflife," I muttered awkwardly. She wanted to know how much I write every (mostly) day. I showed her, on my phone, a few posts and she was struck by quite how much it is. After all, she knows me as reticent and a good listener.

Hang on, that's not true. But she was silenced for a few minutes.

Anyway, I am finally catching up with work, because I'm determined to take this weekend off. And the weekend is starting sometime tomorrow morning, because I'm going over to see Weeza and the children for lunch.

Customer disservice

2012-01-10T10:55:00.000Z

We've got several bank accounts, the Sage and me. There's our personal accounts, the joint one we pay household bills from, the business one (we recently opened another of those, for reasons I'll come on to) which is also a joint account, my family trust one (which is less interesting than it sounds) and the Sage has a few others, I don't keep tabs on it all. But only one of them annoys me.

It's the one that we used for business, held with a building society that has been taken over from Santander. It goes for a few months without being used, all the sale proceeds are paid into it and out to clients, and the profit is used occasionally, in this case to pay the Sage's tax bill. And this morning, I received a phone call from Santander to confirm that the cheque recently made out was a legitimate one.

Well, it was soon after 8 am, I was upstairs in the bathroom, the Sage was outside giving the chickens breakfast and I didn't have the information to hand so put the phone down (it's an automated call) and, no doubt, they will phone back later. But this happens every damn time a payment is made from this account. To start with, I assumed it was because, after a long period of it not being used, several large cheques were paid out, and this was reasonable. But after a phone call regarding a cheque for well under £100, and not in a fallow period, I did get rather more annoyed. The thing is, if the account is used fraudulently and it's not our fault, the bank is liable. So this is not customer service, it's just putting the onus on us. And if one day I had a phone call, knew that cheques had been made out and authorised one too many (with no prior warning and no cheque book to hand), they'd get out of their obligation because it would be my fault.

Anyway, we haven't closed that account but will wind it down, and have opened a new account with another bank entirely. But what I'm wondering is, does Santander contact everyone every time a cheque is made out on one of their accounts? And does any other bank?

Z is not the snappiest dresser

2012-01-09T21:57:00.003Z

I meant to consider buying some new clothes this winter. It hasn't happened. I don't enjoy shopping and I'm quite uninterested in what I wear. My mother and I had an air of mutual bemusement about this, because she loved clothes. Mind you, I suspect that this didn't help me at all because, rather than involve me in what suited me and what I might want to buy, she took the path of least resistance for years and chose most of my clothes herself. I suppose she had to or I'd have kept wearing the same things until I grew out of them or they wore out.

Now, if I'm in the mood for shopping and find anything I like and fits, I buy it at once, whether I need it at the time or not. I might buy whole lots in a day - but then I won't shop again for the rest of the year, very likely. The autumn before last, I bought two pairs of shoes and two of boots at the same time. None since. My coat was my mother's, actually. She bought it about three months before she died and it was expensive (she knew she was dying, but she was feeling pretty well and cheerfully defiant, so went ahead). Anyway, it seemed a pity to waste it. So it's nine years old now (I have had another coat in the meantime, I haven't worn the same one relentlessly all that time, I give it a couple of years' rest and then haul it out again) and still going strong.

When Weeza and Al were little, I didn't have much spare money. So, when I did go shopping, it seemed a waste to spend what I had on clothes for me. I bought books instead. My mother, in despair, used to give me her cast-offs. When Weeza entered her teens, I wore what she chucked out.

Now, I do have to buy myself things to wear. But it's so dispiriting. Rows of stuff I don't like, then I find something I do and I have to go and take my clothes off and try the damn thing on. And if it doesn't fit and I want to go up or down a size, the assistant has always vanished so I have to get dressed again and go and find it - because I never go shopping with anyone. That's an even worse penance, for them as well as me.

Once, I had a suit made. Never again. Apart from having to make choices, when I didn't really know what I wanted and having to act as if I cared, I then became pregnant, so the project was put on hold, then I had the baby and became really thin (rake thin I always was within months of having a baby) and it had to be taken in. And the cost. Blimey. Mind you, I got my money's worth. Wore it for decades. Unfortunately, the moth got it in the end or I'd be wearing it yet.

Anyway, I had to go to Norwich this morning for a meeting, so I thought that afterwards I'd go and have a delve and see if either there was anything remaining at the tail end of the sales or if there was anything new in. But I couldn't be bothered in the end. There's wear in what I've got yet. Maybe next year.

The Sage hears and eBays

2012-01-08T17:06:00.001Z

Today, the Sage and I have been doing some sorting out. We haven't got that far, but there is progress of a sort, in that there is now a pile of items to show to the family and, unless anyone wants to keep them, we shall sell them.

Both of us are finding that our despair at having too much stuff is overriding a wish to keep what belonged to family members. And so, unless one of my children or my sister wants it, my grandfather's barograph will go. So will (so far) two boxfuls of Victorian silver plate. On the Sage's part, his mother's collection of Victorian Christmas and other cards will go unless anyone objects. We found a pair of spats - huh? - and various other oddments. Things that I couldn't have let go when my mother died, nearly nine years ago, I'm willing to say goodbye to now, and even the Sage is letting go some of his tight grasp on memorabilia - although I'll believe it when I see it happen.

At present, since Phil and Lisa can't make the August date, it looks as though we may be coming back to the last Saturday in May for the party. Is there anyone who would like to come but definitely can't manage that date? I know it isn't first choice for a couple of people - oh, and I took off the 30th June because Chris and J can't come then, but they're not sure if they will be able to come at all (such lovely people even to consider basing a visit from the South of France on our party) and they assure me that they will not be offended if that's the chosen date. So how would that be as an alternative for everyone else? Though I'd rather not choose a day that rules out anyone, I felt bad enough about Roses last year.

But thinking about it, the 26th May could be a good time. Just a couple of days after our wedding anniversary, you could all come and drink a toast to the next 39 years.

Young at heart Sage

2012-01-07T18:36:00.000Z

The phone is ringing. I take no notice because the Sage will answer it (he has). I can be right by the phone and he'll rush to get there first. Similarly, he adores the arrival of the post. Yesterday, the postman tapped on the door because something had to be signed for. Before I had a chance to get there, the Sage, still on the phone, had rushed out and had to tuck the phone under his chin, carry on two conversations simultaneously and take in the letters.

The signed-for letter was for me, by the way.

Oh, and it seems that the phone call is for me too.

Later, having finished the phone conversation

It seems to me to indicate a great optimism, when one still looks forward to the post, even after many decades of being a householder, when most of the correspondence - especially nowadays when letters are usually sent by email - comprises bills and other business stuff. In fact, yesterday we had the accountant's bills and invoices from the Inland Revenue. We've paid both already. Why wait? I've come to the conclusion that waiting for the last minute before paying a bill is a bit pointless (obviously, all local tradesmen have always been paid by return anyway) and the pleasure of being out of debt outweighs any satisfaction in keeping the bastards waiting. But this is about the Sage ... yes, he's still so enthusiastic. I do enjoy that.

His enthusiasms carry him away sometimes, which can cause problems. I don't quite know why he never talks to me first before getting into scrapes. Well, I do - if he thinks I might take the sensible route, he doesn't ask me what I think. He'll only tell me about what he is fairly sure I'll approve. And I'm quite wacky enough, so there's a whole lot of leeway, but there is a point at which I'll say, in proper Norfolk fashion, "hold you hard, bor," and that's what he doesn't mention and I'm generally left to sort out later in a way to embarrass him as little as possible.

On balance, though ... a life more ordinary or one that can drive me up the wall?

Can one compromise?

Dates

2012-01-05T11:16:00.001Z

It was extremely windy in the night and the chickens were making a lot of noise this morning, telling the Sage how little sleep they had had. I didn't have so very much myself, but lay for a long time listening to the wind whooping down the chimney and battering the windows. At least the windows are well fitting. In our last house, the Edwardian sash windows rattled and the curtains billowed gently.

I'm so pleased that so many of you would like to come to the bloggers' party. There is no need to decide on a date yet, but I'll tell you the weekends we're free (as things stand now) and if you have any preference, let me know and we'll try to find a date to suit everyone. Since some of you will be coming from quite a distance a Saturday might be better, to allow for an overnight stay.

Here are the most likely options -

May 26
~~June 2 (this is a Bank Holiday weekend, the Spring Bank Holiday having been put back by a week because the Queen's Jubilee holiday is on the Tuesday)~~
~~June 30~~
July 21
August 4

If you've a long way to travel, we do have spare rooms and you're welcome to stay overnight. Staying here requires a very relaxed attitude because this is a Tudor house and the rooms all lead into each other. So either you're going through someone's bedroom to get to the bathroom and stairs or someone is coming through yours. We've got four spare rooms, two with double beds, one has a single bed and the other a slightly lumpy sofa bed in a very warm room (it's right above the Aga). We are quite remarkably informal and it's wise not to have expectations of luxury accommodation, mind you.

Z's favourite card

2012-01-04T09:55:00.000Z

I was sitting here typing this afternoon and noticed a hen outside. After a minute, I realised it was the new chicken - who's a jolly good layer, by the way, we've had at least half a dozen eggs from her since she arrived here on Christmas Eve. I went out and gave her some corn - I hadn't given the chickens their lunch, so she was soon joined by others. We've been keeping her separate from them, in case they go for her, until they all get used to each other. Now we've got the bantam cocks too, we've put them all in a run with a dog kennel for shelter.

Then I went to feed the cocks, and found that one of them was out too. I gave him some corn, then fed the other two - there was a loose bit of wire and a big enough hole for a small bantam to get through. So I covered it and then went and picked up the hen and put her through the door and then fetched the cock and put him in too. They're very tame, dear little birds. I haven't taken any pictures yet, I'll do that soon and show you.

I was quite surprised when I saw them in fact, they're black and white and very small. James has hand-reared them and they are quite tame. Apparently they're pedigree bantams. That'll raise the tone around here, then.

Z recaps

2012-01-03T14:13:00.002Z

Reading my way round blogs over the last week, the general feeling seems to be that 2011 was a fairly tough year and most people are glad that it's over. That wasn't my experience at all, so please excuse me if I take a few minutes to look back on a jolly good year.

Not just good for me, but for the family, in fact. In January, Ro moved in with Dora. They are still in the same very small place, but are making plans for the future which includes buying a house this year.

Dilly and Al's third baby, Hadrian Swallow, named (by me, that is) in honour of the Wall, was born in May, and Weeza and Phil's baby, Augustus Bufo, was born two days after his sister's third birthday in August. The other day, we stood the two babies up (they both like standing) to face one another. They have recently started to eye each other with interest, but they were reaching out to touch this time, particularly Hay, the elder.

The Sage had a splendid year. He had two very successful sales and was thrilled that the water bottle and basin in his last auction at the end of October made a record auction price for Lowestoft china, at £34,500. In April, he celebrated 50 years as an auctioneer and in June his 75th birthday. On the strength of that, I was allowed, for the first time, to hold a birthday party for him. Encouraged by that, he held another birthday party for his old car, which was 78 in August.

It was a summer of parties - not that summery was quite the weather for the Great Wall Party in May. I foolishly planned a barbecue, and ended up doing all the cooking in the kitchen instead which meant I wasn't half as sociable myself as I'd have liked to be, but it was wonderful to meet so many of you. I'd already met Rog and knew Dave well, of course, but it was brilliant also to meet Mike and Ann, Chris and J., Mrs Rine, Lily and Oz, Bill and Mrs Bill, Sarah, Sir Bruin and Liz, the Small Bear, and you all follow each others' blogs now too. I've never met so many bloggers as this year - Blue Witch, with Mr BW, was my first ever blog meet and she called in again in the summer, and I was able to meet Fwengebola, PixieMum and her husband and Chris again in London in the autumn. We'd also been to Roses' birthday party earlier in the year which was a great do. Thank you all, I enjoyed seeing you so much.

I now have accepted my fate, that my main occupation seems to be school governor - I certainly take it more seriously than anything else I do - and it was quite a year. The long discussions about applying for academy status, the decision to go ahead, the Ofsted inspection that judged us an outstanding school and the preparations to take in two extra year groups - and, at the same time, keeping up the quality of education - took so much work for all the staff, especially the Head, who is quite remarkable. It has all paid off so far, still worrying times financially (though under control and in budget), but going wonderfully well otherwise.

At home, we did get the drive widening and resurfacing completed in the end. It was at the expense of other things to an extent, I grew no vegetables and the kitchen garden is a wilderness. Weather permitting, we need to start getting that back in order soon.

No resolutions as such this year, simply an intention to feel able to blog a bit less. Having set myself the goal of a daily blog, it has occasionally turned into a duty, with me sitting at the computer late of night with nothing to write about, churning out something, anything ... I've shown I can manage the commitment, but it's not really necessary. So if I don't write for a day or two, it'll because I'm short of time or haven't got anything to say. If I decide to take a week off, I'll tell you.

A hope more than necessarily an intention is that I'll continue to play the clarinet. I'm still undecided whether to take lessons. I have been enjoying it, but am finding it frustrating that I play so much more poorly than I did a few years ago - though 'a few' is probably getting on for fifteen.

A definite plan is to hold another blog party. When I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago, several of you said you'd like to come here again, and we'd love it too. I'm thinking of sometime during late May to mid July probably. If anyone has other commitments but would like to join us, let me know dates when you either can only come or can't come, and we'll see if there's something that suits as many as possible. Saturday or Sunday, I don't mind, but I've got a few weekends booked myself already.

Baby what-chin

2012-01-02T12:26:00.001Z

Indeed, that is one heck of a chin. It looks exactly the same now. I remember my parents were once given a wooden nutcracker in the shape of a head, the body being the handle. The articulated jaw was very much like mine in this photo, now I come to think of it.

Baby Z

And the beautiful baby Wink

Z the bridesmaid, demonstrating the strength of The Chin

Z the schoolgirl, showing both Chin and a fair bit of cheek

That's enough old photos, I won't inflict more on you - not that this is necessarily a lifetime guarantee, but no more for now, at any rate.

Someone asked for the chicken recipe. It's from Josceline Dimbleby's Favourite Food, a wonderful book first published in 1983, which I've cooked more recipes from than almost any other. I usually serve it with her rice dish, which Ro's friend Zain kindly still praises whenever I speak to him. Which isn't all that often, to be fair.

Grilled Chicken marinated with Indian spices

2 – 2.5 lb of small chicken pieces on the bone, eg drumsticks OR

1.5 lb boneless chicken, skinned and cut in pieces

Marinade

1 small onion, roughly sliced

1” fresh ginger, peeled & chopped

6 – 8 cloves garlic, peeled

3 teaspoons ground coriander

2 teaspoons ground cumin

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground cardamon

1/2 teaspoons ground cloves

1/2 teaspoons cayenne pepper

3 tablespoons red wine vinegar

3 tablespoons sunflower oil

1 tablespoon tomato purée

1 rounded teaspoon salt

Liquidize marinade ingredients to a smooth paste (if youdon’t have or don’t like some of the spices, add more of the ones you do,keeping a balance of heat and aroma). Mix in bowl with chicken pieces, cover & refrigerate for 4 hours ormore.

Heat grill or griddle until very hot. Cook for 8 – 15 minutes, depending onsize of chicken pieces until almost black in patches.

I tried frying it once and it didn't work. Seemed to cancel out most of the spice, inexplicably. But this isn't an overly spicy dish, though it may look it and no single flavour dominates. For small children you could cut out the cayenne pepper or just put in a pinch, but my lot all like it.

Basmati Rice with whole spices

8 ox/225 g basmati rice

1 tablespoon sunflower oil

1 oz/25 g butter

8 or so whole cardamon pods

2-3 inches/5-8 cm cinnamon stick

A little more than 1/2 pint/300 ml water

1 level teaspoon salt

Rinse the rice well. Put in a bowl, cover with salted water and soak for 30 minutes. Drain. Heat the oil and butter in a saucepan (JD does love her butter, I tend to use less than this - it does taste good, but I use a lot less butter and oil) add the cardamon and cinnamon, then the rice. Stir, add water and salt, bring to boil, cover tightly and cook on a low heat for 12-15 minutes only until the rice is tender with a slight bite.

Sometimes, I am to be seen picking out the cardamon pods, squeezing out the seeds and eating them. I love cardamon.

I may be chinny and cheeky, but I'm not cute - and I usually avoid links. However, I seemed to find this hard to resist. It was, of course, the dog pictures that I liked best.

Z makes a choice

2012-01-01T17:56:00.001Z

It was brilliant yesterday. The only pity was that Dilly and Al had to leave at the children's bedtime - not only were we not quite geared up to having them all to stay, though that could have been managed, but Al had been up since 4 am and was pretty exhausted. But my plan of lots of small amounts of food all through the evening went fine. We started with blini, served with crème frâiche, smoked salmon and smoked eel (I know, eels are fewer in number now and probably should not be eaten. But I do adore them. Smoked eel takes me right back to childhood). Then salad niçoise (I started with foods containing lots of different accents. No three-digit numbers on a Mac, oh no. Just option and the logical letter). Then my favourite marinated chicken, which most of you who came to the Wall Party have already tasted, and fried potatoes. We took a break then. Ro and Dora went off to the pub and the rest of us looked at old photos, and a couple of hours passed quite rapidly. When they texted to say they were on their way back, I shoved a tray of tiny sausage rolls in the oven (a pound of sausage meat made 31, they were quite small) and cooked the lamb koftas and, though we hadn't thought we needed more food, we ate them too.

By 11 o'clock, I admitted defeat and moved on to fizzy water. We did not see the new year in with the champagne in the fridge. BTW, prosecco corks are jolly hard to remove. We also didn't manage any pudding.

The Sage asked me to set an alarm for 6 am, dammit. He was due to open the Village Hall at 7. I didn't sleep after the alarm, Zerlina woke at 8 so I gave her breakfast and CBeebies while I cleared and washed up. When, gradually, the rest of the family emerged I cooked breakfast and made lots of coffee. Everyone was having a good time. I offered cheese and biscuits for lunch. "Won't make the walk, the party won't start until 3 or so," I said.

Around 3.30, I made tea. Everyone left by 5. Next thing to do, after writing this, is to email my friends with apologies for not getting to the party. They'll understand.

Now I think of it, everyone left before 5, because I started cooking again at 5. Ham that didn't get used over Christmas. Gotta feed the Sage, after all. I also cracked a bottle (in the opening sense, darlings, I'm not accustomed to dropping them) at 5 o'clock. After all, I saw the new year in sober, so have every justification to get mildly pickled tonight. And there's still a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Whoopie.

Darlings, I found baby photos of me. I knew they were me and not Wink because of The Chin. My mother (who loved me and was being truthful, not rude) said "You were a bonny baby. Wink was beautiful." Tomorrow, my friends. I haven't scanned them in yet.

Happy old year

2011-12-31T10:19:00.003Z

A final picture for you, of my childhood home. If you know 0ult0n Br0ad, it's right opposite the park, although nowadays the yacht club building is fenced off, so you cannot stand opposite the house any more. The house has been divided into two and several houses have been built in the grounds, all with long thin gardens to preserve the building line.

