Happy old year

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

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

 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.

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

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

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

Christmas Eve. Or possibly Elf. If not, Pearl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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.