It gets better...

..."Oh!" said the Sage. "I forgot to pick some asparagus. Is it too late?" "Not if you run" I replied. "I'll run!" he said.

That's what he's doing Right Now.

I've just put some photos on the computer. I'll show them to you later.

Baksun*, darlings.

*Hope I've spelled that right.

I'm back, with photos of what I saw in the garden this afternoon



Feeling cheerful because the sun was shining, I went out with my camera. Tilly was trotting across the field, quite some way away. She looked at me and started to trot in my direction. I could see the moment that she was sure it was me, because her ears changed shape and she started to run. When she reached the fence, she lay down. I love the buttercups on the meadow too. It's ancient grassland and, although we take out nettles, thistles and ragwort, it's fertilised only by the cows who graze in the summer and kept as natural as it can be.

Wisteria on the house. The photo's rather dark; it looks better enlarged

Broom

Lilac, which is actually lilac, not white. Photography isn't my strong suit

The wall will be built one day

I like wild flowers too

Elderflower

Lavender

The first globe artichoke

The stream separates the garden from the other meadow


May - hawthorn, if you prefer

Friend of Gustav (no need to explain, you all read Greavsie). I don't remember ever seeing him before; he was contemplating life the other side of the fig tree

You can't have him, he's mine

"Oh, sorry," said the Sage. "I just poured you a glass of wine." "Line 'em up!" I said cheerfully, having poured my own ten minutes ago. "I don't suppose," I added hopefully "that you would scrub the potatoes? Mwah mwah?" "Done them already," he replied in a completely unsmug tone. He left the room. He came back in and kissed me. "I saw them languishing in the sink, so I thought they were probably for this evening."

He's just come in again. "Shall I move your car for you?" I'd brought some plants home from the shop for Al and had parked near the vegetable garden and then forgotten to move the car back out of the way. I'm a bit torn, you know. After thinking oh bugger the sodding car I'm selling it after all it's cost me and I don't need one so big, I keep finding that I do.

Anyway, it was the Street Market today. For those of you who do not know my little town, there are three of these in the year; one in December for festive stuff, an Antiques Fair in the summer and, in mid-May, a Gardeners' Market. One of the streets is closed off and stalls line it on both sides. If the weather isn't awful, it's always a jolly occasion and people love it - the town is full. Because of church, I didn't get there until about 1.30, well after the peak, but it still took me ten minutes to weave through all the crowds, wheeling my bike. A woman trying to come the other way, pushing a child in a wheelchair, grinned ruefully at me - I'd said "after you," but she couldn't move either.

Al had set up the shop, which is across the roundabout from the closed street, and had been very busy. He sold loads of plants and a surprising amount of fruit, vegetables and flowers. Some of the vegetable plants had been grown by us - no need to worry on his behalf about the profit margin, Dandelion; he did very well.

I biked home an hour later, enjoying the lightness of the bike. Usually, I cycle in easily and slog home. I had bought nothing except a cabbage and a lettuce, and Al had given me some broad bean tops because they won't keep for Monday (cook and eat them as spinach; they're delicious - if you like spinach and the scent of broad bean flowers, that is), whereas usually I have 15 - 25 lbs weight of shopping in my panniers. No, I don't know how we use that much stuff every day either, except that sometimes it contains bottles.

I was tired at the end of last week, so I've deliberately relaxed this weekend. I feel so much better now. I could have pushed myself and done what I *needed* to do but, you know, nearly all of it could wait. I've just got to send a couple of emails to meet other people's deadlines and the rest will still be there tomorrow. I think that it'll be more important to feed my Sage a delicious meal and devote the rest of the evening to reading the paper, being amused by my son and cuddling my husband. And Tilly, of course.

Z has a Day of Rest

Well, a morning at any rate, as I'm babysitting this afternoon.

I had plans for this morning, but I've not done a thing. I'm tired. Not in a depressed or exhausted sort of way, I just want to do nothing for a few hours. So I have, or haven't, whichever makes more sense.

I should, even now, be cycling into town to do my weekend shopping, but it's still raining and I am rather hoping it'll clear up.

If you remember the photos I posted a little while ago of the sitting hen, her eggs have now hatched and she has 9 chicks. There were still 3 eggs, so the Sage has put them under another broody bantam to give them a chance. We went out for dinner with friends last night, and put mother and babies into a coop for safety when we returned home at 11.30. She was not too thrilled, but she soon settled down.

Since Dave has not posted any holiday photos today, I will show you a few Spanish dogs.





We couldn't help noticing that, although there were quite a number of dogs, there was no dog-mess. Indeed, Madrid was noticeably litter-free. The dogs were charming and most of them were either mongrels or breeds unknown to me.

Z is annoyed by phones

I phoned and got an answerphone, saying that if I left my number they'd ring back. I did and they didn't.

It's one of those things, isn't it? As soon as you're trying to keep the line free, either you have overwhelming urges to make other phone calls or you receive whole strings of them from friends. Two people did ring, overlapping each other of course, so one had to leave a message, but keeping the Sage off the phone for an hour or two is an impossibility. Before Broadband came to the village and using the internet meant that people couldn't ring you and if you picked up the phone you cut off the internet, to the fury of the one using it, I had an extra phone line put on for Ro. We paid the rental, he paid the calls. It meant no friction between him and his father; one learns things after years of having teenage children. Of course, the Sage and I snapped at each other periodically; usually I at him because I always remembered to ask him if he wanted to use the phone before going online, and he rarely checked if I was before picking up the receiver. Then he'd slam the phone down, say "Sorry", but it was too late. The internet could have destroyed our marriage, but broadband saved it.

Anyway, now of course one can use the phone through the internet, so that's the one I directed the Sage to this morning, although he has lost one of the receivers; the one that plays a jolly tune. I phoned it, but evidently the battery is flat as it didn't ring. The Sage is looking hangdog. Two blunders. He's running errands for me now, to demonstrate his usefulness and indispensability.

So, eventually I rang back and it was answered straight away. "Oh, I don't think calls are returned until after noon." Fine, why doesn't their message say so, then?

I've sent some of my more interesting tomato plants to the shop for Al - that is, the varieties are interesting, with names like Black Russian, Czech's Excellent Yellow and Brandywine. It rained all morning and I thought I'd have an excuse to drive to the school, as I have to arrive tidy this afternoon as I'm helping interview. But it's stopped. I hope I don't get too splashed on the way.

Z is teacher's pet

Really, I should be ashamed of myself. When I was at school, I was always the one skulking at the back of the class, never offering an opinion, never volunteering, not joining in group discussions (if I had a good idea, I'd keep it for myself, put it in an essay and get marks for it - why offer it free to the whole class?) and generally remaining as disengaged as possible from the whole thing. Now, it's a different story. I volunteer, I show my work, I offer to take over while teacher's on holiday - heh heh, the rest of 'em can't even hate me for it, because they are grateful not to be nobbled.

Enough of luncheon club. Tonight, I had to go out at 5.30 for a meeting, the Sage was leaving at 7 for his and we wouldn't meet for dinner. So I bought pizzas and left them for him to choose and cook his own, leaving me and Ro to eat when we were ready. I phoned home to tell Ro I'd be 10 minutes; could he put mine in the oven please? He sounded hesitant. When I got back, I discovered the reason.

The Sage had cut a pizza in half and put it in the oven, not noticing that it sat on a polystyrene base. Ro came down after he had left, went to put his half in the oven, and found a noxious aroma and melting plastic on the oven floor. He took the grid out and dumped it outside and shut the oven door - at least, with the hot oven of the Aga, it should all char itself away, wafting the awful and unhealthy stink out of the flue. He used the little summertime oven to cook our pizzas, being rather more practically minded than his father.

When the Sage (should I call him that tonight, in view of the blunder?) came home, I asked him if he'd actually eaten the pizza? He was blissfully unaware that there had been a problem. I can only think that the polystyrene had melted away from the pizza so quickly that it didn't stick at all - lucky he used the grid shelf instead of a baking sheet. But surely he noticed the smell? No. He was in a hurry.

I've just realised that I've two things on next Thursday, neither of which did I put in my diary. Everything always goes in the diary, I can't believe how careless I was. I'll have to phone tomorrow and change the blood donor appointment by a couple of hours. Good job I noticed, if belatedly.

Z holds the line

The main news of the day is that Dave's back. He has photos to show us, but he says we won't see them all - just one for every comment that we left while he was away, I expect.

I've spent some of the day making phone calls. I don't like making phone calls very much. When I was a little girl, I once curiously picked up the phone - in those days, telephones were always in the hallway. No one had one in the living room and certainly not in the bedroom. Ours was in the gun room; not that guns had been kept there for years. A dog bed was at the end of the room in front of the desk, so you stood in the dog bed to make a phone call. Anyway, I picked up the phone and a voice said "Number, please." I slammed the phone down and ran away.