The photo was taken in winter, normally there was virginia creeper all over the house. My bedroom, which I shared with Wink as a child, was the one on the top right and was above our parents' room and the drawing room was below that. The study was in the middle and the dining room on the left. The conservatory led off that. I remember it always being warm and steamy, with a plumbago and a nectarine against the back wall. The building to the left was the garage, a huge two-storeyed one (there was a work bench upstairs, darlings, it wasn't a multi-storey car park). I'm not sure whether that was converted to a house or pulled down and rebuilt.

The people who lived in the right-hand part invited us over about ten years ago. Very strange to go back again after so many years. They wanted to meet my mother, but I didn't feel able to tell her about it. She so loved that house and would never return to the road after she sold it.

Alex was born here, not in a room you can see from here but at the back of the house, in my father's childhood night nursery. Only a week or two later, the Sage suggested I go with him to look at a house that his firm was auctioning the next day. It was, like this, a large Edwardian family home, and also a former Rectory. I walked in the door, turned left into the drawing room and, momentarily, staggered and gasped. "Can we buy it?"

And so we did. We hadn't been planning to sell our own home, a nice four-bedroomed detached house half a mile away, but plans can change in a moment.

Dears, thank you for your friendship over the past year. I hope you have fun tonight, whether partying or curling up in bed early or anything in between. We're having a family get-together and I'm just going out to buy ingredients and will spend most of the day cooking.

See you next year.

love from Z xx

Cutting

2011-12-30T10:55:00.000Z

It was not the childhood memories that upset me most the other day. It was the newspaper cuttings. And here they are - they enlarge quite readably - and you'll see what I mean.

I've been thinking about my father a lot recently, as it happens, triggered by a photo of my baby grandson Hadrian, in whom I recognised my father's smile and eyes. And then this ... the second article was written by a reporter called G**rge Sm*11m*n - I saw him again as it happens, about three years ago at a Hindu wedding I went to in Lowestoft. I recognised him immediately and we had a lovely chat. You can see the shock and feeling of loss that went into the article, but it isn't exaggerated, you know. It's true.

What I have felt a keen sense of loss for, during the past 42 (nearly) years is not the person described, of course, but the father I knew and loved, and what I've so regretted is that I didn't have the opportunity to reach maturity and get to know him as a person as well as my daddy. But reading these and other newspaper clippings, I've realised that I've spent much of my life, in particular the last 23 years, unknowingly trying to model myself on him. I've always wondered, and increasingly so of late, why I have such a huge sense of duty, why I have to feel that I'm contributing to *the community* (whatever that means) and why I feel that it is, outside my family, my purpose in life.

I'm not so unusual in that, of course, I know plenty of others, and many people do far more than I. Nor am I suggesting that it is because my father died relatively young that I have turned in that direction. I don't feel I am proving myself to his memory or anything like that. I said that the past shapes you, but to be shaped is not necessarily to be scarred. I'd probably have gone in much the same way, whatever happened. However, I do feel I've learned something about myself in the last couple of days. And, although I was terribly upset when reading all the tributes, the account of his funeral and memorial service and so on, I hope I'm going to find it a comfort as time goes on. So much love and respect. But such a loss. One never really gets over it, you know.

Portraits of a younger blogger

2011-12-29T10:37:00.000Z

Demure, tidy, the picture of a nice little girl.

But this is nearer to the real Z.

'nuff said.

And this is how I preferred to spend my time.

We'd been married three months and this was our wedding reception, at the Yacht Club in Lowestoft. I was pregnant here, but didn't yet know it.

Three years later - I was 22, my sister Wink was 28. Also in the picture are her first husband, Weeza, the Sage and Al.

And here I'm 30 and it's the day after Ro was born.

A year or so later. Joepie (pron. Yoopi), my Dutch au pair when I was 6, and we remained friends with her and her sister (who had been our au pair a year earlier) for many years.

There really is nothing to say about this one. Although it does show that I am not, and never have been, vain about my appearance.

Z looks forward.

2011-12-28T22:37:00.002Z

Not sure why the print was small yesterday, I didn't change it. Sorry if it was difficult to read.

This afternoon was rather emotional, as it turned out. But I'll go back to the beginning and explain.

We have more rooms in this house than we use, now that the family has grown up and left. There are two specifically, one which the Sage uses to put stuff in, every time it's necessary for him to clear up all his chaos and one which I've stored my late mother's stuff, cleared from her place next door, where Al and his family live. Most of it was put in there about five years ago and I wasn't able to deal with it. But in the last year, I've started to, and now I'm finishing the job. The intention is that the Sage will then take it over, go through all his boxes of stuff and sort it out. Indeed, I'll believe it when I see it too, but I have stipulated that a box may not be taken in unless and until it has been gone through. I'm getting a bit tetchy about this and have hardly a yearsworth of patience left. But in fact, the Sage's room has to be cleared before that, as various things that he wants to do hinge on it.

It didn't start well when I went in to *my* room and found that boxes belonging to the Sage were lining the walls. Only yesterday, he was blaming my dilatoriness for him not being able to do his sorting out, and then I discovered that his junk was the problem more than mine. And here comes a Useful Tip for a tranquil marriage.

Find out really annoying things when you're on your own. Shout and complain, let rip all you want. Once you've done it, you won't have to again and you can be pleasant and constructive when your husband comes home. Nagging is counter-productive and deeply boring. Just listen to yourself, woman. No wonder a man switches off.

So, having got angry and got over it, I went through various boxes. A lot of things could be thrown out/put for recycling, and old photos and papers were put on one side, mostly. But I kept coming upon things that I found very poignant. An old puzzle book with my father's handwriting in. Old Christmas decorations from my childhood that I'd assumed had been broken, but which my mother had carefully packed away, too fragile to use. The newspaper notice of my father's death and a letter of thanks from his Oxford college, thanking my mother for a donation in his memory. Looking through more papers and photos tonight brought back more memories, and I'll scan in some of the pictures tomorrow (you might see some of them, darlings. Z the tomboy, and Z the bride, Z the little girl and Z's school report. I was untidy, unsurprisingly).

It's better not to look back, you know. Memories, even of happy times, don't make you happy. They just fill you with regret for what's gone. Face forward, even if the best is behind you. The present and the future are what matter. The past shapes you, but you shape what is to come.

Z has nothing to say, so posts pictures instead

2011-12-27T23:57:00.000Z

The chicken, Elf/Eve/Pearl, has had a small run built for her. The Sage is feeding the others near her, so that they will get used to being with her and then he'll let her out. The cocks will be brought along soon - either he'll have to put them in a run or will have to enclose all of them for a few days, because we don't want to risk them flying off and getting lost.

But now it's after midnight, and the post I originally wrote was so dull that I deleted it and started again, and there isn't a thought in my head. So I'm padding, darlings, with a few recent pictures.

First, a couple of chickens.

Then, some of the same area of the drive as work was in progress. I didn't put up pictures as we went along, because they weren't that interesting. And they still aren't, come to that. But I'm posting every day until the end of the year, whether I've got anything to say or not.

The ghost of Christmas presents

2011-12-26T18:42:00.001Z

Moving swiftly on, darlings (I've shown yesterday's effort to Wink, who is laughing like a drain) ... I was talking to Weeza the other day about her childhood Christmases. I may well have written about this before, she and I have discussed it, but I'm not sure and I trust you'll either have forgotten or will kindly put repetition down to my old age.

I haven't always been as laid back about Christmas preparations, as I am now. When my children were small, we started before December with the making of the Advent calendars. Then we made tree decorations during December. Our house (we moved here when Ro was two, or rather the day before his second birthday) had high ceilings and a big hall and we had a tree that went in the stairwell and could be as tall as the banisters on the landing, so it could take any number of decorations. At that time, we didn't have much spare money and so the Sage and I made a lot of the children's presents too. And then I did a whole lot of baking and so on, made cakes and puddings - went to loads of effort.

For the day itself, I made lists of what was to be done. And - I'm getting to the point, darlings, there is one - I scheduled in to my time plan several breaks to stop work and join the family.

When I was a child, you see, my mother worked for hours in the kitchen to prepare the Christmas meal. My sister and I had opened our stockings when we first woke up, and then that was it. No present opening until after lunch. You can see why I'm so good at deferring gratification. I learned early. But in fact, never mind the presents, what I really wanted was all of us to be together, not to sit around quite bored for hours before a meal I wasn't too bothered about - and, after the presents were opened, my mother disappeared again to clear away, and was gone for hours. No question of us all piling into the kitchen and sorting it out, I suspect she actually didn't enjoy the whole occasion much and preferred to be on her own, leaving Wink and me with the old ladies she invited round for the day.

Anyway, I always looked forward to Christmas and never learned from experience that it was going to be slightly disappointing. So things would be different with my children, I resolved. I scheduled in these breaks, when I downed kitchen tools and spent half an hour at a time with them and let them open some presents.

Oh, another word here. The family would rock along sometime about noon and wanted us all to open presents together. So I had to compromise, just a couple of parcels at a time so the bulk were still there when my mum, stepdad and sister arrived. And then it was champagne at noon and presents were opened, never mind what needed to be done in the kitchen.

I thought it had been quite a good compromise, but Weeza's memory is of frustration at not being allowed to dive in and rip paper. Not so different from mine then but, as I pointed out, with much less cause.

There was one matter where my careful planning worked out though. I started buying early and amassed several items for each of them. There were no uncles, aunts or cousins, we didn't greatly get into the way of exchanging presents with friends because no one had much spare money for them, so I made sure there was a good pile of parcels under the tree anyway. When I'd got them all together, I spent a lot of time equalling them out. I made sure that the number was equal, so was the cost and even the approximate size. This was never remarked on, so I thought it was just me who knew - I don't think I even mentioned it to the Sage, it was just what I did to be fair. But Weeza says now that she and Al always compared. Devious little brats.

Z speaks

2011-12-25T11:59:00.000Z

Christmas Eve. Or possibly Elf. If not, Pearl

2011-12-24T23:35:00.001Z

The Sage left for Yagnub, to go and wish various shopkeepers a happy Christmas, and to pick up the local paper that I'd accidentally left at the greengrocer's. A couple of minutes later, he was back again. "You won't believe this," he started (I believe anything and everything where the Sage is concerned), "but I found a chicken wandering around in the road." He was indeed holding a large chicken. He said that her crop was empty and he could feel her breastbone sharply, she was thin and hungry. She's very tame, however and I found a large box - well, that wasn't hard, I'd just emptied it of wine bottles in the kitchen - and then gave her a cuddle while the Sage fetched her food and water. She wouldn't feed from his hand, but started eating as soon as she was put in the box. Here she is, doing just that.

We'll keep her indoors for a few days while she regains strength, and put the word about that we have her in case her owners get in touch. If not, she has found a new home. She can have the run of the porch for now.

Squiffany suggests that she be called Elf. The Sage wants to call her Pearl, it being the second name of his friend Frances (her husband and son run Big Pinkie's farm). I think that Christmas Eve is too obvious a name to pass up. But actually, I don't really name chickens. I barely remember the names of my own family, calling every chicken by name - hell, choosing a name for each of them and remembering which one is which - is way beyond me.

In other news ... I trotted round the village calling on elderly friends in a Christmas cheer sort of way, and then I went to the Carol Service (if we find another hen tomorrow, I suppose that will be her name) where I swayed gently to the music as I played, as I realised part-way through. How undisciplined of me. I've not done a lot else today.

So, darlings, have a lovely Christmas, however you spend it. I love and appreciate you all very much. I feel great warmth from this blog, and I hope you will all be happy.

Give me a break

2011-12-23T21:36:00.001Z

I thought I'd get on upstairs, and was cleaning the bathroom when there was a knock at the door. Not the bathroom door, the porch door. I scurried down and found Graham - Graham who has sheep, not Graham who has cows. After our chat, I never did go upstairs again, so the bedrooms are unfinished and I've now been shoeless all day. This may not be unusual for many of you, but I always wear shoes about the house. Always except today, that is. Inevitably, I've had to keep popping outside for one reason or another, so my feet have been quite cold and damp most of the day.

I'm attempting HTML line breaks, we shall see what happens. I only know the most basic HTML, I have to admit, just enough to inset a link, a hidden message, italics and so on, and I've never found it a great shortcoming in life. But if I want to use the iPad for posts - and it certainly beats sitting in a cold study with just a candle for warmth (we're old-fashioned as far as heating is concerned and tend to put coats on) - then maybe it'll be necessary, although I have got symbols for bold, italics, strike through, link, photo and block quote. Not paragraphs.

Enough of that, darlings, quite boring enough. So, I hope you are all set for a splendid weekend, and Christmas if you celebrate it.

I'm less set than I was, because I received my tax return from the accountant this morning. I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed. Having paid two years worth of tax last year, I thought it would be rather less this time around. However, apparently I still owe nine hundred and something from last year, have to pay upfront for the current year (it's being self-employed that does it) and am, of course, having to pay tax on this year's full income, whilst I have about £3,000-worth of expenses to off-set, but that won't be taken into account for another year. First world problems, hey.

We shall not end on a low note, however. Least of all, me bleating because I'm fortunate enough to have enough money to pay tax on.

There is certainly some good news. The Sage went to see the cockerels today, and he says they are lovely. Quite small and very friendly. They follow James around and he can pick them up and give them a stroke, so that's brilliant. He had eight eggs hatch and, fortunately, four of the chicks were female. I don't know, because I didn't ask, if the other two boys are being kept by him or have been found another home. I've suggested to the Sage that we make or buy a second hen house in the next few weeks so that, as they each gather an entourage of females, they can, if they wish, make separate territories. We hope they won't fight. They're about six months old now, so should be well ready for fatherhood by the spring. It'll be lovely, having chicks about the place again.

I'm going to feel no end silly if all these line breaks haven't worked.

Z is ready for Christmas

2011-12-22T22:51:00.001Z

I seem to have finished the shopping. Except to pick up the fruit and veg orders, of course. Such a luxury, to hand that in, not expecting to go in and put it together myself at 5am on Christmas Eve. Although the years that Alex was a shopkeeper were happy ones. What he wanted was a shop that sold things that people really needed, not the occasnal frippery. He's enjoying being a postman now, though, with paid holidays and everything. Quite a luxury. I'm with him there, I haven't had a paid holiday since I was 19 years old and worked in Lowestoft Borough Library. The Sage has been self-employed since 1968, so he's in the same boat. But anyway, this is an achievement. I've also written out my music for the carol service, and played it through. So, sad as it seems, I have no more excuses and seem to be on house-cleaning duty tomorrow. That this doesn't happen often is apparent to the least observant visitor. Our last house, the ceilings were way up high, but even I can touch most of ours, which also means that the cobwebs are horribly visible. I don't mind cobwebs, in fact, which seem to give a homely air to the place, but it's when the develop dust bunnies of their own that it isn't, perhaps, such a good look. I was going to tell you all sorts of things but I can't remember now what they were. I had a nice chat this evening about chilli peppers, and have been promised some. The cows got out again, dammit, but Al suggested they went back to their field and they just trotted back, which reduced the drama of the occasion quite considerably. Maybe I'll remember tomorrow what was more interesting than that about my day. In the meantime, darlings, rest assured that my life is more quiet and uneventful than yours is.

Z looks forward

2011-12-21T18:38:00.003Z

The Sage phoned this morning when he'd caught his train - he was driving down to Manningtree, because he's planning to call on friends on the way home. He said he'd call again during the day, but he hasn't - at least, there's no message. I was out for a while. Two whiles, in fact. This morning, I went to practise the carols with Andy for Christmas Eve. The instruments are a shade off key with each other. Just the least little bit, and there's nothing I can do about it. You have to have a fairly good ear to be aware of it, I think, and with a churchful of people singing, I don't think it'll be noticed, so we've agreed that he'll do all the intros and I'll come in with the singers.

In the afternoon, I went shopping in Beccles, and have got everything for the children. Not much more to do now. I suppose I'd better buy some food sooner or later. Still, we're out for lunch on Sunday, and it's not as if we want to eat more than usual, hey?

It's turned very mild again. I was outside when the chickens started to go to roost. When it was so cold at the weekend, they were all piling into the hen house, but now they're roosting in the trees instead. Only the old black granny (who has a deformed foot so can't jump) is in the hut and she clucked at me when I shone a torch to check before closing the door.

I'm really pleased that my party invitation has received an enthusiastic response. Not from anyone who came last year, as yet, but there we go, maybe one can have too much of a good Z. Or maybe they are a bit too busy to read blogs at the moment. That's got to be the answer, hasn't it?

At the moment, a barbed wire fence is being put around the front field. For some years, it has been used to grow hay. Before that, our friend Sally used it to graze her sheep, when she used an electric fence. There are so many rabbits around that the hay crop isn't that good, they clear a couple of largish areas in the field (which is almost 4 acres, 1 1/2 hectares if you prefer), so the Sage has decided it might as well be grazed. Pinkie and Whisper can go on for the time being, but I think it will be good if sheep go on it again. Sheep are very good for the land. Sally doesn't have hers any more because she has a full-time job in Norwich, but another friend has a couple of dozen and they could winter here next year. We do like having animals around.

Which reminds me, I hope we are getting a couple of bantam cocks tomorrow. Johnny the farmer's brother has them, and is looking for a good home. Of course, they may fight, in which case we'll end up with one cock, but there's enough space and enough girls for each to have their own little flock and keep their distance. So I hope, all being well, that we will have some chicks next year.

Right of passage

2011-12-20T22:25:00.001Z

I went to Norwich, but didn't have too much luck with shopping. I did get things for Ro, so at least, if he doesn't have time to choose a coat until after Christmas, at least I'll have something to give him. I'll go into Yagnub tomorrow for the rest, and failing success there, to Beccles. The Sage is off to London for the day. I'm going to write out all my music for the carol service on Christmas Eve and go and have a practice with Andy. He's playing the electronic organ, which he finds easier, with his vasculitis, and I'll play the clarinet, except for one hymn where we both plan to play the organ. Only problem is, they are half a tone out from each other, so we need to try it out, him playing in E and me in F, to make sure we are okay together. If not, I'm back on the clarinet. We've had the gates sandblasted and repainted and they will be fetched back on Thursday, though I don't suppose they will be put back in situ until after Christmas. Honestly, darlings, those of you who have been here before would hardly know the place. Come to the next blog party to be impressed and astonished. And those of you who haven't visited, of course, because the Sage and I are quite astonishing in our own right. Or should that be rite?

Little z zzzs again

2011-12-19T16:26:00.000Z

Weeza doesn't know quite how I manage it. Zerlina always sleeps for a long time here. Laast night, having gone to bed at 6, she woke briefly for a drink and a visit to the bathroom about 9.30 and then slept right through until after 8 this morning. I'd been awake for hours as usual and too lazy and tired to get up, which isn't unusual, so I called to say hello and then we both stayed put for a while longer.

We decorated tge the tree later. I wrapped presents last night. This had sunk me into a state of mild gloom. I don't like doing that until I'm ready - ie, until I've bought all the presents. I nearly have, but there's a notable Gus-shaped exception and I also haven't bought anything much for Ro. He and Dora live in a tiny place and he hasn't room fr anything more. Once they move to a house, he says dreamily, he'll need lots of things, and for the garden too...I've a feeling he's building up to buy, don't you think? Anyway, a few other gaps under the tree, so I'm going to have a final visit to Norwich tomorrow. A first and last visit, that is, Norwich shops can't depend on me to stay in business, sad to say.

I did feel oddly jagged, though, earlier in the day. Hard to think of a reason, decorating a small Christmas tree can't have done it really, whatever I said in the last paragraph. In fact, my lack of enthusiasm was probably as a result of my mood rather than the cause of it. The local theatre's pantomime has brought me out of it, however. Sitting in the back row and no one in front of me, there was nowhere to hide and we joined in with enthusiasm, once Zerlina had stopped being frightened of Abanazar. I've just had a text from Dilly saying her two had enjoyed it so much they want to go again. Anyway, I've sung, clapped, shouted 'it's behind you" and so on, and am now gently dribbling ginger tea down my front - which was a bit of an accident, it was hotter than I thought it was going to be. Still, better than over the keyboard.

A friend of ours who works in Aberdeen sends pictures of the scenery once in a while. This is today's - what he saw when out walking yesterday. Almost makes up for living in Aberdeen, I suppose - not that I've ever visited the place, but he misses East Angular. I've added it to the desktop photo folder, which puts up one of around 250 every 15 minutes. I have a low boredom threshold and don't care to look at the same picture for long. Well, not unless it's someone really appealing, obv.

(It occurred to me that I hadn't asked him, so have taken the picture down. Sorry)

Coincidentally, this one just popped up on the desktop, taken by me on Dartmoor a few years ago. The car behind me stopped too (not as a result of my abrupt halt, darlings, I did pull properly off the road), but only I had a camera to hand and was able to snap them before they disappeared. No merit to the photo, and I suppose if you live in the area you see them constantly, but we rarely see any wild mammal bigger than a hedgehog here, so it pleased me.

Family Z

2011-12-18T21:47:00.001Z

Gus in his pleather jacket looks as cool in real life as in the photo. It is too brilliant for words. All babies should have one. He loves to try and stand, which becomes quite tiring, holding him, after a while. He also enjoyed my singing "Teddy Bears' Picnic" to him, and when I stopped jigging him about at the end he did a huge double-take when the room stopped spinning round, which was very entertaining to watch.

The lunch went very well, and quite effortlessly for me. All I had to do was whip the cream for the trifle and lay the table, and Phil helped with that. Dilly said that lasagne is her favourite food, Hay ate it, carrots and broccoli with his fingers (they're bypassing much of the puréed food stage and just giving him bits of what they're eating) and everyone had second helpings, Squiffany thirds. A few minor mishaps, when no fewer than four people managed to spill drinks on the table, one of which overflowed into the Sage's shoe (luckily, Weeza was only drinking fizzy water). I was drinking wine and there was no slip between glass and lip.

Zerlina asked to go to bed at five o'clock, but I gave her some tea - she ate ham, olives, buttered water biscuits and leftover cold carrots, and a garlic clove and then a satsuma, and she was asleep by six fifteen. She just woke a few minutes ago, I gave her a drink, took her to the bathroom and straight back to bed.

Tomorrow, the panto. Oh yes it ... oh, I've already said that, a couple of days ago. Anyway, the Sage suddenly decided he'd like to come too. I was able to tell him that I knew there was one seat left in our row and it wasn't likely to have been sold - who goes to the panto on their own? - and he has secured it.

Look loves, don't think I'm behaving totally out of character, but now I'm going to go and wrap a few presents, and it isn't even Christmas Eve. Thing is, the children roam all over the house and I don't trust them not to find what's hidden in boxes. If those things are wrapped and put under the tree (which I'm going to get them to decorate in the morning), they can shake and feel but not look inside the packages.

Angela

2011-12-17T20:57:00.001Z

Tim in the shop (as far as I am concerned, there is only one shop in Yagnub and it sells fruit'n'veg) told me this afternoon that Angela has died today. She was the town Mayor, in apparently robust health in May when she was elected, but ill - though still fighting - since the summer. We had all gathered, however, that it was only a matter of time. A lovely woman, anyone who met her both loved and respected her, she will be so greatly missed and the Sage and I, with her other friends, will miss her.

A family lunch tomorrow. The Sage was intending to go target shooting with Ro in the morning and then on to an appointment in Ipswich. Then Ro cried off because he has a bad cold (or man flu, how can one tell?) and now the Sage has cried off the appointment too. So, having planned lunch on the basis of no one being available to put things in the oven at specified times, it's too late to change and I'm all ready anyway. Lasagne and trifle, darlings. Sounds good to me.

Zoë

Sent from my iPhone

Z is given flowers

2011-12-16T10:15:00.001Z

The Head has asked if I'd be able to go into staff briefing this morning and I said I would, but I was running slightly late - and I do get to appointments on time, so I did indeed run from the car park and just made it. The Head was waiting for me, didn't let me sign in but whisked me straight through to the staff room.

Okay, so now I know how he feels when he gets praised. I stared at my feet for a bit and, when everyone clapped, said "thank you - thank you - no, do stop! It's a pleasure."

And yes, it has been quite a year at the school and it would all have happened just as well if not for me. I didn't make the difference, but I have given all the support I can and I've done pretty well. The flowers are not undeserved, but they are unnecessary.

Although the weather has become mild and wet - apparently much of the country has snow - there's nothing like end of term to make the holiday spirit kick in. I'm having lunch with two other governors at a nice pub in the next village where they have good food and a log fire, and then we're going along to the informal pop concert at the school in the afternoon. Great fun, staff and students join in, governors don't, fortunately.

Oh, and Lovejoy lives! Well, that doesn't surprise me at all. Have you actually met Rog?

Typographical Frivolity

2011-12-15T20:22:00.000Z

I've realused I had completely forgotten two people I'll be buying presents for. I knew about the other three I have yet to shop for. On hear. (oh dear, that should have been). I have, however, biught tickets for the local pantomime for next Monday, which is part of my present to the children and Dilly. And also to Weeza, I should say, because I have not bought a ticket for her. The matter of wthether going to the panto is a treat...

Leave space for cries of "oh yes it is" and "oh no it isn't."

I just used Siri to set a reminder. I said please and thank you, of course, wouldn't you? I was a bit creeped out by his reply though. "Your satisfaction is all the thanks I need." Look, Siri, that smacks of sarcasm.

At Tim's behest, typos will no longer be corrected on this blog, not until the end of the year. Or possibly just until Christmas because we may all be heartily tired of mt peculiar version of touch-typing by then.

I did learn to touch-type though, at school. It was one of the most useful things I did learn (I was largely self-taught, it wasn't the most academically-minded school). I decided I couldn't be bothered with French any longer, and declared I was giving it up. Now, what I will say about that school was that they were helpful. So they okayed my decision, but said I had to do something else instead, and was sent to the Business School over the road every week to learn to type. I came to my senses a couple of years later, took O and A Level in French, win/win there. Years later, I said to the Head at the village school that it would be very useful for the children to learn typing, as computer skills were just coming in. 'Oh, but it'll all be voice recognition in a few years, they don't need it." I didn't agree, but even the chairman of governors doesn't rule in the classroom, so I didn't pursue it. But in an office, everyone talking to their computer? Hardly. Even if it were not for the problem of programming it to recognise your voice. Siri is pretty good, actually, but even so, he put down 'firk' (firk?) for church the other night. I am told that some people flirt with Siri or try to carry on conversations. Er, no. I'm not that sort of a Z.

I think that I managed that whole paragraph without a mistake. Not bad, for me.

I hauled several pieces of beef out of the freezer this morning. Just slices, of braising and stewing steak. Al and Dilly buy from local farmers, but soon over-fill their own freezer and rely on ours. Only trouble is, after a few weeks, they forget about the meat. So it's there for a long time. I'll buy them some fresh to replace it. I diced and fried it from half-frozen because I was going out, and I suppose that had some effect, because the sauce had become thicker than I expected. It was just a basic beef casserole, onion, carrot, garlic, red wine, a tin of tomatoes and an Oxo cube (I don't qutie trust hte flaviur of frozen meat). But it was gorgeous. And there's loads, I'll probably freeze some. It'll be useful when Wink is staying oer Christmas.

Not correcting typos is good for me. Thank you Tim. Thank you very bloody much. Dear heart.

Another photo

2011-12-14T22:32:00.001Z

I received a present from Texas. Thank you very much, LX. I shall enjoy getting to grips with cup and spoon measurements instead of ounces or grammes, and think of you every time I bake.

It has been a full day if not a busy one. My friend from childhood, Charlotte, visited us - she last stayed back in February, but has been ill most of the year so, although we've spoken on the phone, I haven't seen her. She has moved here from Holland and now lives in the next town, a few miles away.

The new boiler was installed yesterday, I paid the bill straight into Mourad's account this morning. He and James, my tenant, are both happy. My bank account is straitened but not quite empty. I can still afford Christmas, especially as I just had a credit card bill today for only £14.13. I am quite a frugal Z, on the whole, which is a rather dismal thing to be, I think. I'm sure you all have a mental picture of me merrily shopping my way out of the recession.

Those of you who visited us in May (or at any other time) would not believe the loveliness out in the drive. No weeds in the gravel, a good layer of new gravel and plenty of space to park any number of cars. It's so spruce and tidy that it makes me slightly uncomfortable. Too perfect, you know? I don't really feel quite at ease* with perfection and prefer slight shabbiness and a few randomly scattered items that shouldn't be there. Still, it's only a matter of time and I will have my wish. I have every confidence.

Darlings, it's only half past ten but I didn't get all the sleep I'd have liked. I'm going to bed soon. Sweet dreams.

*Thank you, Tim

The Sage doesn't understand punctuation

2011-12-13T21:16:00.001Z

The Sage would bankrupt himself within days if not for me. Fortunately - well, I suppose - the eBay account is in my name and goes through my email, because that was how I discovered that he'd accidentally left a bid of £67,999 rather than £67.99 because he doesn't know the difference between a full stop and a comma.

Yes, it has been fully and frankly discussed. Yes, thank you eBay, I have been able to retract the bid (which had gone up to nearly £200 by then, so I might feel morally obliged to not disappoint the vendors by putting in another bid to bring it up to that...but not tonight, I'm too cross) and the Sage has promised to be more careful in future, and get me to do his bidding. Which I get so bored with, mind you. No, things are not totally harmonious in the Zedary. It'll blow over, of course, it was a mistake and anyone can make mistakes, hey?

Sixty-eight thousand pounds for a wrap-around vesta though. Bli me. Though £200 is beyond common sense too.

The day had been spent charmingly, with Dilly and Hay, and then at the church watching the Nativity play. Anyone who can resist the Christmas story has to be tired of life. You don't have to believe it's more than an allegory* to be touched and moved by it, especially when enacted by children. Two girls sang a duet at the Annunciation, while two other girls played the acting parts of Mary and the angel Gabriel. Their voices were beautiful, they are ten years old at most but sang clear and true.

The final part of the drive is under way at last. The area outside Al and Dilly's gate has been scraped down to leave room for gravel, which was then applied and there really is not much more to do, Another few loads of gravel, once other areas have been scraped free of weeds and levelled, and we'll finally be done. And then we can move on to the next job. I'd say it's like the Firth of Forth bridge, but they completed the painting of that. We will never finish here.

*I have no wish to involve religious, political or other views here, darlings

Unaccustomed as Z is...

2011-12-12T22:53:00.000Z

The prizegiving went very well. I've probably said before, the school now goes with inviting ex-pupils who have achieved success in a particular field - it's all about the encouragement of aspiration (which is the good face of ambition). Lorna is a delightful girl and is doing impressively well in her field of media and marketing, and spoke well and entertainingly.

I was competent. That's what I'm there for, I'm not the main event but have to do a recap from the governors' point of view and be appreciative. A few encouraging words are fine, but I need not to draw attention to myself, whilst not actually sending people to sleep. There's been a lot happening this past year and I couldn't seem to get my speech under 925 words, which I timed at 5 minutes, 15 seconds. When it came to it, we were in the Sports Hall and the acoustics aren't marvellous, so I had to wait a bit for the sound to catch up, so it may well have taken nearer 6 minutes. Longer than I'd wish, but no great problem. No, I wasn't nervous, I had a bit of a flutter about an hour before, but that's not out of the ordinary, and I actually don't mind speaking to a few hundred people. Being short-sighted is an advantage there, I think.

I've been looking through the list of former guest speakers. Back in 1974, we had John Ebdon. My favourite broadcaster ever, hooray. The next year was Margaret Thatcher. Let's not get into politics please, I bet she was inspirational. Hammond Innes, Sue Ryder, Viscount Tonypandy - someone had some influence, to get that calibre of speaker. I remember Martin Bell, he was excellent, in his white suit. Louis de B. didn't give a speech but read a short story, which was entertaining.

I have just remembered that photo of Gus as The Fonz. Heeeyyyyy.

Cool, no?

And if you have been, thanks for listening.

Z engages with the thought of thirty-nine years

2011-12-11T11:07:00.001Z

I have told the story before, which doesn't surprise me at all. Here and here. I'd said, the previous day, that it was about the time of the anniversary of our engagement (not now, but when the posts were written) so that prompted me at the time.

And, having joined Twitter a while ago but never used it, I have been prompted by Rog finding me there. Bring it on, darlings. If you use it, please let me know and I'll follow you, or whatevs. I'm not quite with it all yet. But I find half measures a bit dispiriting, so now I've made a start I'll use it. I'll find a button to put on the side so you can find me too.

Terribly, terribly old Z

2011-12-10T20:40:00.001Z

I spent a couple of energetic hours in the garden this morning, which was a very good thing. For more than a week, I've been mostly sitting down. And I've hardly been sleeping, which is probably a consequence of that. It all looks a lot tidier now, although that's a relative term. Those of you who have visited here know both that there's a fair area around the house and that it was pretty scruffy to start with.

This afternoon, the Sage was going to visit our dear friends Arthur and Avery. To my pleased surprise, he suggested I come along. Togetherness isn't quite the Z and Sage way. I had a brilliant time - the Sage was sorting out his ID at the bank for a while, so left us - Arthur had never quite appreciated that he had been the witness of the Sage and I first getting together ... can't remember if I've ever told that tale, but if not I'll come back to it ... but we had a very entertaining reminisce - and this carried on once the Sage returned. Then he produced a huge carrier bag containing three of the four pictures he bought at Bonhams on Thursday. I had asked to see them, but he said he had taken the main one to the restorer, and fobbed me off. I understood this afternoon why he had asked me. He wanted to unwrap them in front of other people. He had bought two watercolours and a charcoal drawing on a whim, unseen, and funked discussing it with me one to one. I have no idea why, I wouldn't have grumbled, except to ask where they were to be hung. I don't know why he wouldn't show me the oil painting before restoration, or maybe just cleaning, either. I've seen enough paintings to appreciate potential.

If I'm sounding a bit miffed, well I am. Not that he bought them, although why he has this compulsion is beyond me, nor that he's secretive, because I'm well used to that. It's just because it rather detracted from a lovely afternoon with some of our oldest friends.

In talking to A and A about that first meeting, I realised something that I'd managed to forget. In May, we will have been married for 39 years. I'd succeeding (whilst knowing last May that it was 38) to leave out a year, and tell people that this was the 38th. I suddenly feel terribly, terribly old.

Tonight, the Sage kindly cooked dinner. I'm now sitting by the fire, bathed, pyjamaed and dressing-gowned. Quite relaxed, but feeling terribly, terribly old.

Z is glad the day is almost over

2011-12-09T21:18:00.001Z

It wasn't really a difficult day, it just felt like it for a while. The Sage had done a valuation and wanted me to type it up, and a couple of publications are to publish pictures from the sale so needed to be sent the photos, so I did all that, and then I took a break to read the paper, so I was in a relaxed frame of mind when I set off for the interviews. I think I will only have one more next week - unless it's been held over until after Christmas, and I'm quite glad of that. I've not been involved with all of them by any means, only the more senior ones.

I had my phone in my jacket pocket on silent, but felt the buzz when I had a call. So, when we had a few minutes' break, I had a quick look and there was a message from the Sage. I rang him back and he wanted my signature. I had to say that I couldn't possibly be available for an hour, but to come along after that. To cut a long story short (and it was a long story, the whole thing took a couple of hours), he had slightly cocked up on the bank transfer front and mislaid a chequebook - or possibly a replacement hadn't arrived and he needed me to help out because he'd made out a fairly large cheque on an account that couldn't cover it. This was easily dealt with because there was plenty in another account, except for two things - one, that we had to go to the next town because the bank in Yagnub closes in the afternoon, and two, that I next received a text from my tenant saying that the boiler had stopped working. Oh, and three, actually - I was in the middle of interviewing for a new head of faculty. I felt the tight band of stress around my head.

Of course, it was all fine. We went and got the bank sorted out, and the teller was very helpful although there was some unfamiliar paperwork involved. Then I went and phoned the boiler chap and asked him to liaise with the tenant and get the boiler repaired. I texted the tenant, of course - as I had done, reassuringly, in the first instance. And the interviews were fine.

And now it's Friday night (thank you, AQ, for telling me I'd lost a day), and all I have to do over the weekend is get ready for Speech Day on Monday. It'll be fine. What's to go wrong?

PS Mourad the boiler man has just phoned. A new boiler is needed. £1,900 and something. Oh well. What was I saying about there being enough money in the bank? Christmas at the Zedary might be a bit quiet.

Still the good news is that I've already got my new iPhone. They can't take that away from me, as the song puts it.

Strike up the band

2011-12-08T22:50:00.001Z

I didn't exactly do any housework today, by which I mean dusting and hoovering and so on, but at least I cleaned the kitchen. I'd woken up sometime after 2 and knew immediately that I wouldn't sleep again, so got up after a while and used the quiet time to sort out files on the computer, which I've been meaning to do for a while.

This evening, I went to the Winter Concert at the high school, which is where all the students taking individual music lessons perform, solo or in groups. If they are learning an instrument or singing, they are expected to join a band of some sort. There are several peripatetic instrumental tutors, but only one music teacher in school (although we will be appointing another one for next September when we gain two extra year groups) and she gives up nearly all her spare time, breaks and lunches, to open the music rooms for practice and extra tuition.

What strikes you more than anything is the enthusiasm and love of music among those young people. It's a complete delight and really heart-warming. We had some brilliant musicians in the past few years, who now have moved on, and there's a bit of a gap, but it's rapidly being filled. I was genuinely impressed by the ability of some of the pupils. There had been some boys with fine singing voices and now the Man Band has been replaced by the mixed-sex Rock Choir, with a majority of girls, and there are not so many classical instrumentalists at present, although they are coming along, but there are some amazing guitarists. One band, really quite stunningly good, is only Year 9. I'd assumed they were older, I wouldn't have expected such ability or assurance from 13-year-olds.

A friend who works in Aberdeen texted me to say, first that he wasn't able to get home from work because the roads were closed, then to say they had been opened, but he was being diverted because of floods. We had a sudden sharp downpour at about 6.30 and it's still very windy, but nothing like the weather in Scotland and northern England. I haven't seen the news tonight, I know there's a lot of power lines down but I hope nothing worse.