The phobia lasted for years. I didn't mind answering a call, but I hated making one. It wasn't just that barely-remembered memory; I was always sure that I'd ring at an inconvenient time and that the person at the other end would be irritated but too polite to say so. I found business calls much easier than personal ones, so I'm sure that was much of the reason. It was no better if I was going to invite someone for dinner or a similar jolly. I was convinced that they wouldn't want to come and would be too polite to say so. The Sage issued all invitations for years.

I've got over it now. But I still find the whole thing about evening calls is difficult. How do you know when people have their evening meal? We eat around 7.30 - 8 ish usually, unless we're early or late, but any time between 5.30 and 9.30 might catch people cooking or eating. Emails are so much simpler.

Anyway, I don't have hang-ups (hee hee) about the phone now, but I still don't much like it. So, this morning, I stopped thinking about the calls I needed to make and had done for a couple of weeks, and just made them. And now I feel quite free.

Did you know, you young people, that you used not to buy your own phone? They were all rented out by British Telecommunications (or was it always Telecom before it was BT?) and you had to pay a quarterly rent. When we moved house in 1976, we found one in a bedroom that, evidently, had been forgotten. We rigged up a line - we couldn't get in the phone engineers as we shouldn't have had it, and had the rare luxury of a phone in the bedroom. We still use that phone. It's a bit crackly, but splendidly retro. We only answer calls though. However did we manage to dial numbers all those years? My finger always slips and I keep having to start again. Mind you, numbers are longer now and there's more scope for mistakes. When I was a child, our number was Oulton Broad 40.

Don't mention the war?

A meeting to organise the Village Festival today. It's almost as thrilling here as in JonnyB's village, except that we're not quite so excited about chickens; having Chicken Roundabout only a mile away makes us blasé and sophisticated.

Anyway, the posters will be marvellous. We all liked them. There is a fine portrait of a beer glass full of amber home brew (no, I'm not taking the piss (d'you see what I did there?), the village publican has a micro-brewery in his garage) with a jolly flower on a long stem poking out of the top. It really does set the scene for our village fête. It'll be interesting to see if the primary school puts a poster up and, if they do, if anyone complains.

There is to be a hanging basket and flower tub competition, a treasure hunt and a display in the church on the subject of 'childhood memories'. I have asked the Sage to write about the war. No, really, he may only have been a little boy, but he remembers a bomb landing, bouncing him off his tricycle and saying to his mother "I hope Hitler doesn't do that again!" He also remembers the American airman having bountiful supplies of Smith's Crisps (with the little blue twist of salt in every pack) and similar goodies, unobtainable by the Brits. He also has a model aeroplane, carved by airmen on their way home from a raid; it is a prized possession. As are the (empty) butterfly bombs collected by his father.

Before the meeting, I said 'hello' to the children. I confirmed that Squiffany could come and spend the afternoon with me, while Pugsley and his mother went to a singalong in the library (no signs saying 'Silence' nowadays). When I left, Pugsley cried. "Granny, Granny," he wailed. I was intensely gratified. "Want bed" he added. "What, are you tired?" I asked ... "Ah. You want to bounce on my bed. Okay."

Mind you, that afternoon he thanked me for reading to him and giving him biscuits, and gave me a kiss. Grandchildren are awfully good for one's wellbeing.

Late for his own funeral

I've just got back from the church, where I was organist at the funeral of a man who had lived in the village for nearly 30 years. He had been involved with many village interests, such as the bowls club. The church was full, everyone had known and liked him.

The family had asked me to play Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring as a voluntary. I'd timed myself; 5 minutes, and worked out a couple of places to go back and play from again if I finished a little early. it's tricky, that last voluntary as the coffin comes in. Ideally, you want the music to go on softly as the priest leads in the funeral cortège and finish about the same time he ends his introduction - 10 seconds either way is as much leeway as you have. The trouble is, you don't know he's approaching until he comes into the church; not if your organ is at the front (altar end) of the church at any rate (if it's in a side room or loft, you can have a gofer to keep you informed) so you have to go by the time and hope that the hearse turns up on time too.

It didn't. It was 15 minutes late.

The funeral cars were going to pick up the family from the house. This is a small village, but the driver had been given the wrong directions - left, left and left again was correct, but it's where the first left is taken that matters. So when he was already running late, to drive worriedly past the church where the minister and the Sage (who had been directing mourners into the car park) were standing waiting, was disconcerting, especially as the crematorium was booked after the service and that's quite some way away.

But that's their problem. I didn't know anything about the delay, so I played my bit and then repeated the last three lines, then went back to half way and played again, and then I started from the beginning, and then I played the last few lines and ... well, yes, I suspect the congregation was as bored as I was. Although pretty, it is quite a repetitive tune.

At last the trestles the coffin was to stand on arrived. Considerably late, I might add; normally they are brought in before the congregation arrives. So I launched into the last page. And played the last three lines twice. Still no coffin. I started from the beginning all over again and was half way through when, at last, I heard the opening words of the funeral service. I switched seamlessly *cough* to the end again and finished at the same time as the opening address. I felt harassed. Fortunately, the first hymn was The Lord's My Shepherd, which I could play with my eyes closed.

It was a lovely service. Near the end, waiting to play my closing piece, I glanced at the family in the front pew. The grandson, a lad in his early twenties, looked smart in his dark suit. As I looked, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Tears came into mine, too, and I had to look away.

Afterwards, Sybil the verger and Mrs B were talking about the man who'd died and his late wife. "Of course, no one made sandwiches like Eileen", said one of them. "Lovely, they were." "I remember," said Sybil, "the first time Ivan made me a cup of tea. He asked how I'd like it and I said 'weak', so he poured my cup first. Always afterwards, he'd remember to pour my cup first so that it would be just as I like it. He always remembered that sort of thing about everyone."

A simple fond memory that demonstrates how people thought of him, I think. But then, I'm sentimental that way.

How to keep in business

An explanation of what I said yesterday, or part of it at any rate.

Of course, one has to make a profit to keep in business and there is a normal mark-up on wholesale prices to cover costs and leave some profit too. But there are some things that people want to buy, but that are so expensive or so quickly perishable that you're never going to make money on them. So, do you refuse to stock them? One reason that a local shopkeeper is in business is a genuine wish - and it's good policy too, for customer loyalty - to provide the best possible service. One example of this is that Al delivers, free of charge. Most of the people he delivers to are elderly ladies who either are more-or-less housebound or who can get out but can't carry their heavy shopping home. A few are working people who can't shop during the week but still want to support independent shops.

The best way of making money from a shop is by attracting customers - obvious, indeed, but maybe in a less obvious manner than the one you first think of. Take cherries. They are expensive and spoil quickly. You must sell them in two days, one if the weather is very hot. Al's first summer, he bought a box of cherries, sold half and had to throw away the rest - which meant that he lost money on cherries. By the time he'd built up the business for a couple of years, he could sell the whole box of cherries in a day - which meant that he not only made the profit on the second half of the box as well as the first, but he also didn't make that loss on the second half; win-win, you see.

Regarding the peppers. If you went to the greengrocer and asked for a pepper and there wasn't one, you'd have to go to the supermarket - and next time, you might go there in the first place rather than risk finding yourself unable to buy an item you wanted and wasting your time going to two shops. One can run out of things of course, especially if there's a sudden change in the weather (everyone wanted salad yesterday and we ran out of cucumbers), but there's a difference between "I've just sold the last one" at 3 o'clock and "We're not stocking them until the price goes down" at 9 am. You try to gauge demand and buy in what you need, to create as little waste as possible while not turning away customers. If Al put his mark-up on the peppers, that might put the customer off buying; a pepper that had cost 65p suddenly going up to £1.20 or whatever could make you decide to do without; and then half the box would end up being thrown away and wasted. Better to make and lose nothing than lose more than you make through wastage. Chuck-outs are put in boxes and go to an animal sanctuary, by the way; anything unsuitable is composted, and our chickens eat cabbage and lettuce leaves. And grapes. They like grapes. Pigs are very partial to a pineapple, you know - they play football with it until it falls apart, then eat it.

Back to the explanation.