And now, I'm having an early night. Not an early start in the morning which is good, I might get some washing on.

And tomorrow, I must remember to post a picture of Gus. I've got Weeza's permission. It's fabulous.

Z is happy (not that this is unusual, but always worth noting)

2011-12-07T18:09:00.001Z

Today has been absolutely splendid, my darlings. Not that it started so well. I woke around half past midnight, feeling overly warm (and I'm not old enough for the hot flush yet, dear hearts, so it wasn't that) and realised that the Sage had gone to sleep with the electric blanket on. I was too dopey to get up, so I edged to the far side and went back to sleep - and was woken at ten past one by the burglar alarm. Sadly, the Sage wasn't. So I got up, checked for burglars, didn't bother to check for a mouse or spider but turned the bloody thing off. I got back into bed, realised the sodding blanket was still on, got out and turned it off, which woke the Sage. I heard him fumble (at the blanket controls, darlings, please get a grip) and said tersely that I'd already dealt with it...and played iAssociates and other fripperies for the next couple of hours.

Things improved once I'd slept and woken again. And then I went to visit Weeza and Gus - who was all smiley and gorgeous ... well, so was Weeza I suppose ... anyway, eventually she went to get Zerlina from pre-school and then I went into the city, as we say about here. Only, of course, with a glottal stop. I went down the ci'ee to do some vital shopping.

I do like the Chapelfield mall. I'm not exactly a shopping mall woman, which won't surprise you - more a corner shop girl - but it has a good feel to it. I didn't know where to go, so went to the place that tells you, touched the screen appropriately, and a helpful young man appeared - as if by magic, my loves, like in Mr Benn - and asked if he could help. "Is there an O2 shop?" I asked (knowing there was, I'd checked online). He looked pleased. "Just along there on the left, the shop before the Norwich and Peterborough." "I need to get a key cut." "That'll be Timpsons, slightly further along on the left." Darlings, I was dead impressed and told him so.

I got my keys cut by Garth, who was charming and asked what my plans were for the day - no, not in a dodgy way, just conversation. I told him. The lady waiting to be served enthused about her iPhone.

The girl at O2 was able to tell me my average phone, text and internet use, which was jolly useful, but they didn't have iPhones in stock. So I toddled along to my second home. And I was welcomed, made to feel lovely by people who understand and have come home with a beautiful 32GB iPhone 4S, which is already making me happy. I was also happy to find that I can transfer the information on all my apps to it (I'd be gutted if I had to start Angry Birds from scratch) and also keep it all on the old one - everything but the use of the phone itself - and that in due course I can pass it on to the Sage and he can dump his HTC (or rather, sell it).

So then, I took the new keys back to Weeza, checked they worked, gave her one and kept two for us (I have got a key of hers but can't find it right now) and cuddled Gus and chatted happily to little z.

And, by the way, I'm so glad that Zerlina likes good food. She ate strong Cheddar, black olives and chorizo sausage for her lunch. She will never be wary about new tastes, and I think that's jolly fine.

Z is wild and free. Wild and Free, I tell 'ee

2011-12-06T19:03:00.001Z

That was a long day. We started interviewing at 11.15, finished sometime after 3 and our deliberations lasted a very long time. They were good interviews, it was a hard choice. The Sage is in London at a picture sale today - I'm not expecting him back until around 10. I can't be bothered to light the fire, so am sitting in the unheated study with my coat on. Yes, darlings, I know. I'll light a few candles to warm myself by. I've been too tired to move until now, but I've just fetched myself a glass of wine and I'll make some dinner in a few minutes. Toast and Marmite or an egg I expect. I had salmon and broccoli bake at school for lunch, it was jolly good and I won't need much tonight. Poached egg is the most cooking I can face, anyway.

Weeza put a brilliant photo of Gus on Facebook earlier, I've asked if I may post it here. Highly amusing.

Tomorrow, I'll go to Norwich and see them. My phone contract is up next week and so I also need to sort out a new one. That's as far as I have got in the planning stakes.

I'm sorry, those of you to whom I owe letters (I think there are four of you, at least). I'm not going to write them tonight either. I really have to switch my mind off for a bit. I'm planning to watch a DVD and read a book. Simultaneously, of course. I can't just watch tv, it isn't possible.

Darlings, if you are wondering why I really should skip a post once in a while, I think this shows it. Really, quite uninspired. All the same, it's good to touch base with you. Does that make me needy? Eek. Or too reliant on habit? Worse. I don't do routine.

Tradition, innit?

2011-12-05T22:56:00.001Z

Still interviewing. So I haven't really anything to say there.

This evening, however, the Christingle service at the village church. I was put in charge of the microphones. Judicious turning up and down of volume, and playing a CD when required. I was right at the back of the church, and all the singing that happened seemed to be at the front. So, duty called and I swelled the volume at the back.

I'm no singer, you know. I can hold a tune, I suppose, but I've got limited range (I had a throat operation more than 25 years ago and have used that as an excuse for D to be my highest point, under protest, ever since) and I can't project a lot. My speaking voice, that's different. I can boom across a crowded room, if necessary (but only if, darlings). I can't pretend to have a lot of interest in singing, personally. I prefer an instrument to speak for me - which probably means, to hide behind.

My mother, who had a perfectly good voice, was very shy of using it in song, and that must have influenced me. But now, I am humble enough to show confidence, even when misplaced, and so sang aloud. Al and co came along - Hay was perfectly sweet and smiled at everyone until he finally fell asleep when the Christingles were lit and the lights turned off. The church was packed. It was lovely, even though I'm not wildly happy about religious indoctrination for small children, you can't count Christingle, any more than any other part of the Christmas story, in that vein.

And that's about all, my dears. Tomorrow, interviewing for an assistant SENCo. Six candidates. They all look good on paper. Another tricky one, then. Good luck, as I say at the start of each interview. It's my job to 'put them at their ease'. Me, darlings. Heh.

Z is in love

2011-12-04T12:37:00.001Z

Crikey, I'm having a bit of a moment here. Being taken right back to when I was a tiny Z. And I was tiny too, a whopping great baby (nine and a half pounds, darlings, you'd never believe it) and then I seem to have just stopped growing after a year or two and I was this little blonde thing whose clothes just hung on her. Do you remember, how mothers used to always dress their daughters alike? I remember one particular red dress, we had one each. Mine lasted for years, and soon after that I grew into Wink's, so there I was again. That dress marked my childhood.

Anyway, that's not what I came to write about. When I mentioned the Mole song the other day - I know, I was shocked to find how bad it was, there is nothing to redeem it at all, not even as a novelty - it reminded me of my first two musical loves of a popular nature. And so I looked them up. First, this ditty. I'd have been two. I know what I liked, it was the marching rhythm, which would have appealed to a toddler, and it was also the lyrics. Lay down your arms and surrender to mine. I thought that was incredibly witty, such a clever play on words.

But the this one was my next love. And, playing it ... goodness, I'm in heaven. I still absolutely adore it. I can't manage any sort of critical evaluation, I'm 1957 Z, in love with Perry Como all over again. I kept the record for years, until Weeza, as a very small child, callously chucked it on the ground, where it shattered, along with my heart. To be fair, this has been on her conscience for her whole life and she bought me an LP of his, some years ago. This was on the B side of the original, which is quite nice, but it's Catch a Falling Star that will forever be Z's song. *Sigh*

Another year passed, and my sister bought this record. You've got to agree, it beats the sodding Mole song.

And now I've got to look up the divine Perry on Spotify, so that I can play Z's song whenever I want to. I'm serious, you know, I've gone all tingly.

The cow jumped over the ... fence

2011-12-03T22:54:00.001Z

Events overtook today's intended post, so that will be inserted another time.

We were going to Norwich today, to meet the Sage's sister June, Weeza and family and Ro. However, I had a phone call from Dilly (she and co weren't coming because it was the school's Christmas fair). There was a cow outside their bedroom window. O K. The Sage was out. I went out to investigate, and Whisper was there, quite calmly eating lawn.

I should explain that it's only Big Pinkie who has a name, the other cows now come with just a number. So we select a name for that season's cows. Last year was Scarlet, this year is Whisper.

I went and said hello and she showed the whites of her eyes in a mildly alarmed manner. Since she was near beehives, I didn't want to worry her, so I gave her several pieces of apple and she calmed down. Cows like apple. Pinkie was bellowing worriedly for her to go back to the field, but Whisper showed no inclination to return. It was beyond me to drive her in the right direction single-handedly, so I left her to it until the Sage got home.

And then Pinkie got out.

Anyway, the Pinkster is a wise old cow and very placid, so the Sage and I pointed her in the direction of the gate and she went home. Whisper nearly did, but then veered off down the drive and ended up on the road. Fortunately, an oncoming car stopped her from turning towards the village and she went past the church and down the lane to the further end of her field. Pinkie was making quite a noise, anxious for her friend to return home. It took quite some time, but in the end, half a ton of cow jumped over a three-strand barbed wire fence and ended up right where she had come from. We mended the fence, shut the gate, washed our hands, jumped in the car and, thanks to a place in the car park being available right by the entrance, were in John Lewis by the restaurant right on time.

This evening, we went to a quiz at the village hall. And we did pretty well, considering there was a round of 20 questions on Christmas hit tunes that we didn't know, and came third. Guttingly, Al and Dilly's team came second.

And so, my darlings, to bed. An hour's sleep last night and then a short doze in the morning does not do the Z wrinkles any good at all. I look positively wizened.

Z is not a bat or a rat or a cat

2011-12-02T22:34:00.001Z

With thanks to Tim.

I've led something of a charmed life and have had hardly any mishaps. My sister, on the other hand, always seemed to be the unlucky one and has a number of scars. I can pretty well itemise mine.

The first dates from the time I was picking roses for my mother, using scissors rather than secateurs. Unfortunately, I absent-mindedly left the index finger of my left hand just behind the stem of a rose and I nearly succeeded in cutting a sizeable chunk out of it. The scar hardly shows now, however, being hidden among the other creases of my knuckle.

The second, I received in my early teens. I hated organised games. I'm not a team player, frankly, and was less one then. I have little or no competitive spirit and was an independent little soul. If I were a child now, I'd probably be tested for autism, so blinkered was I. I put it down, now, to shyness and short-sightedness. However, there was one unfortunate day when I actually made an effort in hockey - surely the ghastliest game known to schoolgirls, not least because of the short pleated navy skirts we had to wear, which made the slightest lass look hippy. I was short and small, but reasonably nippy, and I dived forwards - sadly, so did a tall girl called Leonarda (I remember her surname, but it would hardly be fair to mention it here) who probably lifted her hockey stick a shade high as I dived a shade low...my mouth got in the way.

I was so polite, you know. I was taken off to be sorted out, blood streaming from my mouth, and left the premises at the end of the day with a thoroughly fat lip. I turned my head as my mother drove up and got in the car, so that I could tell her what had happened before she saw it and was horrified. I have a scar on my lip, but I doubt you'd know it was there. I can feel the scar tissue, but sometimes can't see it myself. Remarkably and thankfully, my tooth was completely undamaged.

The worst other thing that happened to me in childhood was a sprained wrist. Honestly, I was either very careful or extremely lucky. Maybe the one goes with the other, but I give credit to my guardian angel. You may scoff all you like at any of my religious beliefs, but never say a word of doubt concerning him. He is there, literally. It's not even a case of belief. It's a fact.

Nothing else ever went amiss with me until I was around thirty years old, and then I ran up against Thumper, as one of our rabbits was unimaginatively called. He was brown and a bit stroppy. I was feeding him in his hutch, put some food in his bowl, then reached to put the rest in, and he bit me. Little beast. I have one scar on my right hand where the lower incisors went in, and another long one where he raked down my hand with his top teeth. I smacked him and never fed him again without gloves on.

That was it, you know, until I had my hip op. I did have an operation on my vocal cords, but there is minimal scarring there (I wasn't allowed to speak for weeks, darlings, can you imagine? until it had healed) and you'd have to put your whole head in my mouth to look for it, and that would block out the light.

On the other hand, I've got a shedload of moles. The one under my right arm is known as the Mole that Lives in a Hole. Back in the day, my sister teased me about it and I was quite sensitive. Now, I'm quite fond of it, only hoping it never turns squiffy.

Here you go. Let it never be said that music in the '50s was anything but totally crap.

Zado Annie

2011-12-01T19:53:00.001Z

Thank you, good friends, for your helpful comments. I love blogging and I don't want to stop. Facebook is okay, but I just keep an eye on it and will never spend long with it, I like GooglePlus - the craic is brilliant! - but it's no substitute, and now both Fweng and Ro are pressing me towards Twitter because they like it and I trust the judgement of both, maybe I'll start to use it - I have an account, but never have posted - but 140 (or whatever) characters? Really, darling, I'm not even into my stride.

I said I'd tell you a story. Honestly, darlings, what I'll do for lovely eyes and curly hair. I was stopped by a salesman, who charmed me into buying expensive nail stuff - which of course I won't use, my nails are rubbish and I sometimes bite them. I don't habitually bite them any more, but they're so weak that they break and then I do, sometimes for months. Sorry, I know I've destroyed your good opinion of me and you love me no longer, but I have to tell the truth at whatever cost. Anyway, I'm not telling you what it cost, but I've got enough for three Christmas presents. But then he tried to flog me eye stuff.

Actually, it's damn good. I've got this crease under my left eye. Not under the right. Well, I had. It's almost vanished. And this is 36 hours post application. But I'd said no, and keeping on trying to sell after I'd said no ... well, do I look like a pushover, darlings? Pfft. You're being silly. I am...so far. And then that's it, and once I've said no firmly, I don't change my mind. So I did walk but, adorable as the boy was - oh my word, he was charming. Fortunately, I'm not susceptible to the charms of boys, and he was certainly gay anyway. Too sweet not to be - but also too pushy not to annoy me in the end, though I didn't show it.

Tonight, I'm a bit lonely. The Sage has gone away on a business trip. I had to leave the house at 8.30 this morning, so we said goodbye - I'd applied lipstick and, inexplicably, he didn't want it all over his face, so he kissed me and I kissed the air. And then I left, and I won't see him again until Saturday afternoon. And I will get lonely.

Mountain Goats. But I won't come to a salty end.

I will rise up early and dress myself up nice
And I will leave the house and check the deadlock twice.
And I will find a crowd and blend in for a minute
And I will try to find a little comfort in it.
And I will get lonely and gasp for air.
And send your name up from my lips like a signal flare.

And I will go downtown, stand in the shadows of the buildings
And button up my coat, trying to stay strong, spirit willing.
And I will come back home, maybe call some friends,
Maybe paint some pictures,
It all depends.
And I will get lonely and gasp for air.
And look up at the high windows, and see your face up there.

And, to clarify, I'll keep on blogging daily right now. Until the end of the year, at least. And then, I might decide to miss a couple of days, or a week, or not blog if I have nothing to say. But I know that, for some of you, I'm your daily soap opera. And I couldn't love you more for it. I'm immensely grateful, and I thank you.

Zed is home

2011-11-30T21:06:00.001Z

Actually, the journey home could have been better. I got on the train, rejected my reserved seat (facing backwards) and settled at a table. A middle-aged couple joined me. She sat opposite, he sat next - I'd have thought that they should have faced each other or sat side by side, so I already had personal space issues.

Darling, she talked. Awfully pukka, but not actually strident, but she never shut up for a minute for the whole journey. She and her husband had some papers and magazines each, she commented on every damn article in hers, passed them over and commented on everything in his/now hers. Additionally, I know the results of her asthma test, her opinions on wine, rugby and Mike Tindall in particular, and a number of other subjects too. I'm not sure whether she was trying to impress her husband or me (she caught my jaundiced eye a few times), or just generally unable to shut the hell up, but I was edgy. I couldn't concentrate on my book. In fact, I went to sleep for a few minutes, just to get away.

One of the reasons I was glad to have a chance to talk to Chris, was that he is a delightful long-term blogger who is not afraid to take breaks, sometimes protracted ones. I was slightly alarmed, a few weeks ago, when Diamond Geezer talked about his daily blogging compulsion. He's blogged far longer than I have...but all the same. I do feel a bit of it and, in nearly six years of blogging, I feel a mild pride that I have always written at least as many posts as there are days in a year. However, maybe less should be more? I suggested to Christopher that maybe I should wean myself off the daily post and that I might write better for it, and he thought that was a good idea...not that he suggested I write badly...no need to say a word, Chris...

Anyway, I'm mulling. And I think that, next year, I'm going to miss odd days or even weeks, on occasion. I used to not write when I was away, but that's changed with the iPhone. Though that's another matter, especially when I go away on my own. It can be that I want to share experiences with when I don't have anyone to talk to in the evenings. Hmm. But, quite self-centredly, I asked for advice and received it dispassionately, so the least I can do is take it on board. If I do start to take breaks - and I don't think that will be easy - I'll give you fair warning. It isn't less of a contribution to blogging, which I enjoy very much, just a personal thing.

I write daily and sometimes it's pretty good and sometimes it's pretty dull. It's a sort of discipline, to write every day, because I found, a long time ago, that if I don't write regularly then I feel that, when I do write, it has to be 'better'. Six years on, I should be over that, and maybe my discipline should go in a different direction.

Tomorrow, I'll write my Zado Annie post. Oh dear. Charming gay salesmen, hey.

Z is not tired of life

2011-11-30T15:50:00.001Z

As I write, there's still half an hour before I board my train home, but I've arrived at the station so here I am.
This has been one of the shortest holidays I could have had, but was well up among some of the best. I found a combination that suited me very well, really enjoyable meetings with friends, plenty of time to walk and enjoy London and also visits to museums and galleries to see a wealth of interesting and beautiful artefacts and pictures. Add to that, down-time to read and relax in the cocoon of a hotel room, and I seem to have hit on a perfect break.
I haven't managed to reply to comments or correct typos, so will do that from home.
Today, of course, there has been the public sector strike. There were barriers up at Trafalgar Square, and lots of police, and some roads were closed, but only a few people, a group of ten, holding placards. I walked along the Strand, which was closed to traffic. Most people still walked on the pavements though. I walked down the central reservation for a while, until it occurred to me that I could enjoy the rare pleasure of strolling in the middle of the road. At the end of the Strand, I heard some toots and drumbeats and along came a procession of demonstrators. It all seemed calm and good natured, both on the part of the demonstrators and the police. I stood and watched for a few minutes and accepted a leaflet, although I binned it after a few minutes.
I'd though I'd go and have a large glass of wine to mark the end of my break, but then I suddenly fancied edamame beans and headed into Wasabi in Fleet Street for sushi instead. Frankly, darlings, after the walking and moderate eating (notwithstanding meals with friends) that I've done this week, I'll be mildly disappointed if I haven't lost a millimetre or two from the waistline.
I kept walking, having done and seen all that I'd wanted to in museums, and dodged down side streets and alleyways, losing myself while keeping a sense of direction.
And now the train is in, so I will finish. Laters, darlings.
Z
Sent from my iPhone

Blog meets

2011-11-29T22:14:00.001Z

I have had the most brilliant time in London - I am not going home until 4 o'clock tomorrow but it can hardly get better. I'm afraid I was a bit mysterious about whom (grammar) I was meeting for dinner last night, but that was because I hadn't asked if I could take his name in vain.
I've been reading Fwengebola's blog for several years, it is hilariously ouch-making on occasion and I've taken the opportunity to give maternally good advice and sympathy, which intrusion he has dealt with manfully. He is, in fact, even better company than I expected and I had a great time last night. Thanks, Fweng.
Today, PixieMum and I chatted for so long that it wasn't until her dear husband, Ian, turned up that we realised it was half past lunchtime ... So we had lunch too. Again, lovely company and many thanks to you both.
And then I had a phone call this evening from Christopher. He phoned on the off-chance, I was about to leave for a solitary supper at the noodle bar around the corner from Angel station (my usual resort when I'm staying in Islington - not that I was this time, but not far away) and we met for dinner. Again, I've had such a nice evening. Chris and J came to my Wall Party in the spring but, because of my ludicrously stupid decision to have a barbecue which didn't happen because it was cold and windy, I spent most of the time cooking and not much of it chatting. So, the guests I'd wanted so much to meet all talked among themselves more than to me. Thank you, Chris, for listening to me rabbitting on and I had a lovely evening.
Now back in my hotel, and going to have a bath and then to bed.
Zoë
Sent from my iPhone

Z is not transported delightfully

2011-11-28T16:46:00.000Z

I can't find anywhere to write a new post from my blog on the phone now. Clear and attractive to read, but not so simple to add to. So I'm phoning it in.