So, you take the rough with the smooth. It's having customers and giving them a good product that matters most. Al decided early on to specialise in local and seasonal produce, as far as possible. Yes, there are many exceptions here - peppers for one - and not everyone on the green bandwagon understands that. I wrote sometime last year about the person who was perturbed at the distance bananas had travelled...I explained that bananas are not grown commercially anywhere in Europe, let alone Britain. Al was early in making this policy and it's paid off. He supports local growers, and one of his Norwich wholesalers is making great progress in sourcing all sorts of products in East Anglia now, including, at present, flowers (many of those sold by the two excellent local florists are Dutch) and vegetable plants. He also cheerily buys from people who have a glut in their garden - if you think of doing this with produce from your allotment, check your rental terms first, it may not be allowed.

Ooh, stop press! Al's website is up and running. Here is the link.

Here I sit all broken-hearted...

Can't remember what I was going to tell you. I'll burble for a bit, then I'll remember.

Al's splendid home-made paper bags are the hit of Yagnub! People offer to buy them and can hardly believe that he gives them away. Ro and Dilly were dubious when he started to make them, as the time he takes is out of proportion, they think, to their usefulness. I was enchanted from the start. I became all excited...it is true that I am noted for my enthusiasm about quite small matters. I won't post pictures and that, as his website will be up within the next week and I will then abandon the habit of a lunchtime and actually put up a permanent link. By the way, if anyone is ever hurt that I don't link to them when they link to me, I did explain it a while ago; I don't link because I like you all too much to choose. I read everyone's blog who comments on mine - even if I don't often comment, I read you - and I read a fair few who have never commented, or replied to my comments.

I've remembered, and how could I have forgotten the Talk of Yagnub! In the wee small hours of last night, a car drove along Mahsrae Street, failed to make the bend and, over-correcting, thwacked itself into the pub on said bend. The local constabulary were called out and found that the passenger had got out and legged it, but the driver was trapped. He had to be cut out and the rest of the night and the whole morning was spent in contemplating, measuring, gathering evidence (chalk marks on the road to prove it!!(!) ), working out what had happened (daft bloke drove too fast, crashed) and clearing up. Lots of sand on the road to mop up fuel and oil and the aforementioned, albeit in parenthesis, chalk marks dotted across to show the car's trajectory. The corner of the pub looks a bit bruised. It has been worked out that the car was travelling at something like 70 mph, which is quite unheard of in Norfolk; this is Suffolk which is only slightly racier.

I worked in the shop this afternoon, as Al and Dilly were doing something bee-related. The sunshine has made bees blissfully happy and they are calm and purposeful. Al and Dilly are deciding on the final siting for their hive - I've told them the best place, as BW and Mr BW have eyed up the land and told me (with reasons. Splendid). Many prices have gone up startlingly. Lemons, for example - what is it with lemons? Nine months ago, Al sold them at 6 for £1, or 20 pence each. They were the only item where the price had not changed in the five years he had owned the shop. He kept that price until he would have been selling at a loss, but now he has to sell lemons at 38p. Limes, which once were 35p, are now 25p, on the other hand. There is no sense in this that I can see. A few weeks ago, he sold peppers at £3.30 per kilo and made a profit. Suddenly, the wholesale price went up to £5.40, so that's what he's selling at. He makes no profit, he looks on it as part of the service until the price goes down again. A lady came in and asked for a green pepper; I apologised for the high price and told her 94p. "That's all right," she said, "Tesco's have got them at £1"

We sold out of lettuces, cucumbers, salad potatoes and Cornish new potatoes, though. And green peppers, as it happens.

Toadying, brooding and toddling

I've loaded on the photos, but haven't had time to look at them yet. However, I suggested that you might have PICTURES, so pictures you will have. One of them moves!!(!)

When the Sage found a fine young toad in the garden, I took it straight through to show the children. "Look at this" I squeaked excitedly. Dilly turned round with an interested expression ... "Wooah!" she said and stepped back, startled. "You should know by now what makes me excited enough to show Squiffany and Pugsley" I said. "Yes", resignedly, "last time you were this happy, you brought a snake skin in to show us."

"Frog, frog" observed Pugsley. I explained. "Toad, toad", he corrected himself and stroked the dear little chap's head. We looked at him carefully. His skin was dry and he crawled slowly over our hands. He had clear brown eyes, unexpectedly beautiful.
Afterwards, we put the toad under the box hedge. He had been remarkably good-natured about the whole episode which I appreciated, as it can't have been a great pleasure, except when I kissed him ... well, it works with frogs, it was done in a spirit of scientific curiosity. Nothing happened, though.

While we were all outside, I showed the children where a bantam had laid a clutch of eggs. We were shifting the pile of branches from the dodgy fir tree that had been cut down before it fell on the house, a few weeks ago, when we saw a beady eye - she didn't stir, just looked at us.

She's still there now, patiently sitting. Fortunately, we don't have skulking foxes here at present, as indicated by the numerous rabbits frolicking in the kitchen garden eating everything that puts its leaves above the ground.

And, just for the 'aah' factor, here's Pugsley.

No winks...

...let alone forty.

The chap involved in the emails rang today - he's quite oblivious that his manner comes close to insulting and is hurt because someone else was frosty with him yesterday over the matter. How fortunate that I chose to reply to what he should have said rather than what he actually said.

Gorgeous day again. I wonder if this is all the summer we'll get? Last year, we had summer in April - that was when I was in Cornwall cooling my toes in the sea - rather than in May, June, July or August. That it's hot now has no bearing at all on what it will be like for the rest of the summer.

Later, I'll get out my camera and put up the photos from Madrid. I didn't take many, actually, but I'll see if there's anything you would be delighted to look at.

Z sleeps again

Another one-and-a-half hours. A pity that it was between 1.30 and 3 am, and that this was my total night's sleep. I woke because I'd been lying on my hand, which had gone dead, and by the time it was revived I was wide awake. Ho hum.

The Sage has gone off to the dentist to have a new crown fitted. He's a bit gloomy.

I am too, as I had a sniffy reply to my mollifying (I'd hoped) email of yesterday, which included the phrase 'my principles will not accept the wool being pulled over the Committees eyes.' It wasn't. I've written again, setting out details that I, fortunately, jotted down yesterday and evidently he didn't, taken full responsibility, given a fuller explanation and apologised again, and asked what more he'd like me to do -politely, not aggressively. I'm slightly pissed off, but I won't show it at all because that won't help. The whole thing is trivial in itself, but his feelings aren't so I'm continuing to respect them

Damn bloody voluntary jobs. I wouldn't do this sort of thing for money, you know.

However, as always, there is good news, and excuse me going on about me, me, me (whoops, this is what I do anyway, isn't it?). My hip doesn't hurt at all and I put my trousers on effortlessly standing up (yeah, laugh, you'll be old one day) and didn't have to think about the height I drew my leg up to. I'm not sure what's gone right, and I'm not assuming it'll stay like that, but I'm certainly going to appreciate it while it lasts.

A bit of work in the greenhouse before it's too hot, then back to the computer, then babysitting Pugsley this afternoon. I must fit in a visit to the town for veggies and exercise, too. And maybe forty winks, later?

Z is taller!!(!)

I ventured into heels today. They weren't high, two inches or less, but I haven't been able to wear even that height for months and it was such a pleasure. I didn't limp more than usual and it didn't hurt and I felt like me again. I'm short enough as it is, and wearing flat shoes all the time makes me feel glum. It's like - well. whatever your regular finishing touch is; perfume or mascara or, I don't know, trimming your beard or wearing pants or something. I may pay for it tomorrow, but I don't care.

At the committee meeting wot I chair, this morning, there was a matter that I did, admittedly, push through - not going to go into it all for the protection of the innocent, but it was for good reasons. The person who had raised the matter has written to me (cc-ing the secretary) saying that I was hostile. Oh dear. I thought I was merely forceful. I have, of course, apologised profusely, said I didn't feel in the least hostile and am upset (I am) to find he found me so, and explained why I acted as I did. I hope he's mollified - I didn't retract what I said, but accepted that he felt overridden. I like to be told though - if he hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have known how he felt, so it's better that he did. I must remember to tone down, however - I know I can be overemphatic on occasion, but usually people are amused rather than upset by that and I merely embarrass myself rather than others.

Oh well. At least I have my luggage back. As I went on into London on the way home from Madrid, friends took my suitcase home with them and, not having a car, I didn't go and fetch it and S brought it to today's meeting. Almost afraid to open it - a couple of weeks for used clothes to stew isn't a jolly thought.

I went to have my hair cut today, and mused on names. There were four staff members there; and it occurred to me that each of their names was absolutely typical for their age - Susan, in her 50s, Deborah, in her 40s, Joanne, just 30 and Laura, 20-something. Not that any of those names are not used at any time, but that some names reach a peak of popularity over a few years - when I was at school there were 4 Andrews out of a dozen or so boys, and as many Elizabeths*; though as we were all born in the year of the Queen's accession or coronation, that is not surprising.

* Among the girls, need I state?

Z sleeps

Oh, dear. Old age has surely arrived when a Bank Holiday gives an excuse for an afternoon nap. Is it worth giving an excuse? I had been out in the hot sun and we're not used to much heat at this time of the year. More than two hours of sunshine exhausts us.

Worse, it was more than the 10-minute catnap that refreshes without taking time out of the day. I had my head down for the best part of an hour and a half. When I woke up, Ro was still working on his computer - the frightening thing is that he was actually working; day job sort of thing. Not work that he would have been doing in the office, but improving his website-writing technique. Actually, he's been spending a fair bit of the weekend working on a website for his brother - Al, who was so sniffy about my blog a couple of weeks ago, has decided to go public for the sake of greenness. I'll put up a link when the website is up and then both my sons will be outed. After all the lengths I've gone to, to keep their identities private. Hah!

Still well behind with the veg garden. I can't plant anything out unless it's netted, and I haven't enough netting. It's been too hot to work in the greenhouse, so I didn't do any work there until 6.30 this evening. The Sage, darling man, took care of dinner and brought me chilled wine, which has upped his Merit score considerably. When he reaches the end of the column, he will receive his due reward. He's quite excited already.

The good news is that I've finally caught up on the 1000-plus posts waiting for me when I came home with my new computer a week ago. You will have my full attention from now on.

I've finished the first book of the Book Binge month. It was a re-read, actually, but I haven't read it for almost forty years. Bury me in my Boots, by Sally Trench, made quite an impression on me when I read it in the late '60s. In her teens, she decided to live and work among down-and-outs in London and did so by simply joining them, in the first place. When I was a teenager, beggars simply did not exist outside London and other large cities and, although I was certainly aware of drop-outs, I hadn't, at the age of fifteen, ever met any. Sally was and is a remarkable woman and this is still a powerful, although enigmatic (for she doesn't tell you anything about the other side of her life), book, with a shocking and dramatic ending.

Oh, update (10 pm) TV continuity announcer "is your sexual behaviour normal?" I, who was innocently waiting to watch QI, said "Ew!", startled. Ro said "But this is the BBC, isn't it?" indignantly.

Pride comes...

...etc, etc, yeah, yeah.

I only received the hymns for this morning at 6 o'clock last evening. I hadn't been due to play at all, but the first Sunday organist's wife is just out of hospital, so of course he doesn't want to leave her. It was also my turn on the coffee rota.

I had a phone call at 9 o'clock this morning that added to my worry level somewhat, and I didn't leave for the papers until 9.45. Quickly whipped into Londis for some milk (for the coffee), into the papershop and I was in church just after 10. I didn't know one of the hymns, but I sightread - that was all right. Practised them all, went and filled the urn, put out tables and chairs, spooned coffee into the cafétères, fetched mugs and plates, put out biscuits, unlocked back door (fire exit), then did various bits of churchwardenish duty and looked out music for the voluntaries (the music played at the start and end of the service and during Communion). It was ten to eleven. John arrived. He looked puzzled to be the first in the congregation - the sidesman had arrived, but that was all. However, by 10.59, there were 19 people there.

I played good*, you know? The first hymn, the one I'd had to learn, had eight verses. Eight!!(!) I counted and sang "One one one one one one one one. One-one oneone one one one one-on-one" etc (imagine the repeats until eight, when I stopped counting). Second hymn, a favourite tune, though tricky, went with aplomb. Another good one for the third. A slurp of wine and a wafer and lo! My sins were forgiven (because, of course, I truly repented) and then the fourth. I played, and it was a long one, with six verses of eight lines. I finished with a flourish ... but the congregation didn't. Bugger. I'd relaxed a verse too early.

Oh well. The coffee was good, and strong. I didn't eat any biscuits - would I? I have eschewed biscuits. I'll tell you when the first stone has gone, but not quite yet. Maybe next month.

Bank Holiday tomorrow. Have a splendid one.

*No, to be grammatically correct and say 'well' would give the wrong impression. I bluffed well, but I'm not a good organist - so I played good.

Z has a Wardrobe Malfunction

Advice to young bloggers - always keep a bulldog clip about your person. It may save your modesty one day.

It was mid-afternoon and the saleroom was not too full. There were enough helpers to look after the customers viewing the sale, so I went along to the loo while I still could - another half-hour and I wouldn't have time. I undid the side zip on my trousers.

Afterwards, as I started to do them up again, the thread at the bottom of the zip unravelled and it disintegrated; that is, the two sides came apart. I tried to fix the fastener on again without success. I removed the trousers, sat down and spent several minutes trying to put it together. In the end, I gave up and started to rootle in my bag (how fortunate that I'd brought it, meaning to use the comb and lipstick) hoping to find a couple of safety pins. I did find a paperclip and, more usefully, a bulldog clip too.

The trousers had no top fastening, just the zip. I bunched the waistband up enough to fold over, attached the clip firmly and peered. There was a bit of a gape lower down, but fortunately the top I was wearing was long enough to hide the sight of my pants - which were, in any case, pretty and lacy enough to not embarrass me more than the fact that they might, otherwise, be glimpsed. I muttered bad-temperedly about the poor workmanship of the Udaipur tailor who'd made them in the first place.

The Sage had noticed my absence. "Car all right?" he asked cheerily. Oh yes, that was another thing. A year or so back, the car park we usually use had been made short-term, with a maximum of three hours. So I checked the multi-storey. It closes at 9 pm. That is no use to me at all, as I might not be able to go and move it before 9 o'clock, so I have to use the short-term one and feed the meter, which I shouldn't do but have no option. By the time I'm doing it, there is plenty of room so I repark, just to show willing, and buy another ticket including the overnight one. Ah, but then I read it. 'Overnight' means up to 11 pm. So, let's say I arrive in Lowestoft town centre, intending to hit the shops, carry on out to dinner in the evening and then enjoy the night-time social scene. I can't. I have to keep reparking. Presumably, after 11, that means finding a parking place on the street. Maybe the powers that be in Lowestoft don't get out a great deal and like to have early nights.

Apart from that, how did I enjoy the auction? Splendid, thank you. It went very well and the books balanced at the end, which is always an exciting moment.

Going, going

But not gone yet. The sale's not for another seven hours, but we're all packed up and ready to go. It'll take half an hour to get there, an hour or so to set up and then I'll be working my little socks off until 7 o'clock when I can relax and enjoy the sale, whilst the Sage does the skilled work.

In the meantime, we're having a light and early lunch of sausages (yes, darlings, I'm such an oik that I'm eating and typing at the same time), roasted red peppers and potatoes and I've made lots of food up to sustain us.

Dinner last night was delightful, by the way. Lovely sea trout, new potatoes from Cornwall, Norfolk asparagus and Suffolk spring cabbage. And a French apple.

I'll just check the Sage's emails, then I must unplug the computer, as I need the extension lead.

Be seeing you (please imagine the little wave/salute that The Prisoner used to give, because I'm doing it Right Now with the hand I'm not typing with).

A Grand Day, and I missed it

I noticed the other day that I was writing my 998th post and meant to remark upon the thousandth. I forgot. This is post number 1003. Unfortunately, no. 1000 referred to the dog being sick.

I've spent the last hour clearing my desk and dealing with things that had accumulated in the past few weeks. The new computer is now sitting splendidly on the cleared desk instead of the table in the drawing room where it has reposed since Monday. Actually, I rather liked it there. It was very comfortable, relaxing on the sofa and typing, although I admit that I didn't get much work done. It's more purposeful here. The main reason for bringing it in, however, was to plug it in to the printer ... don't think I wasn't tempted simply to take the printer through there and have everything around me (including a small fridge with beer in), but I resisted. There is a small part of me that isn't, at heart, a bloke.

More to come, I expect. I'm just off into town for food. The fishmonger will be on the market and we're out of bread and we've eaten all the vegetables.

Later The 'bloke' remark wasn't meant in any way as a criticism, nor a description of all men, by the way, and certainly not an insult - as I implied, it describes me pretty well on the whole.

I've bought a splendid sea trout for dinner, first of the season. I went to the bakery for a loaf and looked at the price as it was being wrapped up - couldn't read it at all. I looked with one eye, then the other, then realised I'd forgotten to put my contact lens in this morning. Fortunately, I can see well enough to cycle I hadn't realised at all, which just demonstrates how unobservant I am.

There was a woman in the wholefood shop buying a whole basketful of stuff, over £40-worth. Staples; butter and cheese and milk and cereals and nuts and the like. I noticed that the organic cornflakes were labelled 'gluten free' as if this was unusual. Aren't all cornflakes gluten free? It is an awfully good little shop. I buy more and more of my general foodstuffs there.