The morning didn't start altogether brilliantly, because whole strings of farm vehicles on the road slowed us down, and then the traffic on the approach to Diss station was awful. I got out and started walking, then suddenly it cleared, the Sage drove alongside with the door open and I was on the station platform with three minutes to spare. Then, nearing London, we stopped for a bit and ended up ten minutes late.

Once seated, I had toddled along to the buffet to get some breakfast. The man in front put his card in the machine, which froze. The assistant couldn't sort it out, got the guard and the whole thing took nearly ten minutes to put right. If it hadn't worked at the moment it did, I was on the point of paying the bill. However, not only did I save £7-something, I also had the chance to say consoling things to the poor assistant and chat in a friendly way to the helpful guard, which was more cheering than feeling impatient.

I checked which bus I needed, found the road where the stop was and was fortunate enough to hop straight on to a Number 8. A few minutes later, I got off again, crossed Brick Lane and got on the next Number 8, going the way I wanted. Not the first time I've done that. Not very bright, Z.

And contact has been made with blogger friends and I'm off later to catch a tube to where one works, and we'll go out for a meal. I'm quite hungry already, in fact, a croissant (quite plain, darlings, not even a spot of jam) for breakfast and a chicken salad and ginger beer for lunch are distant memories already. And tomorrow, another kind blogger is coming all the way in from Twickenham to meet me. I'm a lucky blogger.

Sent from my iPhone

Z goes on holiday

2011-11-27T21:15:00.001Z

It was a brilliant day. I'd invited Ro and Dora and Al, Dilly and the children, but hadn't asked Weeza, Phil and co because Dilly had had a bad cold in the week, and didn't want to pass it on to Gus. However, while I was out at church, the Sage phoned and invited them anyway. Apparently, he'd been going to not tell me, for a surprise - you'd think, after all these years, that he'd know better? Anyway, Weeza vetoed that, so I cooked a pound of chipolatas, just to augment the 6 pounds of pork in case there wasn't enough food. It all got eaten. Dilly had made a blackberry and apple crumble, Weeza bought ice cream, I made custard, so pudding was taken care of too. It was one of those days when there was a lovely atmosphere and everyone had fun.

I'm a bit busy this evening, because I'm off to London for a couple of days and haven't started to get ready yet. I'm hoping that the two blog meets that I've set up will happen okay - sure that one will, but the other person hasn't yet confirmed and I don't know where or what time yet, and have only the pseudonymous email address and no phone number. May have to tweet, but I avoid Twitter almost entirely. Too many social networks already, can't get involved in another, though I have an account.

It's not yet December, so I apologise for the subject of this picture, but it is at least Advent, so officially the Christmas season. I thought it was jolly good for a child who is only just five years old.

And now, I must go. I'm not sure if I'll blog while I'm away; if not, I'll see you on Wednesday evening. Be awfully good, darlings, while I'm not here to keep an eye on you.

PS - both made contact. Huzzah!

Some good news and - Z doesn't do bad news. All good here.

2011-11-26T09:23:00.001Z

Well, darlings, here's the good news. My friend Martina, who comments here, sent me a doctor's basic check-list for symptoms of Alzheimer's, and my local chum took it home and went through it with his wife. She then tested him. She got every question right and he just dropped one mark. The doctor has phoned, and said she needs treatment for her low thyroid problem and also offered physiotherapy for her joint problem. There are still some tests to be done, because the path. lab. seems to have cocked them up somewhat, but it's all looking very positive and my friend's anxiety is completely allayed. He's happy to accept that her tiredness and absent-mindedness in the evenings is caused by low thyroid and constant lowish-level pain, and that this can be put right.

So thank you so much for your concern and for pointing me in useful directions.

I've hit on a vein of nostalgia with yesterday's post. Oh good. Can't beat a bit of nostalgia. Although, in truth, I'm not going to claim that everything was better in the good old days. Ups and downs all the time, and would you honestly put the clock back? - bear in mind that you can't cherry-pick, you'd have to accept the entire package. I wouldn't, but then I'm so practical, darlings, I live in the moment and make the best of it. I can't go back anyway, so why hanker?

As Blue Witch says, we have shared memories. My friend Lynn, whom I've mentioned here before, was the only person I knew at school who grew up without a television - her father died when she was seventeen and her mother then bought one and Lynn promptly became addicted - but she would be one of the few who didn't grow up with Yogi Bear and the Flintstones, or Blue Peter if you lived in a more sensible household than mine. But there were many programmes where the memories cross the generations - everyone watched The Good Life, Morecambe and Wise, Dad's Army - millions of people, all at the same time on the same evening of the week. The last series I remember making that sort of impact was some twenty years ago, with The Darling Buds of May. "Perfick" became the stock expression of approval that year.

My point is, not that there haven't been some hugely popular programmes since, but I don't think that they transcend the age and social barriers any more in the way they did in the 60s, 70s and 80s. Strictly, I suppose, but then I don't actually watch that myself, so I can't really say.

What do you think?

Z and the Sage sit apart

2011-11-25T19:54:00.001Z

Today was spent wisely and well, in not doing much. I did a final tweak to my stern letter and sent it, did a few other jobs on the computer, including ordering some presents, checked when my credit card needs to be paid (not for ten days) and sponsored the moustache-growers on the High School staff. I went and had a cup of green tea with Dilly and Hay. Hay was eating toasted cheese and cucumber. Not a huge amount goes down his throat, but he's quite happy and enjoys a varied diet, now he's six months old. After that, I took the afternoon off and went to Norwich. I didn't do much there either, but trotted about enjoying the feel of the place, looked at clothes but wasn't tempted to try anything on (I suspect that this will be one of the years I don't buy any clothes, I haven't so far) and then came home, feeling rested. I was sitting with the Sage, but the phone keeps ringing for him, and it's not very interesting, listening to other people's conversations - or rather, politely not listening to them and so, with my coat on, I'm in here again.

It wasn't so many years ago that an entire family would spend the whole evening together - and actually, that still mostly happened when my children lived here. One simple reason for the change, I think, is central heating. Time was, there was only one warm room in a house in the winter, two at most; the kitchen and the living room. Bedrooms were rarely warmed. A lucky child might have a two-bar electric fire, but that wasn't that common. Of course, one could spread out more in the house in the summer, but there was still the habit of sitting together - and that's another reason for the change.

More than one television and an increased range of channels.

When I was younger, a household had one television and one telephone. The former was in the living room and the latter in the hall, where you stood to make calls. That's how it was. There were two channels on the tv until the late 1960s/early '70s (depending on reception where you lived) and eventually, along came Channel 4. So most people watched the same programme, all together. Then home computers turned up. We had one, a Commodore 64. It was firmly kept in the sitting room. I didn't mind in the least if the room was cluttered or if it was on at the same time as the television. I thought being together was more important, and I played games on it with my children anyway. Weeza would have liked her own television, but I made her wait years, she was probably about 16. Any younger, she'd have watched it half the night. Al wasn't bothered. Ro simply bought his own, and a computer when he wanted it - which was a good thing, I was glad to have mine to myself. It was before the days when broadband had reached the village and I used to get quite ratty with the Sage when he'd absent-mindedly pick up the telephone, immediately apologise and put it down, but it was too late - my internet connection was already cut off. He never checked first. So, ill-humour between husband and wife was quite enough, it wasn't to happen between father and son, and I had an extra phone line put on for Ro in his room. We paid rental, he paid calls. Bargain. Peace.

And now, after all the early years of effort in keeping the family together, the Sage and I sit in separate rooms, as often as not. I blame too many channels on the television, so that we can't be bothered to look at any of them, and the damn telephone.

Z receives a Day

2011-11-24T22:13:00.001Z

It's been far too long a day, and I didn't quite make it to the end. It was the Head's appraisal in the morning, which went very well - successful transition to academy, ongoing successful transition towards 11-18 school (instead of 13-18) and an Outstanding Ofsted, I'm not breaking any confidentiality in saying we thought the lad done good. After lunch, a full governors' meeting, also went fine but by the end I had a splitting headache - and I hardly ever get headaches nowadays - and the prospect of another meeting to come. And that was a really beastly one, though I am sorry to say that I can't talk about it. I'm not being awkward - I suppose though, if I can't tell you, I shouldn't even hint at it - but anyway, it finally finished at 6.15. By then, I was supposed to be in a Year 10 Drama performance, but I couldn't face it. I was exhausted, felt sick and drove straight home, where I found myself obliged to hurry straight to the loo. That was a surprise. I've got the stomach of an ostrich normally - well, I haven't, I've the stomach of a Z - anyway, I'm hardly ever sick. After that, I went and had a bath (no, there hadn't been an accident, I thought it would make me feel better) and was in bed before 7 and asleep in moments.

Ten minutes later, the Sage brought me dinner on a tray. I fear that he didn't get the friendliest of receptions. I stayed in bed, eventually slept again, finally got up at 9.30. No idea when I'll get back to bed. I'm fine now, but I think it was the weeks of not enough sleep finally catching up with me.

The Sage just brought me one of the new £50 notes to see, and compare to an old one. "The banks ran out, they were selling like hot cakes," he said.

Family Christmas wishlists are starting to arrive: or rather, links to them. If I have the least sense, I'll just get my act together and order everything or go and buy it in the next few days. I have very little sense, but might just cobble it together somehow. I'm going to look for some sheet music to suggest for a start - though still knowing that this is pie in the sky. Still, one has to aspire, I suppose. I suppose...well, this is a last-ditch attempt, anyway.

I only had one thing in my diary for tomorrow, and fortunately checked, because it's been postponed, which is brilliant. A day that I'd marked as busy and now have free feels like a gift.

Turbulent LA

2011-11-23T22:29:00.001Z

It has to be said, even though the school has become an academy and should be free of local authority control, they are still on our backs. At least we don't meekly have to do what we're told any more, but they are still trying to control us, and have a fair bit of power. I've written a forceful letter this evening - polite of course, and constructive, but with no hint of the usual gentle Z that you know so well.

Well, that's the impression that I try to give here, anyway.

My car wouldn't start this morning, the battery was flat. It was fine yesterday, zero today. It didn't matter, we went out in the Sage's car, on a rare day out together. Recharging it overnight, and we'll get another one by the end of the week. It has to be said, my £1,500 car has given very little trouble in the last three years. Even this time (and you can't blame a car for its duff battery), it politely didn't leave me stranded anywhere. So I gave it a consoling pat.

Many thanks for the advice on Alzheimer's. A friend sent a paper with typical questions that a doctor asks and I have given it to my friend. I have also checked myself. I am fairly sure that I am okay. In fact, the blood tests have so far shown that she has an under-active thyroid - I wonder if that could be part of the problem? It would be wonderful if they have less to worry about than he fears.

I finished the letter and sent it to the Head to be okayed ('Brilliant!', I received back) and then paused to drink a cup of peppermint tea. I became aware of rustling sounds and tracked them to a bag which I knew contained some chocolate left over from Easter (we don't eat much chocolate) that was on the floor. I decided that it probably also contained a mouse. So I scooped it up and gave it to the Sage, who took it outside. "You can just leave it if you like,"I suggested - but he wanted to be sure, so he took it onto the field and shook it. The mouse shot out and ran away, poor little thing. Still, if only it knew, that has saved its life. If it hadn't actually been inside the bag, I'd have set a trap.

That reminds me, this morning a movement outside the window caught my eye. I kept watching and it soon became apparent that a blue tit was going in and out of a nestbox. Surely not? Could it just be setting up home for the winter? However confused the little thing is, it surely is not nesting, not at the end of November.

Darlings, I must get back to work. I'm a bit busy tomorrow, but on Friday I shall devote myself to blogs.

Old posts

2011-11-22T15:07:00.001Z

The Sage is very happy. There is a picture of the bowl which he sold on the front page of the Antiques Trade Gazette and a whole-page article about the sale, including the report that the buyer left by helicopter and, since he'd bought the guglet and bowl for a friend, that he was allowed to take it with him and send a cheque a week later.

Obviously, when the Sage is happy, I am happy. So all is jollity in the household. The Sage has decided to give his apologies for a meeting this evening on the strength of it, so I will have his company after all.

I had a few spare minutes this morning before I went to school, which I spent browsing through my early posts. I found my first ever comment, written by Pat on 12th March 2006. I note that I called my daughter Rose and my younger son Baz in those days. I'm not sure that Al had a name, he was just the Greengrocer. Weeza then became El; she chose her present name herself. I seem to sound much the same in those early days as I do now, which interested me. Slightly embarrassing, and unintentional, the last post of the year (which is what you reach when you click on 2006) describes the mildly frivolous fact that I was wearing stockings and suspenders. Several early friends are still blogpals now, including Martina, Wendy, How Do We Know, the Chairwoman and Blue Witch, which is delightful.

I've never read all my archives and I don't plan to. But I might well dip in a bit. I was funnier then.

Z listens to a friend

2011-11-21T13:25:00.001Z

A friend called in for coffee this morning and we chatted - the Sage was out having coffee with another friend, as it happened, although he came in and joined us later. After a while, I asked about his wife, because she has had some health problems recently and has had a blood test. No news, but it's not going to be anything major. But it did give him an opening to tell me what's really concerning him, and that is, he's concerned that she is showing signs of Alzheimers and he can't get the doctor to take him seriously.

We had a long talk about it. He wasn't wanting reassuring platitudes, and I don't feel that I'd be able to give them anyway. I've picked up that she's becoming slightly vague recently, although I didn't mention that. Apparently, he spoke to the doctor, she wouldn't let him go with her and reported back that he had a series of questions that she was able to answer. She refuses to consider that there might be anything wrong, but her mother and sister suffered the same problem and he thinks he can see similar early symptoms. However, the questions were (she said) her name and address and things like that - we agreed that these would be forgotten almost last of all and are not suitable questions at this stage, when it's short-term memory that is becoming a problem. For example, he said, she might answer the phone, have quite a long conversation, put it down and then ask who she'd been talking to. And she runs a small business from home and she has recently been forgetting to write down appointments, which she used to do as soon as she put the phone down.

I know nothing about the diagnosis or best modern treatment, but I suggested that he list specific incidents as they happen, and after a few weeks, insist on going with her to the doctor with that list. And if he doesn't get any further, write asking for a second opinion. I suggested a couple of small things he could ask her to do, such as draw a clock face with a specific time on it (there must be suggestions on the internet, I'll have a look). It can't have been easy, raising the subject, but when he left, he hugged me for a long time and said I was warm. I suspect this is going to be harder for him than for her.

The Sage is out now, having lunch with another friend. He's having a lovely time, recently. Not with me, specifically, but I don't begrudge him that. Gives us stuff to talk about in the evenings.

Oh wow

2011-11-20T19:39:00.001Z

The Sage suddenly came over all lovely tonight - not that he's normally less than, but especially. I started it off - come on, darlings, the wife is always the catalyst for any mood, innit? It all started when we compared diaries for the week ahead, a usual Sunday evening thing if we remember, and then I asked about the painting he bought a couple of weeks ago (I heard him showing it to Weeza when she came over, but he hadn't shown it to me!) and it turned out that he'd bought another one at the Aylsham auction the other day. A Harry Becker, he showed that to me first - I was pretty bowled over. A simple charcoal, of two horses pulling a plough in a field backed by trees - golly. Quality. My reaction emboldened him to show me the Leonard Squirrell he'd bought first...not quite so much to my taste, but I recognise the quality of that too and praised him for his purchase. He'd also bought a little Meissen tea-strainer the other day, which I had to love. Okay, darlings, the man has taste. I am ignorant as can be, but I look at a lot of things and I recognise what is good. He has impressed me, not least by going outside the norm.

Anyway, that enlivened him and we engaged with each other in a way that a long-married couple don't always. You know what I mean? - all very pleasant, but not always 'oh wow'.

No, darlings, not in that way. Honestly, you and your filthy minds. Really me. We just enthused, is all. Clothes on and everything.

No, now I've lost the thread.

Anyway, it's pretty busy for the next week. We won't see much of each other, to tell the truth. Not that it matters as such, we both love to be fully engaged with what we're doing. The week after, I've got an overnighter in London, and he's going down to Wink, because he's got a couple of appointments in the West Country - south-west England, for those of you who are used to larger areas than we boast. He will stay overnight, possibly two nights. I said, how difficult it is to get away together, which is a pity. But we must make the effort to do things and if that means going away separately, that's how it is. His tends to be business and mine pleasure, but hey...

Anyway, not that it wasn't before, but it's all good here tonight.

Friend Arthur just rang. I had a chat, then called the Sage. "Just got a vesta finishing on eBay" he said. "It's Antiques Roadshow in a few minutes," I reminded him. "Tell him I'll phone back after Antiques Roadshow," he called. "Darling," I told Arthur, "I'm afraid you come second to eBay. First to me, of course, but not to the Sage." He took it very well.

A glass of wine will greet Z's smiling face

2011-11-19T22:35:00.001Z

Apart from some slight faffing about in the morning, because Wink left her phone at home and so we couldn't communicate and took a while to find each other, all went very well. We met (eventually) at Trafalgar Square - I'd got to Liverpool St Station, the bus I wanted was at the stop and I leapt straight on - I sat in the sun reading for a while, just enjoying the warmth and we had a long and rather boozy lunch. We both had the same to eat, mussels followed by sardines and a salad. Then we went to the theatre. The Pitmen Painters - if you have a chance to go, I recommend it, it's really good.

It occurs to me to mention, our lunch says a certain amount about us. Not allergic to shellfish or iffy about such things (we both eat offal with gusto, too) and unbothered by whole lots of bones. I, and I suppose she, like eating with my fingers and I like getting stuck in to fiddly food. You see, summing up Z in a simple meal, and showing that sistership will out.