My car is back, by the way. Mike is quite sure that he's put everything right now and he says it's running beautifully. He says that he's not surprised that I liked it (before all this nonsense came up) as it's a pleasure to drive. "I put my foot down a bit" he said "as I was coming out of a junction and there was a lorry coming in the distance, and I was up to 75 before I knew it." That's miles, not kilometres, per hour, by the way. I hope there's not a speeding ticket in the post; it'll be embarrassing to have to pass it on to him. However, I know what he means, not that I drive over the limit at all, ever.

Z will spend next month with Head in Book

Please let Mary P know if you're joining in.

Music to my ears, but preferably nothing else

I've finally got around to clicking on iTunes, and even now, my music is being copied onto the computer, all two thousand-odd items. It's vastly cheering, as I can't any longer be bothered to fetch CDs and put them in a player, but always play music on the computer or iPod, and have been missing it badly, especially as my ears are still distracted by the slight whirr of the Mac, which is at a different pitch from the previous machine. Macs are quiet but not soundless and I find 'wrong' noise very intrusive.

For this reason, one of my pet hates is windchimes. I sit in a friend's garden on a pleasant summer's day and all I can focus on is the tinkle of unnecessary bits of metal in the breeze. I'm not good on artificial 'water features', as they're called nowadays, either. The sound of running water is fine if it's a stream or waterfall, but the splash of a little fountain or other pumped water makes me tense, until I manage to tune it out. My mother was fond of clocks and had three in one room. They all ticked at a different pitch and speed and I hated it, never mind the cacophony of the strikes, which were all slightly out of synch with each other - just as well, I suppose, as at least it reduced the potential noise level.

It's deliberate artificial noise, I think, as I don't mind the sound of animals, general sounds, people, at all. Music is fine, but not as background - I listen to it, so I don't care for the bland sort of stuff that is often played in public places. I'm rather the same with scents. I can't stand air fresheners. A pong is one thing, but a pong partly masked by artificial flower or fruit or pine scent is unpleasant. If there was no bad smell to start with, why add a cheap and nasty one?

Years ago, I went to the theatre one night and was miserable because of the olfactory blaring of numerous cheap perfumes. The next night I went to a concert at the Aldeburgh Festival and was hardly made any happier by the range of expensive ones that all the women were wearing. Since then, out of consideration for others, I have not worn perfume in a crowded place. A woman sat next to me on the train on Saturday wearing a perfume I didn't like. I was unpleasantly aware of it for the entire journey.

Again, I like natural scents. I like to savour the air when I arrive at a destination - each place has its own flavour and, as long as it isn't next to a sewage farm or a sugar beet factory, I don't mind what the smell is. But adding extra, artificial and pointless smells jangles my senses.

Thanks to Hey Bartender, I have developed a regrettable taste for certain styes of country music. So the first track to be played on the new Mac has the honour to be ... Stoned, by the Old 97's.

Actually, talking about my favourite bartender, I hadn't read her blog for three weeks, and have just been catching up. She is brilliant. Do visit. I've been chortling happily for the past ten minutes.

Watchunder!

According to Greavsie, cats walk backwards while they are being sick. Dogs don't. They stand still and then, belatedly, go to the door and ask to be let outside.

Tilly is rarely ill. I have known it - Christmas day one year, when she had evidently nipped across the field and raided a neighbour's bin for the fatty remains of the pan juices. that was a good'un. She was so taken by surprise that she didn't have time to get off the sofa, though she did at least lean over so most of it went on the floor. Today's offering was only a few minutes after she'd finished her dinner; I expect a hair was caught in her throat because she was anxious afterwards, for she is a polite little dog and never one to waste food, but not ill. Now, she's curled up next to me looking as demure as usual.

We've got an explosion in the rabbit population. There is nothing up in the vegetable garden as they've eaten all seedlings as they emerge. I'm afraid that this probably means an outbreak of myxomatosis in a year or so, as that's what happens when the burrows get overcrowded. We used to have rabbit-proof netting round the veg garden, but it has been gradually removed as it hasn't really been needed for some years.

Any suggestions as to what I should replace my car with (another car, obviously. I am not cycling to Norwich and beyond)? I don't care about cars, so matters of design and technicalities are a matter of indifference to me. Mike, who is splendid at finding cars at a low price - Ro's cost around £400 and has lasted for 2 years with no problems so far - doesn't quite get the notion that I rather want something less than 15 years old, so I might have to look myself and I'm awfully, awfully bored at the thought. The only thing that consoles me in my car debacle is that I cannot lose more money than the original owners, as I paid less than they lost on their 3 year old car, so I don't want a new one. I need it to be comfortable as I ache enough already, with infinitely changeable seat positions as I'm short, like to sit bolt upright but with room to move my legs. I want a smaller car than I have now, but not too small - a hatchback or estate so that I can fit in stuff - with good legroom in the back as most passengers are of an age to not fold up very small. Mike will suggest something reliable but ancient, but I want power steering and central locking and a good CD player, which is not something he'd think matters. You see, hardly technical. Most of all, reliable.

May I mention, by the way, in reference to the horrid (it did bristle a bit, as it was fresh) initial subject matter of this post, that the Sage did all the clearing up? First he approached with a shovel, then he came along with a cloth and washing-up liquid to wash the carpet. I merely wrung my hands and thanked him. I'm good at that.

Z chose a Mac - well you knew I would

So, the Sage thinks it's so good that he came along with a wad of cash in his pocket (no vulgar comments, please, darlings; he's always pleased to see me), Ro thinks I am a slave to style and Al thinks it's a poser's dream come true. I am happy. I have decided to treat my new Mac as a portable and so am now sitting comfortably on the sofa rather than in the office, with the computer - I don't say screen because the screen is the computer) several feet away as it's so large that my little brain is overwhelmed at the armslength distance that I usually use. I will probably use my cordless mouse; this one is fine but I like the cordless one, but I haven't decided yet about the keyboard. This is small but comfortable to use and I may keep the other in reserve in case I spill my wine - which is not a euphemism - but I have found that I sometimes type the wrong number because it's slightly cramped and they aren't where I think they will be.

I went to school today for a music lesson in a class I haven't visited before. Each Year 9 class has quite a different character. This contains the humorous lot. "Had a good day, so far?" asked the teacher with a good nature. Various murmurings, including "I look forward so much to Mondays, because I get to go to school." One boy had arrived this morning, but had to go home "He was as white as a ginger bloke can be", commented a lad, who was a ginger himself, so can't be accused of gingism - okay, maybe you had to have heard this one, but it was funny.

The group I stayed with was musical and enthusiastic, but there was something of a clash of personalities. After the lesson, I explained to the teacher what the background to the lack of co-operation was. "At least", I said silver-liningly, "they were disagreeing about the music; it wasn't personal." A Year 13 student, who had come in to speak to the teacher, chortled, not unsympathetically.

I should be working Right Now. But hey, I've said hello to hardly anyone for the past three weeks. I must have hundreds of RSS feeds waving at me for my attention. I'll spend the rest of the evening catching up with you all. May not leave too many comments for a while though, and if not, excuse me please - so much to do, even if there is, in the long run, plenty of time.

That reminds me, I'm not going to the meeting in Liverpool next month - I'll ring up Head Office tomorrow and tell them not to expect me. I haven't got time. What a loss to Z's range of life experience.

Lazy Sunday

A good London visit. The bus was waiting, with an inspector on board who was patiently answering questions from all the East Anglian yokels who wondered which stop to go to, so I settled down as we set off through the streets of the City, along Threadneedle Street to the Old Lady and the Iron Duke and westwards towards Charing Cross. The exhibition was splendid, and I'd recommend it - it was portrait photographs from Vanity Fair from 1913 to the present day, although the magazine was not published between 1936 and 1973. Fabulous photos from people of the day, from Monet and Augustus John to DH Lawrence and Chaplin, Anita Loos to Josephine Baker; later, Babe Ruth, Jesse Owens, Cary Grant and Jean Harlow. Later photos gave more away of some of their subjects than, perhaps, they realised - because there was no need for them to be so stagey, it revealed a lot if they were. Liza Minelli put her shoulders forward to show off her collarbones, but it gave an awkward hang to her biceps and the lit cigarette drooping from her lip didn't add any beauty. Scarlett Johannson and Keira Knightley were photographed naked together; while SJ was relaxed in her nudity, KK haughtily disregarded hers. There was the famous Testino portrait of Princess Diana and Prince William's, by the same artist, looking pleased with himself. Margaret Thatcher, in 1991, had a fabulous complexion and Miles Davis, arms crossed to nearly hide his face, had a frankly gorgeous body, even in middle age.

Afterwards, we had a long lunch and chatted and then went out separate ways home. I didn't sleep much last night - went to bed early as I was tired, slept briefly and heavily and then was awake for the next three hours. I meant to pot up plants this afternoon, but slept instead and revived for the evening.

Tomorrow, off to inspect computers. I'm taking the Sage with me, because I don't like driving his car, and Ro is meeting us to give advice which, if I end up with a Mac, I'll have not followed. Unless he is more impressed than he expects.

Z rambles

I felt a little het-up by the end of the day. I biked in to the school for a Year 9 music lesson and felt tired. When I got home, though, the children were in the garden on their climbing frame, which is a substantial wooden one with a house at the top and a staircase, which the Sage and Al made last year. They saw me and Squiffany called me over. "Granny, granny, granny" remarked Pugsley with enthusiasm and his sister came across the garden to meet me. I cheered up.

This afternoon, I had a governors' meeting and had a couple of long conversations afterwards which were illuminating, but meant I didn't arrive home until half past six. At least it's downhill on the way home, because I had been almost too tired to pedal up the hill to the school. A week off from cycling and I've lost all my strength. "Too late for tea" said the Sage, pouring me a glass of wine. I prepared a dish of celery, carrots and cucumber, because I was vastly hungry, and went next door to read and reply to emails on Dilly's laptop.

Tomorrow, I'm going to meet my sister in London. The plan is to have a long and boozy lunch, go to an exhibition - there's something she wants to see at the National Portrait Gallery and then I'll catch the 4 o'clock train home again. Actually, we'll probably go to the exhibition before lunch, as we may not have time and be too pissed (in the English sense) afterwards.

I'm writing this on Ro's laptop. He has a plastic crate which held vegetables to put it on when it's on his lap to raise it to a comfortable level and not to get hot, but to fit it on my knees I'm having to lean right back in the chair. It's not uncomfortable, but it feels odd as I always sit bolt upright at the computer. In fact, I sit on a stool rather than a chair as I never lean back.

Ro is doing a website for Al - the boy is endlessly good-natured, as he does this all week for a living and we all want him to do things for us in his spare time. It'll be about vegetables, of course. And paper bags. He has perfected some splendid paper bags made out of newspaper, which he makes in odd moments when there aren't any customers in the shop. Ro does the Sage's website now, I don't think I've mentioned it - it's here. D'you like it?

Dave suggests I don't write for three weeks while he is away, so that he doesn't have to spend hours catching up on his return. He's so charming. Because, obviously, the implication is that if I do write, he'll read it all, however long it takes and however much I ramble.

Z prepares to throw the Sage's money at all problems

So, it's the motherboard and it's more expensive to fix than it's worth. On the other hand, the stuff that I've never bothered to back up (yes I know) is still intact and Ro will be able to download it. So all I have to decide now is laptop or desktop, Mac or PC. First decision is made; the length of time I sit at the computer, I need to be as comfortable as possible. I can't really justify having both, so a desktop it will be. The second question, I haven't decided yet. I suspect I will end up staying with Macs, as it will require the least decision-making and very little adjustment to use, but I realise that this is quite possibly more sentiment than sense and that I could quite easily learn my way round a PC.

The car should be back soon, but then I'll sell it. I'll forgive something breaking down once, but not twice. It's larger than I need and expensive to run and I don't want it any more.

Last night was the AGM of our church. All 6 churches in our group hold their AGM at the same time; we have the first part of the meeting together and then divide into parishes. Our chairman (the Rector is the chairman, but can't go to every meeting of course so there is a lay vice-chair as well) had to attend another church's meeting, so asked me to chair, and then I had a phone call from the secretary saying that she thought she was coming down with flu, so I took minutes as well.

I'm afraid I did nearly all the talking. I was awfully bossy. Yes I know, darlings, you will find this almost impossible to believe, but it's true. From reading out the minutes of the last meeting (I explained that it was not worth printing out copies for everyone as they had already been approved) to taking nominations for the PCC, to reading out my Churchwarden's Annual Report, I took over. I was a little self-conscious, but it didn't stop me.

I was remarkably good and cycled to the meeting, having already been into town during the day, although it was quite some way. Coming home was rather more effort as it involved cycling up Bridge Street, which has a steepish little hill at the top; and it was nearly 10 o'clock at night by then. The battery in my front light was starting to get a bit dim, and as I hit the road out of town, I had half a mile without lights. Luckily, there are white lines in the middle of the road or I'd really have had to get out the batteries that I, being a sensible and provident woman, always carry in a pannier, and change them. I'll get a better light by next winter anyway; this one is bright, but such a narrow beam that cycling along a dark road involves more sense of direction than accurate knowledge of my whereabouts.

The village school, where I used to be governor for 18 years, has just received the highest possible evaluation in its Ofsted inspection. I'm so glad. It is a wonderful school and being part of it, and having done some quite useful things there, is something I'm proud of. There has been a great deal of staff illness in the last 3 years (all quite unrelated to each other) and, indeed, two staff members have died, but somehow they have all pulled together and not only coped but reassured the children and kept spirits,as well as standards, high.

Computers and cars are useful when they work (pah), but one has to keep things in perspective. None of it matters after all, it's all about people and relationships really.

Which reminds me, I had a most gratifying welcome from the Sage when I got home. Flowers, champagne, English asparagus, a steak which he cooked just as I like it, rare, although he doesn't. I was leaning against a cupboard in the kitchen munching a lettuce leaf when he approached. "Am I in the way?" I asked, before hastily swallowing my lettuce leaf as I realised that he was all set for a Clinch.

We went next door to say hello, and Dilly opened another bottle of champagne which they just happened to have in the fridge. What sensible people we all are.

Z will tell you about Madrid soon

I spent most of the morning on Dilly's computer, then took care of Pugsley for a couple of hours. He woke from his nap, then fell asleep again on my lap, so I took the opportunity to doze for a while myself. Afterwards, he sorted out some coloured blocks and shapes. I was impressed by the correct naming of 'blue' and 'star', but he got a bit carried away and started naming all the rest orange, which wasn't quite so accurate. Then we talked about animals. He knows a lot of animals, although he thought a camel was a donkey. "Elephant" he said, and was right. "Trunk", he pointed out. I told him about the time I rode on an elephant and had to grab a rope and climb up its leg. Then I remembered the time I was being driven through Madras and saw a chap riding an elephant along the pavement. They stopped and looked in a shop window. "It was remarkable" I said. "Remarkable", he agreed. "Scary".

Ro is being patient, but he wants his computer back. Hasta manana.

Z drops in

I'm home but still borrowing computers as mine has only gone to be fixed today. So all I have for you right now are a couple of quotes.

Heard in Islington: smartly dressed mother to small child - 'Do you need to do a wee-wee?' Small child - 'Nyeah'. 'You must tell me when you do, Douglas, rather than holding your willy like that.'

Said by Sue, in the Plaza Major, Madrid, after a very large gin and tonic:- 'It's not as posh as the Place de Vosges, but the Place de Vosges is not paved.' Her diction was perfect, and this is, now, the approved test for drunkenness.

Z's off

The good news is that Ro has found a program that is downloading files from my hard drive onto his computer, so if the worst comes to the worst, at least I'll have all the stuff, like most of the photos and rather more other things than I care to admit to, that wasn't backed up, even if it's all relabelled and will take hours of sorting. This is a belt, braces and baler twine precaution in case we can't get it all back as it should be.

Ro is being immensely kind and has taken a lot of time and trouble which I really appreciate.

The lecturer today couldn't find where he was supposed to park because it's a little side road leading to a private car park, and his SatNav didn't recognise it. Although he had written instructions, he's not the first person I've found to rely so heavily on SatNav that they can't follow any other directions. We finally tracked him down and lurched heavily into the theatre at 11.05 for the 11 o'clock lecture. I nipped up on the stage, where Diane was entertaining the members, and explained and gave out the notices in so animated a manner that I managed to keep the lecturer waiting for a couple of minutes. He overran a bit and by the time of my vote of thanks I managed to lose the thread a bit and gave one of my less coherent utterances. I was exhausted by the end and I expect he was too.

However, I've packed, arranged to stay with friends tomorrow night, because I've got a day trip to London tomorrow (Tutenkhamun exhibition) and am off to Madrid on Thursday. I'll be home on Tuesday evening, all being well. I have a remarkably small case, well under British Airway's cabin luggage limit, and it isn't even full. Somehow, I just don't feel like having any unnecessary clutter.