Afterwards, I had plenty of time, and it was a lovely mild evening. I walked along the Embankment, past St Pauls, along Cheapside, past the Bank of England and so to the station again. I bought some fruit to eat on the train and caught up on emails on the way home.

It was very foggy when I got back to my car, not easy to drive in. I'd phoned the Sage from Ipswich, so that he could start cooking dinner and, as I came in the door, he was walking down the passageway with a glass of wine. "Sit down, I'll bring your dinner on a tray."

All went rather well, actually. And thanks to Wink for a lovely belated birthday present.

Bussed

2011-11-18T20:54:00.001Z

Winter has finally struck in the Zed bed. I have put the electric blanket on. I've been okay, in fact, it's the Sage who has been shivering (which is only an excuse for a cuddle, let's face it - he'll have to think of another one now).

He incurred Wifely Annoyance this evening, poor boy. First, he gave me the phone when I was cooking, instead of saying I'd phone back, and then while I was speaking, he whipped my iPhone to make a call himself, when I needed to set the timer for 12 minutes for the rice as soon as I had finished my call. As it was, the rice was undercooked, the chicken was overcooked, the veggies were nearly raw and I have indigestion. And his ear is bent. Oh dear.

Tomorrow, I'm off to London to meet Wink. I'll leave here around 8 in the morning and arrive home about 8.30 pm. I'm looking forward to it. I've packed my Oyster card, all I have to do is check the bus to Charing Cross.

I don't know why I took the tube for so many years, I nearly always go by bus now, unless it's a complicated journey that way. It started when I couldn't walk far, those damn undergrounds, miles to walk and a lot of steps. A few months ago, Diamond Geezer wrote a post about the latest Tube map,which, from being a simple, clear depiction of the network, has become full of symbols, including those for wheelchair access. He reckoned that it's now so complicated that it's harder for many people to read. The thing is, the Tube isn't suitable for people in wheelchairs, full stop. There are a few stations that are fit for disabled people to use, but you have to plan your journey very carefully, and make sure there aren't engineering works going on. So symbols aren't much advantage.

Anyhoo, darlings, I'm going to empty my bag of all but what I need for the day, and have an early night. I still wake around 3 o'clock, but at least I'm getting some sleep before then, and sometimes afterwards too. So, until I get myself back to normal doziness, it's bed before midnight for me. Goodnight xxx

J. van E.

2011-11-17T19:13:00.001Z

Last night, I went to bed very early, with the result that I woke, fully rested, at 3 am. I'd had less than six hours of sleep, but that felt like a very good night under recent circumstances. Anyway, I had my phone under my pillow, so had plenty to do until it was a reasonable hour to get up. And, in browsing through Facebook, I found that my friend's grandad had died, at the age of 95.

I've written to her, her mother and her uncle (very unsure about the etiquette of doing that via FB, but I have no other addresses, so I reckon it's better than nothing) - there was a serious breakdown of trust between father and daughter which was never resolved, so that wasn't the easiest note to write - but I just wanted to say a few words here.

Johann was a member of the Dutch Resistance during the war So was his friend, the father of our beloved au pairs, back in the early 1960s, Cobie and Joepie, and their brother Huib. Conditions were awful in Holland in the 1940s, at near starvation levels. Night-time foraging for a few onions or turnips - even a tulip bulb to eat - was as vital as Resistance duties. In either event, being caught would have meant being shot. Johann lived with that. He shared memories of his experiences with my parents, but not with me, I was too young. He was, later, a brilliant teacher and mentor of young people. His children are among my oldest friends.

Whatever were the issues between him and Charlotte (she knows this website, though I'm not sure if she ever reads it - sorry, my dear, if you visit here and I say anything you're not happy about - do tell me if so), I feel that the world is diminished by his death. He was a fine and brave man, and my parents thought highly of him, and I was very fond of him too. Condolences to his family and friends.

Mostly Mozart

2011-11-17T08:42:00.001Z

I took up clarinet playing about twenty years ago. Weeza had had lessons, but hadn't greatly taken to it, and had given up after a couple of years. The clarinet was my grandfather's - he loved playing woodwind and my mother always said that, when she was a girl, she played the piano, he the oboe (at that time) and they used to have friends round for music sessions in the evenings. It was an odd thing, the things she spoke of with fond memories were very much in the past, there was no question of them being done in our family. She had completely turned her back on her girlhood, even the good parts, when she married. Maybe she thought those pleasures were unsophisticated - country walks, cycling, playing music with friends - and wouldn't suit the relatively upper-crust family she had married into.

Anyway, she did continue to play the piano, but preferred not to be heard. It took me years to take on board that making music was something I could do with other people, or at least in front of them, and it was only when I found myself offering to play the organ in church (my sister calls it mouth overtaking brain) that I had to overcome my nerves about it.

When Ro was at the village school, one of the other mums, who was a music teacher, set up a Saturday morning music club, with lessons given in several instruments by three or four instructors. Ro was five or six at the time and started with recorder and piano, later dropping them both to play the alto saxophone. I rather hankered after trying a new instrument, having long realised that I would never play the piano again as well as I did in my teens (which wasn't all that well, in all truth) and that the organ was far too difficult for me to play well at all. Hammering out a few tunes is fine, but it's fairly complex, playing with both hands and feet, and I found that I could only manage three limbs, maximum. If I was using my feet, I forgot my left hand and when I had a difficult bit of melody, my feet had to stay still or I lost my way completely. And I didn't enjoy it anyway (still don't, I'm dutiful though).

So, I had a clarinet, I could get sound out of it (which is more than I can from a flute, most of the time) and reading one note of music at a time would be a doddle after the organ. So I asked Cheryl if she could teach me. Her instruments were oboe, bassoon and piano, but she reckoned that she would be able to help, as long as I accepted her limitations and was reasonably self-reliant - which was fine, of course.

I loved it and worked hard, and made quick progress, although I was never going to be a really good player. Still, I was good enough to enjoy what I was doing and make the effort worth my while. I also played Ro's sax, which I enjoyed and found much easier than the clarinet, the only problem being the weight of the instrument hanging from my neck. Cheryl wanted me to take exams. "You could go straight in to Grade 5, you're way better than that, all you have to do is master all the scales." I reminded her that I'd told her right from the start that I was never going to take another music exam. I loathed them as a child and they seemed to dominate my piano playing, stopping me from real enjoyment of the instrument.

I'll digress a moment here, in case you're wondering why, in that case, I didn't give up the piano in my teens. I don't give up. It's that simple. If I really can't do something, then the time will come when, having given it my best shot, I'll bow out. But if I can, and it's just a matter of tenacity, I'll hang on.

However, after several years, I was getting pretty busy, overstretched and over-stressed for various reasons. Never mind all that, the point is that I wasn't working that hard on my music. And Cheryl's marriage had broken up and she was moving house. We agreed that she'd take a few weeks out for the move and then we'd start the lessons again. But somehow, it wasn't quite agreed who would phone whom, and the whole thing petered out because neither of us made the call. She's still got the piano parts of most of my music, unless she's had a turn-out and chucked them out by now. And, I realise, one has to have an end purpose or one will not continue to work hard at something. So, if I persevere with my playing, I should take lessons. But then, I think I'd have to seriously consider (sorry if a split infinitive offends) joining some sort of music group, to give me an incentive. But that seems quite frightening, and also time-consuming. So, I dunno. While I mull, I'm keeping up my daily practice.

I never did let it lapse entirely, there's an informal church service once a month where I play clarinet rather than the organ. So at least I didn't forget all I'd learnt.

Identity?

2011-11-16T19:12:00.001Z

Right now, I have a dip in energy and it is terribly tempting to go to bed. I know from experience that I will regret it, so I need to hang on for an hour, and then I'll bounce back. At the moment, I'm doubting that I can, so I'll write as quickly as possible.

The Sage is out. He has gone to pay a large cheque to the owner of the star lot, and other lots, in the last sale. There is no regret in paying it, he will have his commission and never owned the items, but was just the expert agent.

Today, I went and bought some more plants, and now have several tubs and bowlsful in the porch, which is looking lovely. Soon, of course, it will be too cold to want to sit in there, but no matter. The jolly good thing is that cleaning is easy. Sweep or wash the floor, and brush the debris outside. No need to pick up.

I wonder if any of you clever people can identify this plant for me, please? -

Frost caught the flowers, though there are more buds. The seed head is as spiky as it looks. I feel that I recognise the leaves, but can't place them. It's self-seeded.

Weeza came over today, I've spent a long time cuddling Hay and Gus, and being smiled at joyously. I feel most wonderfully happy as a consequence.

And I have played the clarinet. About an hour in total today. Still rubbish, but I realise that my standards are rising. In fact, my lips are not sore, I don't need a cigarette paper, my thumb doesn't hurt. I know all the notes again and am playing with much more assurance, although still not well. I'm not ready to consider lessons, which would be too depressing, but not ready to give up either.

I have not had time to visit many blogs recently, and have commented on fewer. I'm so sorry, I will catch up before too long. In the meantime, I hope all is well with you, darlings.

Z is sociable!

2011-11-15T22:15:00.001Z

I had several letters to write - or rather, two, but one of those was going to eight different people, so I got them all ready, printed out address labels (I already had that set up, so it was quicker than writing envelopes) and stamped them. Then I did various other bits and pieces, keeping an eye on the time, so that I'd leave in time for my 9.30 meeting. I thought I was doing quite nicely, plenty of time in hand, it was 8.38. After quite some time, it occurred to me that it had been 8.38 for ages...it was 9.15, my face wasn't on and my hair was wet.

I made it to the meeting on time, fully made up with dryish, if slightly unruly hair. And I'd posted the letters on the way.

The Sage was in London for the day, at a picture sale, and I played the clarinet (not for very long actually, but I'm still resolutely fitting it in every day) and ate lunch in the porch in the sunshine. I read the papers, read a book, typed emails on the iPad. If I'm feeling a bit wound up - not worried, there's a lot of stuff on and I can only assume that's the reason for not sleeping - then I reckoned that it was time to relax, knowing I'd be out this evening. I sat down to fill out my seed order to take to Gardening Club, perched on a stool by the Aga (by the time I left the porch the sun had moved round and I was a little chilly) and found myself nodding off, so I curled up in a chair and went to sleep instead.

The speaker tonight was great fun, he's an expert on dahlias (and also a qualified judge) and begonias, a retired landscape gardener and has a thorough north Suffolk/south Norfolk accent, which is always a pleasure to hear. A very good and interesting speaker, I chatted to various people afterwards and won a tray of violas in the raffle. I've also promised the present President that I'll rejoin the WI after Christmas.

She also asked after Al, whom everyone knows from his shop days, and another woman overheard and realised who I was - I had recognised her as a customer, although I still don't know her name - and we had a chat. It's a pleasure to be known as Al's mum (or any of my family's relation, come to that) - I mean, I don't mind at all if they don't know me as *Z* but as an appendage to one of my family. When my mother moved here, she was quite affronted to be greeted as Z's mother, or the Sage's mother-in-law (worse still if anyone thought she was his mother, since she was only some 13 years older than he). She'd never minded, when married, being the other half to her husband and, indeed, was proud to be. But she never adjusted to being called my mother, rather than I being known as her daughter. And honestly, I think that's a pity. But she always wanted me to remain her dear little girl.

Wouldn't it be nice if I were, though? I don't think I could be described as any of those now!

Z washes windows

2011-11-14T23:01:00.001Z

Another hour's nap in an otherwise sleepless night, I've been quite tired all day. But I have finished the porch, and also taken a carful of stuff to the dump, so I feel quite good overall. I arrived home from tonight's meeting to be greeted by the Sage, saying that a friend was hoping I'd phone her back ... I haven't. I still have not finished tonight's work (which I hadn't had time to do earlier) and writing here is a short relaxation, I didn't really feel like chatting. I did fit in a clarinet practice this afternoon (how about you, Tim, have you played the guitar this week? Not to worry if not, dear heart, aim for Wednesday at latest, perhaps) and, although it was only half an hour or so, I finally felt that there was some fluency to my playing. I shall persevere, please keep a stern eye on me. I sort of feel that this time is make or break. What is good is that my thumb doesn't hurt any more when I play, so it was just the unaccustomed weight of the instrument, not a problem with the joint - or, if it is, it's in its early stages. So, all in all, whoopee-doo.

Weeza phoned this morning, and she's coming over with the children on Wednesday. It so happened that Dilly and Hay were here at the time, so we all chatted and made arrangements - this is really for the two mums and cousins to get together, although I won't be excluded. Both boys are past the mewling and puking stage and Hadrian, in particular, is getting interested in reaching for and playing with toys. In less than a fortnight, he will be six months old.

Sorry, back to work now. After two nights without much sleep, I may well oversleep tomorrow and not have time to finish preparations for the meetings, so I must do it now while I'm sure. Goodnight, darlings. Sweet dreams.

Remembering

2011-11-13T18:56:00.001Z

I really am not sleeping too well. An hour asleep, a few awake, a short nap and that was it. I watched the dawn from the window in front of me now. Very pink. I warned the shepherd, but later he came round, wondering why I'd wasted his time. It's been a lovely sunny day, once the sun burned off the early-morning mist.

I was sidesman at the 8 o'clock service, so was out of the house by 7.30. Already, a couple of bantams were waiting for breakfast (some are shut in at night, some prefer to roost in trees). I chucked them a handful of corn and explained that the Sage would bring them warm, soaked bread later.

10 of us, which is actually a decent number for that early service - no hymns, Book of Common Prayer Communion service - the BCP is the proper prayer book for me, modern stuff may be fun but it doesn't make me think - and it was lovely to see the Rector, whom I haven't seen for weeks. She's been away, and doing services in other villages.

Later, I went to the Remembrance Sunday service in the next village. The first hymn was 'Eternal Father' ... oh, you might need a link... sorry, darlings, this does give both words and music, so if you don't want sound, turn it off now, and if you do, apologies for the tinny-sounding organ. As a Lowestoft girl, I feel a strong connection with that hymn. Do you know, I am not a superstitious person at all. But, give me a decanter of port ... ooh, cheers, don't mind if I do ... and I will, defo, pass it to the left, clockwise. Because, the saying goes, if the port is passed the wrong way, a sailor dies at sea. Honestly, I don't believe it. But I still pass the port the right (correct) way.

Dick, who has read the Roll of Honour for our village for about the last ten years, died in the summer, Over 90 years old, he married during the war that he fought in as a soldier. His funeral was on the 70th anniversary of his wedding, his wife having died last year. Dear Dick, he found that Remembrance service very meaningful. We haven't got another war veteran to read the names, but we have got a Lieutenant Colonel (recently retired) and he spoke wonderfully well.

I say it every year, and I shall continue to say it - this village, with about 1,000 residents including children now, which had far fewer houses 100 years ago, albeit they were more densely inhabited, lost 25 young men during the First World War. That awful war wiped out most of a generation. None of them is alive now, but they must not be forgotten. If only history lessons could truly be learnt - but if there is one thing that history tells us, it's that nothing is learnt.

Z has a turn-out

2011-11-12T20:24:00.001Z

The Sage went off for his appointment, and I got up, full of energy and determined to clear out the porch. It's a large porch/smallish room, about 12' by 10'. In my inlaws' day, it was used as a summer sitting room during the day, but the alterations we did cleared away the back porch, so we've nowhere else to keep wellies and so on, and then we put a large cupboard in there, and a chest freezer, and what's elegantly termed around here 'shit'n'shat' which means nothing in particular, just stuff - anyway, I am a turning worm at present, so want to change things.

I started writing this at about 1.20 pm, and here is what I said then.

It has not been the cheeriest of events really, it's got to the stage now that I've got a lot of miscellaneous items outside that need to be put somewhere else or got rid of, including three boxes of empty bottles waiting to go to the bottle bank. Fortunately I was alone, so my bad temper at things being kept that should have been thrown away, or should have been put in the proper place, was not expressed aloud, and now it won't have to be, because life's too short to be snappy. And then I found Tilly's collar and, foolishly, sniffed it. Cried briefly of course, couldn't throw it out. I've stopped for lunch, mainly because the bantams were grouping hopefully. I've fed them, did a head count, all 28 are there.

I did the first clarinet practice of the day for half an hour or so. Still, depressingly, forgetting how to play the odd note. Have moved on to Divertimento no. 2, it being easier.

Poor Z. It got better after that, of course. I looked at my emails and Tim had left a kind and lovely comment (it doesn't have to be true, just kind and lovely) and when the Sage rolled up, I was not whiny but, instead, enthusiastic again. And he responded, as we both do to each other, and helped sort things out and put back what needs to be inside overnight. Tomorrow, we'll finish clearing, empty the freezer and move it and clear up.

I sometimes feel that I'm too tired to write late at night, so sound a bit downbeat then. But today, it would have been an earlier post that would have sounded unhappy. All is fine now, I defrosted steak for dinner, opened a bottle of prosecco, took care over cooking. Actually, much of it is down to darling Sage. Don't tell him I said so, will you? I prefer to keep him on his toes.

Z can't think of anything to write about

2011-11-11T21:33:00.001Z

The Sage, a fortnight after his sale, is getting prepared for the next one. He's got an appointment tomorrow to value several items and has already agreed about half a salesworth of china - mind you, we only have 80-100 lots altogether. Only two auctions a year, and yet it takes a disproportionate amount of time and thought. Fortunate that the Sage's business is also his hobby, and one he never tires of. We've been discussing the finer points of various Mandarin patterns tonight, me with rather less interest than him. I feel that, by 11 o'clock at night, one should normally have finished work for the day, but it isn't work to him, so it does not occur to him. As a result, I feel a bit unrelaxed.

This week, I've mostly been buying train tickets. Oh, for the days when you just turned up at the station, bought a ticket and got on the train. Now, there's such a difference in price that one feels obliged to book well ahead, to commit to particular times even if they're well off-peak. The Sage and I are each going to London twice in the next few weeks - not together, of course, we only do that if we're going to an auction. I'd like to have gone with him next week, but I've got several things on and it's not possible.

Still playing the clarinet today. Mouth less sore, thumb too, a distinct improvement in technique. Maybe there is hope for me after all.

Today is the 88th anniversary of my mother's birth, although her last actual birthday was her 79th.

I feel that I've short-changed you today, darlings. Sorry. I've written some enthusiastic emails and it seems to have taken all my writing energy. Tomorrow, I'll do better.

A day in the Zedery

2011-11-10T21:06:00.001Z

I did get it all done in the end, but it took all day instead of a couple of hours.

I woke early, as usual, around 5, but I didn't get up for a couple of hours, although it would have been a very good move. I was going to start on the paperwork first thing, but Mike (not Mike of blogger Ann and Mike, Mike of other friends Ann and Mike) called round, so I made coffee while I emptied and restacked the dishwasher. Then we all went into the sitting room, and Dilly called in with Hay, so I made her tea and cuddled the baby, who looked at me solemnly and then gave his charming, slow smile. He's sitting up, but still topples once in a while, so safer to sit on the floor with him between one's knees. Dilly doesn't think he'll crawl, Squiffany didn't, but walked from the start and he likes being held in a standing position.

After they'd gone, I came back to get on with some work. Oh look, emails. But first, music. Oh look, clarinet.