By the way, if you're waiting for a third mechanical thing to go wrong (car and computer), it already has. My daughter's oven thermostat has gone wrong. In fact, her flat is falling apart (not literally, but there are several things) just nicely in time for her to have the bother of getting them put right before she moves out.

Have a good week, sorry I haven't visited you all lately.

xx

Happy Birthday Wink!

What I didn't mention is that my car is out of action as well as the computer. It's all a bit bothersome. There is, as ever, a good side to this, as I'm going on holiday, so I'll have to leave the Sage to sort out the car and Ro the computer; that is, I won't have to.

But enough of that - it's only machines and it'll be put right one way or another, although probably rather expensively. The important thing is my sister's birthday. Yes, my lovely sister Wink is 60 today - she won't mind me saying so as she has had major birthday parties and everyone already knows.

I was really sorry not to be with her this last weekend, though in one way it's just as well, as undoubtedly my car would have broken down on the way. I missed an excellent party though.

Z is quiet

A bit of a problem on the computer front, which is rather a bugger as I still have a couple of pieces of work unfinished which I can't get at. May be back in a day or two, may not. I'm borrowing Ro's laptop at the moment.

Z goes to a Quiz!!(!)

Little did I know, as a dedicated Hanna Barbera cartoon watcher in the early 60s, that knowing that Mr 'I hate meeces to pieces' Jinks was the cat that chased Pixie and Dixie comes in useful in quizzes.

I didn't know I remembered the name of the computer in Red Dwarf.

It was surprising how many people didn't know, in a Food and Drink round, what deglazing is.

It was even more surprising that we won - with two rounds to go, we were a quarter of a point in the lead. It was BBC TV comedy and Trivia that let us romp home.

We have a wooden plaque! With little shields, on one of which will be etched our name (that is, the name of our parish)!! Not only that, and rather embarrassingly, we won £10!!(!) - which we decided to put in the church plate on Sunday.

Z's face can be Read Like A Book

I went to lunch today for a friend's birthday lunch - she was 87 last week. There were 18 of us, mostly old friends - there was only one couple I hadn't met before - and we all enjoyed ourselves very much.

It was a lovely spring day and I trotted along Castle Meadow with an anxious frown on my face as I worked out what to say in the awkward phone call I've got to make within the next few days - can't do it at the weekend, it'll have to wait until Monday. Someone accosted me - not like that, it turned out to be a chum and we had a brief chat while I reassured him that I wasn't actually sunken in gloom, but that I always look like that when I'm thinking.

Towards the end of lunch, there was a torrential downpour of sleet and we were all, in our light clothes, rather dismayed. It had stopped when we left, but rained as I walked back to the car. I couldn't run as I can't run, and besides I was wearing new shoes for the first time (not the first time I'd ever worn new shoes, just those ones except for trying them on in the shop)* and I was carrying a flower arrangement as well, so I simply got wet. I won the flowers - a helpful friend of the Birthday Girl had done table decorations and BG put names in a metaphorical, or should that be virtual, hat and mine was one of the names drawn out.

I was wearing, by the way, a cast-off skirt that my mother gave me about ten years ago - I still wear some of her redundant clothes - but that I never wore as it was not quite 'me' at the time, and then I grew out of it anyway. Now I've grown back into it both in size (though in a reduced sense) and age, so I hauled it out of the wardrobe and put it on. Charity shops don't do too well out of me as my clothes rarely get too worn out for me to carry on using them and if they don't fit now, well, sooner or later...

Earlier, I bobbed into the Co-op to spend £40 and thus gain a 4p-off-per-litre** token for petrol. A man was collecting for charity - properly licensed, badge and all - and I said I'd give him some money when I came out as I only had £20 notes. When I returned, I fumbled in my purse, emptied out the change and put it in the tin. "You look like you'd be fun to have around!" he said unwisely. I probably looked startled. "I mean, you looked cheerful and friendly, I noticed when you came in,' he dug harder. He only meant to be friendly, it wasn't a chat-up line - but a bit naive to say it quite in that way.

Another £60 on petrol, four weeks after the last time. Hmm.


*It has come to my notice that I often don't make myself clear; I'm attempting to rectify this.

** 'cough, cough'

Z does not have an early night

I arrived home from dinner and did a few things and chatted to the Sage and then just sat here listening to music and writing. I decided to have an earlyish night, but it was a bit too early, as I'd wake in the small hours if I was asleep much before midnight. Then Ro came and chatted a bit while he was getting his lunch ready and the Sage asked me to let Tilly out before I went to bed, so I said I'd only be a few minutes and asked Ro when he was going for a bath. He said at half past, at which time I realised it was nearly half past eleven, which isn't very early, and now it's ten to twelve and I haven't let Tilly out yet nor, of course, in again and locked up and so I won't be going to bed early after all, since I won't sleep if I don't have a bath and wind down a bit.

Goodnight

Lucky some people are organised

Honestly, some people can be quite inconsiderate. It's my sister's birthday on Monday, so I thought it was quite helpful of me to arrange delivery of her present to her workplace for tomorrow, as I know she's taking the day of her birthday off and it's always a nuisance to have to toddle down to the post office to pick up parcels. I rang her, to check the address.

"Oh, I'm taking the day off tomorrow too."

What? Really, didn't it occur to her that I leave things as late as possible - but, on the hand, not to the very last minute? Doesn't she know, after all this time, for she's known me all my life and most of hers, that I rely on people doing what I expect although I reserve the right to du different* myself?

Anyway, it's all right (it always is) because she's going into town on Saturday to go the hairdresser so can pop into the office and pick it up.

I had a phone call from the electricity chappie, who was down at the church, wanting to make an appointment to put in a replacement meter. After a brief chat, I suggested that the best thing would be to lend him a key to the room where the meter is - the church itself is always open and I leapt with awkward agility on my bike and went to meet him and show him around.

Yes, I looked at his ID before entrusting him with the key.

I noticed that I used my most professional helpful manner, to the extent that I remembered his name and used it when saying goodbye (you think this always happens? My memory is rubbish). Natural charm would have been quite sufficient, but I was doing the full "it's my pleasure."

*this is what we do in Norfolk. It's our motto.

El is my Little Darling

So although there is no problem, it has been decided that one more scan will be done as a final check and, as it's the day after I return home from holiday, my daughter has invited me to go with her. So we'll get back from Madrid on the evening of the 21st and, instead of going back to Norwich with the rest of my party, I'll abandon my luggage - pfft - and head for El and Phil's flat and stay the night with them.

This is all vastly exciting. When I was expecting Ro, scans were just coming in and I had one done but it didn't show much except that there was something wriggling in there and one wasn't routinely offered a picture. It's very thoughtful of El to ask me and I'm thrilled.

I've had a couple of busy days with meetings and have been given extra work to do with no chance to catch up on the backlog. I'm giving myself until 9 o'clock to do what I can and then taking the rest of the evening off. Tomorrow, I have a free morning and then am looking after Al's shop in the afternoon and out in the evening, and on Friday I'm pretty busy. Some intervening deadlines, but all must be done by Monday night as I then run out of time - Tuesday afternoon is for wondering what I'm going to take on holiday and wishing that all my nicest clothes didn't have to be handwashed and carefully ironed. I have taken the precaution, however, of buying some new clothes, *just in case* I don't get around to it.

Z is emotional...

...in a happy way. El has just sent photos of her baby and there's a lovely profile with the features clearly shown.

Dilly and I were talking and she said it made her feel quite tearful too. "If it were a friend's baby, I'd be interested and pleased, but I wouldn't feel like this," she said. "It's different when it's family, isn't it?"

And it is, so I won't go on about it here - though I won't promise not to show you a picture when the baby is born.

Z loses the Plot

I'm plugging away at my list, which I mentioned the other day, and I'm actually doing quite well with it. A friend came to stay the night - she had to come to Cambridge, so it wasn't far off her route (we're about an hour and a half from Cambridge and she lives about 3 hours drive both from there and from us). I'd made a kedgeree the day before, so that I wouldn't have to spend valuable chatting time cooking while she was here.

This morning, knowing I had a whole lot to do, she went into town to do some shopping and I prepared lunch for oneish. She finally rolled back about two o'clock, admitting that she'd lost track of time and had received a parking ticket as a result. She brought a box of chocolates, amongst other presents, and congratulated me on my weight loss - not quite thought through there, I suggest. I have given them to Ro and asked him to keep them well out of my sight.