Succumb to a whim and fish out some music and go and play. Laughably awful. And after an hour, a sore inner lip and pink lower outer lip. I looked well-kissed.

I went and replied to emails.

The Sage came home, so I talked to him for a while. No, correction, I gave him a couple of messages and listened to him. Lunch.

I started work. Boring. I played iAssociates. I played Angry Birds. Oh look, several people have played Scrabble and it's my turn.

I got on with more work. I sent a couple of work-related emails. I answered the phone several times. I got out the clarinet again, this time padding my lip with Rizla papers. I kept going until I could play the first 50 bars of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto reasonably accurately, if not well.

I had replies to my emails, I added the information and sent another email.

Oh look, time for a drink. And I've got more emails. The Sage helped prepare dinner. But not very much, to be honest, I had to trim the sprouts after he left them. "I took them off the stalk" he protested.

He brought me a glass of wine. I showed him my nearly-empty glass. "oh" he said. I assured him I didn't mind.

After dinner, I turned on the television. Blank screen. Of course, yesterday was the day one had to retune. But how? Read instruction book. 'Press menu'. Several different menu buttons, no indication which. After quite a long time, I seem to have all channels except BBC2. Don't want to watch them. Screen looks odd, too close up, faces don't fit. I think we have to retune again, doesn't seem worth bothering to get it right now.

Write blog post. Read blogs. Read book. Decide not to play clarinet again tonight, even a single glass of wine plays havoc with twiddly fingerwork. Wonders if pain in thumb is unaccustomed weight of clarinet or arthritis. Decides it doesn't matter much, it's only a thumb. Looks at moon. Puts on music. Jazz tonight.

Not a peeping Z

2011-11-09T19:42:00.000Z

I'm on a few committees, so have a lot of personal email addresses in my address book, quite apart from those of friends. And nowadays, most people have more than one address, and most husbands and wives have separate addresses. I still have a couple of women whose addresses are in their husbands' names, and a couple of others who include the initials of the whole family (although that doesn't mean that the other members don't have their own too, and I bet they have).

I have several email addresses myself - one anonymous-ish, one specific to a job and two general, and the Sage has three, one for his business, one for a society he runs and his BT one, which he never uses.

And that's one thing - I never use (or have him use) a service provider's address, because people take no notice of what your email address is. You change it, you tell them, you ask them to delete the old one - and they don't. Some do, most don't. I used to use AOL (I know, darlings, someone has to) and, two or three years after I changed provider (because they didn't do broadband for Macs ... bet they do now) I was told indignantly by someone that I hadn't given them my new address. I'm a polite woman, but not a walkover, so I replied from an email that they had sent me to that new address that I had told them about a very long time previously.

Anyway, no matter, my point is that I only use free and non-affiliated addresses, such as gmail.

But this is all a preamble. Because you gotta have a preamble, have you not? Actually, I've had a sudden flashback there to Frankie Howerd saying "The Prologue" in Up Pompeii. But then, I always had quite low tastes.

It was only a year ago I bought the Sage his own computer - I thought it was two, but I had the guarantee extension paperwork through recently, so it was only a year ... and he's been happily glued to it ever since. When he needs to learn something new, he asks me, I show him, and all is mostly fine. For the last few months, he has graduated to using email. I used to write his emails. I was his secretary, PA, whatever - thing is, I read out the email and he'd either dictate a reply or tell me what he wanted to say and I'd write it. But finally, he started to read and reply to his own emails.

Now, I have his password - he chose it, but he'd forget it in a moment and I have to tell him if he gets logged out. But I have gone from checking his emails twice, at least, a day, to almost never looking at them. Because, that would be like reading his letters. I don't do it without permission. If he wants help, such as attaching photos in a reply, he comes to me because the pics are on my computer. I've had occasion to look up an email when he's out a couple of times, but it's made me feel quite uncomfortable and I've told him straight away.

And, although he could if he wanted to (we're all linked together), I'd hate it if he was reading my mail. It'd be so intrusive, even when one has nothing to hide.

Z hears a Canon

2011-11-08T13:30:00.000Z

That was quite odd. I went to Music again - I should explain, the timetable was changed three years ago so that all lessons are double periods, 100 minutes long. So there are only three periods in a day, and there has long been a fortnightly timetable. This has a great benefit for Music because, for practical work, it takes some time to co-ordinate a classful of pupils and explain what they're going to do, show them and then go around the classroom and practice rooms, helping and making sure they have got the idea. However, the demands of the curriculum mean that, for Year 9 pupils, who have not yet chosen their GCSE options, they can only have one long music lesson a fortnight. So I go in weekly, and help with two different classes.

So we were doing the same music, Katy Perry's Firework and Pachelbel's Canon, as I mentioned last Thursday. And I'll explain the link - they both have a fairly simple repeated base melody. Next time, they will be working on the Pachelbel again, each pupil playing a different part within their own small group, and they should be able to play the first part by the end of the lesson (not the whole thing. It gets jolly fast). The tune in the bass is C, G, A, E, F, C, F, G. The second C is the octave lower than the first.

So, that was quite straightforward. And afterwards, I got in the car and drove over to Beccles, because I left my purse behind and was going to retrieve it. After I'd gone about a mile, it dawned on me that I could hear that Canon tune. I listened carefully. I had not recorded it on my phone, there was no possibility that it was playing somewhere, but I was not singing it in my head, I wasn't consciously thinking of it at all. And it was definitely the sound of a piano, not a voice. I listened. And after a few minutes, there were a few mistakes, such as a repetition of the F, C before going on to the F, G. I could hear it all the way over to Beccles, ten or so minutes away. More variations - or mistakes - crept in as I drove along, but there were still the same notes, no D or B creeping in, the same pitch, the same tempo.

Once I reached Beccles and was looking for a place to park, I didn't think of it any more, and by the time I did, the sound had vanished. I occasionally get tinnitus, though not badly, and then it goes again, and I suppose it's a form of that. It was more interesting than unpleasant and I'm not concerned about it. It's just odd, that's all.

Fame at last

2011-11-07T23:17:00.001Z

You know (well, many of you do) that, when I had my new hip, I had the operation with local anaesthetic and no sedation - Pamela has a very helpful information site about hip replacements and I offered her the post, in case anyone was considering the same option. This was a couple of months ago. Today, I noticed on Facebook that she'd reposted it. I clicked through and read it, it had my name on it, and I saw at the bottom that she'd put a link to this blog.

You know what that means, don't you? Yup, a direct link from my name to this blog on the first page of Google. It's not that I've been cagey about who I am here, a couple of people have told me they found the blog first and realised who was writing it, but I've been diffident about the link going the other way, from name to blog. There was a link already, but it was on the third or fourth page. After all these years, I'm not too bothered, mind you, but I do have a distinctive name and I feel slightly self-conscious.

I can't face the thought of re-reading nearly six years of daily blogging to check whether I've ever said anything about anyone that is at all gossipy. I did make the decision, after just a few months, to take out personal remarks, because a friend had caused offence by being rude about someone's appearance in an identifiable blog (he thought he was anonymous, but as soon as I read it, I recognised him and at that time I'd only met him once for a few minutes). It was at that time, too, that I reversed the name of the town to Yagnub.

Still, onwards and upwards, hey. And hello and welcome to anyone who is here from Pamela's site. As she said, this is a personal blog about my general life and so on, but if you're looking for info about a hip operation, go back to January 2009. The operation was on the 22nd and I wrote about my recuperation for some weeks. I'm afraid I've never bothered to label posts, so that won't help you - but if anyone really wants to know, I suppose it wouldn't take more than an hour or so to label them all for you, so let me know if it'll help.

Oh, and quite a number of friends know I have a blog, but only three outside the family have ever asked its name, and I think that one of those has never visited. And a friend of Ro's tracked it down. Most people who know me well feel that it would be a bit like reading my diary. Which I suppose it is, but it's not a private secret one, of course. I'm no JonnyB (nor am I writing a book, and never intend to).

Doggone

2011-11-06T22:45:00.001Z

There is some nuisance in the village with people exercising their dogs on land that isn't public open space. We've had a number of complaints, absolutely justified, from people who have come to put flowers on graves in the churchyard and found that they have to start by clearing off dog mess. I've not seen it, but people have been seen leaving the churchyard carrying a ball and a thrower, dog virtuously back on lead. And yet, if the PCC put up signs saying that dogs must be kept on a lead, or kept out altogether, I know that they will be judged officious.

There is a small pightle opposite our front field, which is open to the road - and please excuse my use of a word that's probably unfamiliar to you, (it means a irregular shaped, roughly triangular piece of land) but it's a small pleasure to use a rare word in its correct context. It's probably a couple of acres, and it is let to a local farmer. However, with the number of dogs and their owners who use it, there are lines of bare earth across the field. The other day, a sign was put up asking people to keep off, as a forage crop is being grown. I suspect the farmer means grass.

We've also had people sending their dogs through our hedge on to our fields, which are used for grazing or cut for hay (as a gift to the farmer, we're glad to keep it cropped) and surely, if you have a dog, you should take responsibility for exercising it without being too idle to walk an extra quarter of a mile first. It's not that there is a shortage of places, there's miles of open land about, both on the marshes (which doesn't imply that they are marshy, they are the occasional flood plain for the network of waterways around here) and on the Common, a mile and a half away.

Mind you, even there, although there is plenty of space, we were told on the Annual Inspection (oh yes, we took part in that) that the majority of dog-walkers wander along the fairways on the golf course. I can imagine little that is more unpleasant than finding your golf ball has landed in a pile of crap, except possibly having to clear it off your late beloved's grave. Quite apart from the danger to the walker.

I grew up with dogs, and at one time regularly walked all seven of them. During our marriage, we have had four dogs: Simon, Chester, Tilly and Khan. I've let them run across grazing marshes and open spaces (not playgrounds or playing fields, obviously) but I've never even considered letting them loose on private land. I don't understand how anyone can think that it's all right.

The good doctor

2011-11-05T23:29:00.000Z

A slight difficulty in Beccles this morning, when I turned into the lane leading to the car park, and found that at some time in the last year or two, since I last used it, they'd blocked it off. Impossible to turn with my long car, and I had to back out into the road, unable to see if anything was coming from my right until I was already well out. There wasn't, luckily, or I'd have felt a bigger twit than I did. It was more trouble to get to the other entrance to the car park than to go to a different one, so that's what I did. Later, I managed to leave my purse behind at the café and didn't realise until I was trying to pay in the butcher's back here. I phoned and they've got it. There was no panic, it didn't have my cards or anything in, just a ten pound note and a few coins.

My friend was feeling slightly low. He and his wife moved to Scotland some years ago because of his job, but he has to come back several times a year and, every time, he is sorry he has to leave again and is reminded of how much he liked living in Lowestoft. Partly for practical reasons, he now has to commute quite a long way each day, and the winters are long and hard, and also because they're a long way from old friends and family and he likes this part of the country. I don't know his wife's take on the matter, but I think he'd move back if he can.

The Sage received a thank-you card today, from people who bought some china in the sale. People also treat the catalogues as invitations and phone to say if they can come, or with apologies if they cannot. It's quite remarkable, how he has managed to give the impression that folks are fortunate to be able to come and spend their money with him.

Our family doctor retired yesterday. He told us, each separately, several months ago , which was thoughtful. Mind you, he's been our doctor since we came to live here 25 years ago and we knew him before then, because his children went to the same school as Weeza and Al, though are slightly older. He's the head of the practice here and it's always been run very well and efficiently. The receptionists are helpful and one can usually see one's own doctor within a day. When I first went to see him about my hip, he advised me not to have an x-ray at that time, he said that they don't necessarily give the best indication of when you need a new one and that pain is a clearer indicator, but promised that as soon as I asked to see a consultant, he'd refer me straight away, and so he did, a couple of years later.

Some thirty years ago, the mother of a schoolfriend of Weeza took her son to see him, because he'd got some pain in his leg. She was enormously impressed and grateful that he immediately suspected osteomyelitis, which is a bone infection, referred him for tests and it cleared up quickly with antibiotics. She said, the boy wasn't in great pain and it isn't particularly easy to diagnose at the start, but if it isn't caught quickly it can cause a good deal of damage, possibly requiring surgery, even bone grafts. That was the reason I asked for him to be our doctor - not that we have ever needed his services very much. Apart from a few plaintive visits about my hip over the course of two years, there have normally been five years between appointments. I have been lucky enough to be rarely ill, and so have all my family members.

All women do

2011-11-04T23:41:00.000Z

I'm planning to meet a friend for coffee tomorrow. He'll be on his way to the airport though, so I'm wondering where to suggest meeting. I won't reply to his text until I've come up with an answer, dithering is so boring.

I still haven't booked tickets for London either, two journeys, one with an overnight stay. I'll get it all done this weekend. I didn't sleep again last night - that is, I fell asleep, woke an hour later at 2 am and lay awake for several more hours. I wasn't worrying, just not sleeping. It really is a nuisance and I can't see a reason for it. I'd have got up, but the Sage put his arm round me and went back to sleep and I didn't want to disturb him. In the end, I gave up trying to sleep and entertained myself with my phone for a couple more hours until it was light. I've never been the soundest sleeper, but this has happened twice now - albeit the first time, I had no sleep at all - and I'd just as soon it doesn't happen again. I shall give it some thought. I did try giving up caffeine in the evening for several weeks, but it didn't seem to make any difference at all - I'm glad to say.

It's surprising really that the Guy Fawkes thing hasn't fallen foul of the laws against incitement to hatred or something, one can hardly believe that it's still all right to burn an effigy on a garden bonfire. Still, no one seems to mind the idea. We can't all get together tomorrow, in fact, and are saving it for Sunday. It won't prolong the noise of fireworks to annoy neighbours, we've got quiet ones suitable for small children to watch. The Sage's father, (whose name was Guy!) celebrated his birthday on 5th November, so there has always been a party, but Weeza and co are going to a wedding tomorrow. They're not going to the party in the evening, just staying for tea and cake after the service. Zerlina is looking forward to the cake.

My sister-in-law spends a lot of her time visiting her family, and is going to Italy for Christmas with her son and his partner, so she phoned last night to arrange to meet in early December. Her sight isn't up to driving, so she comes to Norwich by bus or train from Cromer and we meet for lunch. Looking in my diary, I had great difficulty finding a possible day and we've had to settle on a Saturday. Mind you, she's just as busy. When we phoned suggesting a meeting in the summer, she couldn't fit us in at all. She'll be 80 next year and is as busy and energetic as she ever was - and she looks the image of her mother. I wonder if I'm turning into my mother, too. I suppose it's bound to happen.

One sleepy Z

2011-11-03T22:23:00.001Z

I'm wondering about my state of mind. I've been listening relentlessly to The Mountain Goats for the last few days, specifically to The Sunset Tree and Get Lonely, which are about the most relentlessly gloomy albums I own. I can't think of anything going on in the dark recesses, I must get out something jolly and change the pace.

The Sage had a phone call from the buyer of the bottle'n'bowl combo, a cheque will be on its way tomorrow. The sale results are up on the website now, although since then some more unsold pieces have had successful offers - it's normal for about 20% of lots not to reach their reserves, but I think we may be down to about 3 out of 84 unsold by the end.

Year 9 music today, we were working on Katy Perry and Pachelbel. I go to help with the trickier classes - they are fine, just a few kids whose concentration isn't all that - and the teacher was bemoaning the fact that I don't see all the level of concentration achieved in the other classes. She really is good and gets a lot from them, but she expects a fair bit of self-reliance as the year goes on and some of them find that hard. I'm still absurdly inept, but I'm bound to crack it one day. Am I not?

Oh. Reality stares me down. Well, put it this way - I am free of charge.

I've had a text from Zig, who thanks you again for the cheering messages left on her blog, which are really encouraging her. And indeed, you are lovely. If I needed kind words, this is where I'd turn.

Oh look - Hoagy Carmichael. He fits the bill all right.

Apricorns

2011-11-02T22:00:00.002Z

Shall it be all good today, darlings?

Right.

Zerlina has been harvesting, and has added a new word to her vocabulary ... and ours, come to that.

Apricorns

This afternoon, there was a short ceremony to dedicate a seat in the school yard to our caretaker, who died a few months ago, and to dedicate a tree to Aaron, the 16-year-old who died suddenly of natural causes at about the same time. The caretaker's surname was Hyde, so it's to be known as the Hyde Park Bench. It was short, simple and moving, conducted by the local vicar, who is also a parent of children at the school and who has just become a governor.

This evening, I was back in school for the Sixth Form open evening. There were loads of people there! The atmosphere was brilliant, there were a lot of the present sixth formers helping out and I trotted around chatting to various people, mostly staff and sixth formers - you know, the old schmooze, having my face seen and showing an interest. I took opportunities to watch students and teachers together, there is a lot of warmth and genuine friendship there, in an entirely appropriate pupil/teacher sense. There is a huge range of courses on offer for the 250 or so students: 25 A Levels, 4 Vocational Level 3 courses (equivalent to 2 A Levels each) and 2 Level 2 courses, which take a year and are equivalent to 4 or 5 GCSEs each.

I slipped out without saying goodbye to the Head, because he was talking animatedly to a boy and his parents. I drove home and sat down at the computer, just as an email dropped into the inbox. It was from a friend and fellow governor, giving the good news that his wife has just had her medical all-clear. Earlier this year, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, just like Ziggi. She has had chemotherapy, an operation, a break to attend their daughter's graduation, more chemotherapy, a break to attend their other daughter's wedding, more chemotherapy...and now she is told that she is free of cancer. And their son has been accepted on the post-graduate placement he hoped for. She can go back to work after Christmas - being a teacher, her consultant wants her to have time to build up her resilience against the children's germs, and then she will have check-ups for the next five years.

So, an incredibly tough and terrifying year, but she has come through it and dares to look forward.

Great oats from little apricorns grow?

UnZentimental

2011-11-01T20:30:00.002Z

I'm not sentimental, you know. I may be emotional, on occasion, but not sentimental. But this made me cry. And if you think that some of it is too emotional, then she's allowed, under the circumstances.

I held out until “I’m telling you now because I’m afraid you won’t make it on time, honey.”

Anyway. This is a forward-thinking blog, which you rarely leave crying.

This afternoon, I visited Weeza and Gus. Gus was on splendid form. Zerlina was the smilingest baby I've ever known, but Gus is at least as happy. He is immensely long, he likes lying on your lap, feet at your stomach, head clasped in your outstretched hands, smiling and 'talking' to you - but he's so long that I can't rest my wrists on my knees and it's quite tiring. When I held his eye contact, he smiled widely, and then when, talking to Weeza, I looked away, he made sounds in a conversational tone, so that I would look back, and then he smiled again. Later, he slept, fed, slept, cried briefly with wind until I put him to my shoulder where he burped, relaxed and slept again.

I spent a lot of the time telling Weeza of the events that I referred to a couple of days ago. A lot of "nooo," "ew," "what?" and so on, and it was ... actually ... very funny.

Darling Ziggi

2011-10-31T21:50:00.001Z

A few weeks ago, my friend Ziggi told me that she had cancer. I couldn't tell anyone, she wasn't making it public on Facebook or blog yet, but now she has. If you know her, do drop in at her new blog and give her a hug. When she spoke to me, she had started to lose her hair, quite suddenly although not, of course, unexpectedly. I don't think anything prepares you for that: it seems, from a distance, as if it's the trivial part but I have come to believe that it's the thing that knocks you back hardest and brings home to you that you are 'differently' ill from any other time - but it does grow back.

I'm afraid that ovarian cancer tends to be something that you have to live with, rather than be cured from, for a while. Ziggi is young, has two gorgeous daughters, and has dumped a husband who wasn't fit for purpose, so has everything to get better for. She also introduced me to delicious white tea - which is so delicate that you mustn't make it with boiling water - and made actual scones, with jam and clotted cream, so counts as a best friend. I look forward to seeing her on my next visit South-West - shall I make the scones next time, Zig?

The Sage talks shop

2011-10-30T22:55:00.002Z

It was dark by 5 o'clock this evening, of course. Can't bear it, we're still in autumn. I wouldn't mind so much in December. I hoped that last year would be the last time the clocks went back in the autumn, but rumours were premature.

At least an extra hour this morning gave us time for a leisurely breakfast. The Sage brought me a cup of tea in bed. When I was up and dressed, "would you like a poached egg for breakfast?" he asked hopefully - this was a suggestion rather than an offer, I doubt he's ever poached an egg, although he's accomplished in the art of frying and scrambling. I daresay he would not be too daunted by the thought of hard-boiling come to that.

We had just finished eating when the phone rang. It was a prearranged interview with an EDP reporter. Yes indeed, my star of radio and newspaper will be in the paper again tomorrow. Someone asked him to autograph a catalogue on Friday. I suppose it was slightly tongue in cheek, but maybe I should start saving all scraps of paper with his writing on, to keep our grandchildren in luxury in a few years' time.

I did, however, draw the line this evening (not on paper, you understand) when he asked me which buyer had paddle number 21, at dinner time. He wanted to talk about the sale again. I was starting to relax for the evening, and a discussion about work wasn't on the cards. It's a penalty of working with one's husband and also working from home that we're never outside office hours. Of course, a lot of people deal with business emails at the weekend, it's tempting to get them out of the way rather than clutter up half of Monday morning, and we've always had phone calls at any time of any day, but I think that dinner time on a Sunday needn't be a time for dealing with the smallest details. I said so, reasonably politely, and he was quite surprised, but put his papers down good-naturedly. I did look it up later of course.

Some of you will know that there have been ructions in Blogland over the last week, resulting in some friendships strengthening and others being broken. At least two people are no longer blogging, at least for the time being. Yesterday, I decided the time had come to explain to him what has been going on, since he knows some of the people involved (of whom I'm one, in fact). After a few minutes, I looked over at him. He was fast asleep. So I shall not trouble you with the details, just tell you that I'm not affected personally and I'm still blogging. But that last, you had probably worked out already.

Highlights

2011-10-29T09:53:00.001+01:00

The Sage was having a drink with a friend, a retired auctioneer from Diss. "Between a retired auctioneer and a non-retired auctioneer," be said. I said, "you could say, between an auctioneer with sense and one without." "Ah, but which is which?" asked Geoffrey. I gave him to understand that he was the one to be complimented. "Still," I added, "I can't see the Sage ever quitting." We decided that the perfect place for him to peg out would be auctioneering - I said, however, that he would have to hold on to the end of a sale, it would be most unprofessional to keel over until the last lot was sold. "That's okay," said Geoffrey. "I'll be his stand-in and finish off the sale."

A new customer came over from Brussels specially for the sale. We had already spoken on the phone, so he introduced himself. He collects sparrowbeak jugs; not Lowestoft ones in particular, but from all over Europe. He spent several minutes telling me about his enthusiasm, he's got around 450 sparrowbeaks (these are little cream jugs, so called because of the beaked shape of the pouring lip).

He bought several jugs and came to pay at the end. I passed him on to Susie, who is fluent in several languages and they chatted away for several minutes. He speaks excellent English, far better than my French, so I wouldn't have ventured to inflict it on him.

The customer who bought the guglet and bowl left with it, without paying. That the Sage knows he is as trustworthy as that will mean more to him than his successful bid, I should think. He'll send a cheque within a few days, once he's transferred the money. Another customer accidentally came without cash or chequebook - I similarly let him have the piece, but it was more like £150 - still, he was also pleased to be trusted.

Rog asked, was there applause at the end? Indeed there was.

The photo doesn't indicate the size of the jugs - about 3 inches tall.

High light and low light

2011-10-28T23:15:00.002+01:00

I should have trimmed the photos, sorry. I forgot that these were the originals. But don't look at the background, which is the interior of the light-box, hey.

The Sage got the price he hoped for, which was £34,500. Everyone who viewed the sale looked at and admired them, and they have been bought by a collector for their own collection. Since they have been in the same family since 1948 when they were last sold (for £80), it's rather good to know that they will still be handled and looked at closely, not put in a museum to be admired but not loved.

So, the sale went well but I'm too tired to think. I'll balance the books tomorrow, right now I'm going to bed.

Two of the paintings depict Lowestoft's lighthouses. The one on the cliff was the High light, the one on the beach was the Low light. These are real scenes from the period and at least one of the ships can be named, as can the church.

Counting down to the auction

2011-10-27T23:16:00.002+01:00

I must be having a bit of an Ian Ke11y moment, when Wink rang to suggest a weekend for us to meet in London and go to the theatre, I suggested the play that he is in. Although, if it had been said to be rubbish, I wouldn't have gone. Someone said they'd seen it in its pre-London run (he wasn't in it then) and recommended it. I haven't yet decided whether I'll stay for a couple of nights, I will see what else I want to do. I don't think Wink will be staying, but then she's had a couple of holidays this year and I haven't had a single night away since last early November.

We're pretty well set for the auction, I've still got to mark up some bids and the people whom I'll be phoning during the sale - we can't do online bidding, but we do telephone bids. Someone rings the wannabe bidder a few minutes before the item they've registered an interest in. I claim first place there, you know how I like to take charge! - the Sage is in charge, obviously, no question of a takeover bid from me, but I want to back him up and ... okay, maybe there's a slight ego problem here.

Now I'm writing down the people who've already registered. The Sage, encouraged by my sudden keenness, has said I can do a lot of the bidding. Which is fun, but quite stressful, I have to keep careful track of who is bidding for each lot, and there are a few either/or bids too.

Looking forward to it? ... well no, not entirely. I do find it both more tiring and more stressful every year. The Sage loves it and has no intention of retiring. I'm glad he's so successful and I do find it interesting, and it's great to see the 'regulars'. But I'll be pleased when it's over and maybe something else can be the topic of conversation for a few weeks.

Though that's probably too much to hope for.

The cook, the lover, the rainbow and the fire

2011-10-26T20:53:00.000+01:00

It was a very good day. I went here to listen to lectures given by him about him and him. Sorry for the linkiness, I don't like a lot of links either, but it really won't help people who innocently google any of those names - simply because I write pretty well every day, it puts me higher up Google searches than I would be otherwise, so I avoid it when I can.

Anyway, Ian was brilliant, very good speaker and a most engaging man. To start with, he'd brought along little choux pastry swans filled with Crème Chantilly (most delicious, deffo go on the list for the next bloggers' party) and then he airily cooked while he delivered his lecture. Talking about his three most recent books, he said that his wife had said, by the time he'd finished his book about Carême, the chef, his cooking had improved by leaps and bounds, after his book about Beau Brummell, he'd become a snappy dresser. She hadn't mentioned the Casanova book, he said...

Regarding his research for that book, it took him to St Petersburg. He doesn't speak much Russian, so had an interpreter. He also had a Russian guide to take him round the archives. As he was looking at everything, he realised that the guide was in fits of giggles. He asked the interpreter, who was a bit embarrassed. "She is amused at the thought of an Englishman writing about Casanova, the great lover," he explained. And then added, "especially a ginger one..."

I arrived early, to help show people around on arrival. There were 280 people who'd booked and I was fairly busy, guiding them to the lecture theatre and then back again for coffee. I chatted to those I vaguely know - as I'm the Area secretary, quite a lot of people know me but I only know them by sight - a few asked to be reminded of my name, but no one volunteered their own, so if I didn't remember it, I was stuck. Oh well.

It had been a brilliantly sunny day, but ten minutes into my journey home, I realised that the sky to my right was deep bluey grey and that heavy rain was brewing. First I saw the double rainbow, then the downpour started. In front of me, the sky was quite light, and the first rainbow was the starting point of the dark cloud. It was very dark in the space between them, slightly lighter the other side. I also noticed, and I'm not sure whether I knew this or not, that the two rainbows were mirror images of each other, not the same.

Then it cleared up, a few minutes later it started again. I rounded a bend and there was another double rainbow.

The Sage had some good news about a potential bidder for the sale on Friday when I got home. I checked emails and so on, and cooked dinner. Finally, I went into the drawing room. There was a fire burning in the grate. He and Jamie swept the chimney this afternoon and didn't tell me, so that it would be a lovely surprise.

As others see us

2011-10-25T12:53:00.000+01:00

You know the thing where one is asked to use three words to describe oneself? Actually, I was told recently about an interview for a headteacher, where that was used as the final question. One of the candidates gave, as one of his or her words ... "lazy." No, didn't get the job.

Anyway, I came across this on a website recently (and I have put it up on Google+ so a few of you have seen it)

and the original attribution is there on the top right, though it had come along a few steps when I saw it - thanks to the person who devised it. I shouldn't take it too literally - although, if the first words you see don't give a particularly positive image of yourself, you could give it a few minutes of thought.

I did, a few years ago, think of three words I might use to describe myself, but I admit that I can't remember them all now. I'm pretty sure that none of them was forgetful, but maybe it should have been. I will tell you the one I do remember, which is 'enthusiastic.' Bless her, hopeful Z of those years.

However, perhaps more telling would be for you to choose your words and then ask other people to choose words for you and compare. I'm pretty sure that one of the three that many would pick for me would be:-

Sensible

I know, darlings, is there anything more dull? I wouldn't use it to describe myself, but I'm called it too often to deny it. It's not used as an insult or criticism, I do appear to be a person that people are inclined to be kind to ... although I don't mind in the least being criticised. How can one learn if one doesn't listen to what people say? I don't suppose I'll ever learn much, on the other hand - no, I'm starting to ramble.

I don't think it is on the list above, by the way, that is put there simply for you to amuse yourselves for a few idle minutes.

And this morning, I have mostly been making potato soup. Sensible, you see?

Family matters

2011-10-24T23:14:00.004+01:00

Zerlina woke before 6 this morning. I took her to the bathroom, then back to bed where she slept for a couple more hours. Weeza wonders how I do it - z hasn't had a daytime nap for weeks and normally wakes about 7. I am extremely relaxed and fond of rest and this evidently is absorbed by my grandchild.

We spent much of the day with Dilly and the children, walking into town in the morning and going to the local air museum in the afternoon. Here. Just for an hour or so, and partly to find some clues - Al and Dilly and the children enjoyed geocaching when they were on holiday and have been doing it locally too. It is half term week and fortunately the weather is still fine, although windy today. Weeza said her husband had an arduous cycle ride to work today against the wind and felt exhausted by the time he arrived. It took him over an hour and a half to cycle twenty-two miles, apparently. Appallingly slow, I'm sure you'll agree, hem hem.

This morning, I started up the computer and the desktop photo happened to be one of Hadrian, taken just before he went on holiday. He was sitting on our sofa, smiling and I was startled to realise how like my father he looked. The thing is, Al looks like my father in his young, very thin days, but in middle age he put on some weight and his face looked fuller. And Hay, although chubbier of face than that, had just the same smile and look in his eyes that I remember.

Bending the knees, not the back

2011-10-24T00:24:00.000+01:00

It always surprises me, how quickly I snap back into getting jobs done while looking after a small child. I'm adept at managing to carry a baby while cooking, cleaning and so on, and it is possible to do almost anything one-handed if one tries. When there is a slightly older child, the knack of scurrying about in the few short moments while he or she is busy and not requiring one's full attention soon comes back. However, there was nearly a full hour this afternoon when Zerlina fell asleep on my lap and I could do little except read the bits of the newspaper that were visible without turning broadsheet pages. Little z has officially given up her daytime nap in the past few weeks (her own choice, not her mother's) but I evidently have a deeply restful aura about me.

Later, I managed to cook a roast chicken and a steamed jam sponge pudding and serve it two hours earlier than we normally eat, as well as taking z for a walk, feeding the chickens and giving apples to Big Pinkie.

Pinkie was a naughty girl, by the way - I mentioned a while ago that she'd gone walkabout, and the Sage and Jamie tried several times to tempt her back across the fields. She would follow them for some way, but then simply stop and refuse to come any further. In the end, the farmer had to bring her back in the trailer. She wasn't too thrilled about it, and was quite huffy with Jamie, but seems back to her good-natured self now.

Back to the matter of carrying babies - I think the trick is to keep a straight back. Bending over while carrying a heavy child is a recipe for an injured back. As long as my knees hold out, I should be fine.

Z and the Sage plan some changes

2011-10-22T12:59:00.001+01:00

You know the articles that there have been in the past few weeks about people being 'over-housed'? There are, apparently, 25 million spare bedrooms in the country. I have to say that some of them are in this house. And I'm sorry if you think we're 'hoarding' our housing, and I'm also sorry if you are short of space where you live; but I don't think that the two situations are directly linked. And we're not moving anyway.

But it's true that we've got rather more space than we regularly use, and that's a pity. There are four living rooms, and we use two or three. You might think that even that is a lot for two people, but we're the spreading sort. So the drawing room and the study are used all the time and the dining room is used all summer and only heated in the winter if there are enough people here to make it worth the bother. And the Sage puts stuff in the other room, which is not a brilliant idea because it ends up with boxes and trayfuls all over the place and it is unusable much of the time.

Now, we are planning to redecorate the drawing room, and while we're about it, we can do some other work there. When we moved here 25 years ago, we bought a Multiyork sofa and two chairs, and 14 years ago we bought new loose covers for them. However, the third time I had the cushion covers dry cleaned, the colour ran and they were ruined. So I put the old covers back on, and did some repairs as they wore out. I've been looking into getting new loose covers, but the cost is huge for 25-year-old soft furnishings and it would make more sense to buy new ones. But it does go against the grain, the chairs themselves are in very good condition and haven't even started to sag or wear. Anyway, I've gone through all the covers I've got and I've found that I can put together the sofa and a big square footstool in one material and a chair and a footstool in another, which would only leave one redundant chair, and we've got loads of armchairs, a shortage of furniture is never our problem. However, the two materials do not go together and can't be put in the same room.

That was all the preamble to my good idea, sorry it's taken so long.

The unused room, which is so unused that it doesn't even have a name, will be turned out and have a new life as the dining room, the present dining room, which leads into it, will be another sitting room - I love that room, it's wasted as a dining room because it's got a beautiful inglenook and you hardly notice it. Then we can move into those two rooms (instead of the study, which is full of my stuff) while the drawing room is done up, and then we can sit in comfort, each in our own space, and never have to meet again in the evening except at meals. Which is, you have to agree, leads to happiness between two long-married people who work together and need to have something to talk about at dinner time and for bedtime to be a joyful reunion.

What is good about this too, is that it will give us somewhere to put my pianola when it eventually returns. End of July, my left foot.

But the best part is, the Sage and I have another project (this is going to take weeks, nothing is ever simple in this house). What I love is that we adore each other's madcap projects and enter into the spirit of things at once. It's all completely unnecessary, of course, but it'll be fun.

A Great-Grandmother

2011-10-21T23:46:00.001+01:00

I didn't know my mother's grandmother of course, she died about twenty years before I was born. There is a picture of her as a fairly young woman, one of those Victorian photographs that was tinted to look like a portrait. My mother used to say that I looked like her.

My mother's mother died when she was only twenty-five and her father's engineering job took him away from home, so it was up to the grandparents to look after the 18 month old child. Two of the four parents had died already, but his mother and her father, who were cousins and must have known each other well, had set up home together (they were not, of course, 'living together' in the modern sense). My mother adored both of them and was very happy with them.

Grandmother (I don't know whether she was called Granny or Grandma, she was always referred to as "my Grandmother" and I'll call her Grandmother here) was a rather formal Victorian lady and very firm about the right way to behave. It was the 'right' way, too - not just formality for the sake of it, but to behave in the best, kindest and most honest manner at all times. For example, a shop assistant or a maid must be treated politely and considerately - "Never be rude, my dear, to those who cannot answer back." She dressed mainly in black of course, but suitable colours could be worn in a blouse. My mother remembered going shopping for material to make a new blouse. The young assistant asked what colour she was looking for. Grandmother stood erect and firm. "Heliotrope," she said. Mummy remembered all her days the confused look on the girl's face.

Grandmother had three sons, two six-footers and my grandad, who was five foot seven. Both the others died in the First World War. When the wartime archives were put on the internet, my sister looked for and found them both. Their mother was with each of them when they died, in fact, for one she travelled to France to the field hospital; the other was brought back to England and she went to be with him. My grandfather was in the trenches throughout the war but was never injured, or not seriously at any rate.

Grandmother suffered from dreadful headaches (Mummy realised, later, that they must have been migraines) and sometimes had to retire to bed for two or three days. Once, the little girl had a bad head herself and said so - it was, poor child, the first migraine of those that laid her low regularly all her life. She remembered the look that passed between her grandparents, obviously thinking she was copying Grandmother, who asked her exactly where it hurt. When she said, at the side and behind her eyes, she saw them realise she was telling the truth.

My grandfather remarried when his daughter was seven years old. In the way things were done in those days, the fact was presented to her after the marriage had taken place and she had the shock of being taken away from her home and beloved grandparents. It's not surprising that she clung on to and treasured memories of those years with them. They were certainly the happiest of her childhood.

It didn't happen

2011-10-20T20:12:00.001+01:00

The drive is finally done and looks great, although the chippings are still quite loose and need a good rain and being driven on a few times to bed them in. Apparently, two tonnes of bitumen alone has gone on to the drive, as well as a lorryload of stone chippings! I'll have to sort out a few photos and show you, it'll take a while though and I can't quite be bothered as yet. Which is not the right attitude, but it's not that interesting except to me, let's face it, so I don't suppose you mind.

I drove over to Beccles to pick up my friends to take them to Norwich for lunch, but one of them wasn't feeling well so it was just her sister. On the way home, a car was waiting in a side road to my left (that is, on my side of the road, we being quite peculiar in this country and driving on the wrong side of the road), angled to go across the road and turn right. As I approached, it moved forward a little so I slowed and prepared to move slightly to the middle of the road to give it a wide berth. And then, far too late for me to stop, it pulled out right in front of me. I cannot think what the idiot driver had on her mind, I don't think she saw me at any time. Her complacent face didn't look towards me at all as I braked and swerved. If I hadn't already slowed, I'd have gone right into her at 50mph. And if the side road had not had a widely splayed entrance, I'd have hit her rear. As it was, I had room to miss her. Lilian and I looked at each other. "Good as a mile, hey," I said. I'm finally, several hours on, starting to feel a bit shaken. Still, onwards and upwards. It didn't happen.