I'm feeling mildly hysterical because of multi-tasking, which is taxing me to an absurd level and makes me feel at least my age (maybe older, but how am I to know what that feels like?). One vital item hasn't been touched yet and I haven't picked up the clarinet, and am too drunk (I'm not drunk, but have to be entirely sober to play) to do it this evening. However, I'm doing well otherwise. Sadly, I have a meeting tomorrow morning which will result in more work, and one in the afternoon which I hope will not, or not much. Of the 9 items I mentioned, 6 are done and one is more than half done. "course, there were things I didn't mention...

It took me three hours to complete a reply to one email because I kept having to move on to other things, and when I finally pressed send it said I'd been signed out and I'd have to send it again, whoops, they'd lost it. I didn't know whether it had gone or not as, I discovered, it was in my sent rather than draft box. Why do they do it? Efficiency is all I ask for. I sent the bugger again with an apology if it was received twice.

Anyway, it snowed again this morning and is really quite cold now. I've left the heating on in the greenhouse for the last two days, but at least a lot of seedlings are up. I'll go and breathe on them tomorrow - breath is awfully good for plants, I find.

Haven't sorted out holiday insurance yet. Oh damn.

They said it might snow

I didn't think it was likely. But they were right.

Z is Startled by a Flap

I woke this morning, after a slightly disturbed night (the Sage was restless and kept rolling over, taking the bedclothes with him), to the sound of a bird in the chimney. I lay dozily listening for a while. Not a pigeon, nor a little bird. A dove at a pinch, otherwise blackbird or starling size. At last, I got up, drew the curtains on one side of the room, one curtain on the other and opened the window, and then realised that the sound didn't come from the chimney at all, but from the attic.

I don't ever go in that attic. I think my wedding dress is in there, but it's housed many generations of mice by now I expect. There is, I know a copy of The Swimming Pool Library by Alan Hollingsworth which, at the time of printing, was a book I didn't care for my then very young children to read so I was obliged to hide it, and it's never emerged.

But I moved the box of Christmas decorations from the third step and climbed the stairs. At the top, a starling was flapping desperately at the glass and didn't fly away at my approach. I grabbed, caught one wing and was thoroughly pecked after three despairing squawks, before the bird resigned itself to imminent destruction. Carefully carrying it, I held it at the window and it successfully flew away.

Once I was dressed, I spent the morning typing (and reading a few blogs, hem, hem)and then made a few phone calls. The Sage came home. "I had to shelter in Al's shop for a while" he said. "A real April shower." I had been planning to bike into town, maybe the weather was too unsettled? He changed tune at once. "Oh, no, it's cleared up, look, there's more blue sky than grey." I mentioned that the thing about April showers is that they can come almost out of a blue sky...no, I'd be fine, he told me.

Yes, I cyled in, and cold it was. A nasty North wind blowing at my left side. On the way home, it rained, too, making my back right teeth ache.

I bought barracuda from the fishmonger on Thursday, as well as some lovely raw prawns from which I made a divine risotto with fennel. I've never cooked or eaten barracuda, but decided it was probably quite robust, so made a base of onion, celery, carrot, red wine and tomato, browned the fish and then cooked it in the sauce. It was good and, indeed, robust.

Several things ticked off my list, although one of the phone calls turned out to be an answerphone message. Can't bother her on a Sunday, so I must remember next week. Yes, I know that Sunday is the first day of the week, but one doesn't treat it as such so I'm counting Monday as the start of the week.

That reminds me. I don't know whether I'm in school on Monday or Friday. Excuse me, I need to send an email.

Listening and losing track

I had a long discussion this morning regarding a PCC matter, which has clarified things nicely for both me and the person I was talking to, but it's left both of us with quite a bit of work to do within the next week. I haven't even looked at the minutes of the meeting I chaired at the end of last term at school, and I need to okay them before the clerk can send them out. Then I have three people to contact before a committee meeting on Wednesday and I mustn't forget to ring someone else because I didn't send her a reminder for something on Thursday, so I must give her some warning. Tomorrow I've got to spend an hour clearing away the Easter flowers in church and doing new ones, because no one has put their name down on the flower rota this week. Someone else has invited me to her special birthday lunch next Friday, so I must find out if it's a significant birthday - she's specified no presents, but I don't even know the exact date of the birthday and it may be her 90th. I can't remember what the other things are that are becoming quite urgent, but they'll come to me, probably in the early hours of tomorrow. I must, from now on, try to put in at least an hour's clarinet practice every day or I won't be ready for the wedding in June.

I can't help feeling that a proper job would make life easier. I wouldn't have taken on the other things and I'd have fewer distractions during office hours - being at home, there are phone calls and callers and housework to do and I'm very easily persuaded to faff about doing anything at all but work.

It's been a pleasant day today, though. I looked after the babies this afternoon, and they were charming. They decided on pasta with cheese sauce and carrots for tea, and their mother arrived home in time to wipe off the debris. The Sage discovered a hen sitting on eggs last week - she had hidden behind a piece of wood leaning against the shed, out of the run; they go where they like, those bantams - and they started to hatch today. There were two out this afternoon, with a third beak just breaking through, and there were four or five tonight, with another one half out. Still four more eggs to go. Once they're all out, we'll pop them safely into a coop so they can't be caught by any predators.

Tonight, Ro and I went to a concert of, mostly, early Britten music, including a string quartet and two Poèmes that he wrote when he was 13 and which had not previously been performed. The second Poème was a bit overambitious, not that I know anything, but the first, which was actually Number 4, I enjoyed very much - a bit Richard Strauss-y and Debussy-ish, I thought. I liked the quartet too. The first piece was his Simple Symphony, which he wrote in his early 20s, but he had actually written much of it between the ages of 9 and 12 and orchestrated it later. Then there was a series of songs in 8 movements, each based on a different poem with a different instrument solo accompanying the tenor, with the unifying subject of Sleep (I've left the programme in the car or I'd tell you what it was called) - and that was written much later. It was also played and sung at Britten's funeral - he died in 1976 at the age of 62.

PINning down a problem

So, I've sorted out some of the PCC business, but it took a while as it involved a long and sociable chat on MSN. Then I phoned about my credit card. Can you spare a couple of minutes while I tell you the whole story?

About a month ago, I left (I thought) my credit card at home and then needed to pay for £50-worth of petrol. I put my debit card in the machine, put in the PIN and it was refused. The checkout girl said that the 'enter' button was a bit dodgy, so do it carefully. It was refused again, she tried pressing it a third time and it was disallowed. I wrote a cheque instead.

Later, *cough* I discovered that I'd left the debit card at home and so had actually put the credit card in the machine, so it was my mistake as I'd used the wrong PIN.

I phoned the helpline and was kept on hold for more than 20 minutes. Finally I got through and the woman said that the card was fine. I said I'd tried to use it, just to check, and it was refused. She then discovered that there was a 'watch' on the card, which she removed.

A week or so later, on trying to use the card, it was refused again. I rang again. Another 25 minutes listening to a ghastly non-music for 12 seconds followed by an 8 second assurance that my call was important, please hold. Over and again. Every time the voice came on, I had to listen to be sure it wasn't an actual person, but the 'music' was too nasty to listen to and I had to hold the receiver away from my ear. It's not a freephone number, by the way, I was paying for this.

Eventually, I got through to a helpful man with an Indian accent who said that the easiest way to sort it out was to send me a new PIN.

A few days later, I received a reminder of the same PIN. I sighed. This was a couple of weeks ago. In that time, I've used the card several times to buy things online - DVDs from Amazon, train tickets and the TV licence - with no problem. However, it was refused at the wine merchant yesterday.

I phoned again. Is there a policy that makes it always between 20 and 25 minutes on hold before you speak to anyone? I explained quite forcefully, though politely of course, the whole story. The woman said that they can't send out a new PIN, all they can do is send a reminder. I said the man had told me I'd get a new PIN, he evidently didn't know that. She said that I have to take it to one of their ATMs and it will say the PIN is blocked, and that if I enter the correct number it will unblock it. That's the only way to unblock it, they can't do that for me.

I said that evidently some of their call-centre staff don't know this. Please could she pass the word on that this should be explained? I also said that, as a security measure, it is not effective as the card itself can still be used online. She said she'd pass that on too. She sounded helpful, genuinely apologetic and entirely capable. I hope she is.

I want to keep this particular card, because N@t10nw1de has one of the few accounts that doesn't charge extra for using their cards abroad, and I'm going to Madrid in a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, the nearest branch is 10 miles away from here. Nevertheless, it would have been quicker to go there in the first place.

Stuff

I feel just a tiny bit overburdened at the moment. We both had appointments at the dentist this morning - I was fine, but it still cost £50...the Sage was told that a crown is on its last legs and should be replaced, which is rather more money. However, money, poof, it's time that matters, isn't it?

I looked after the children this afternoon, as Dilly had an appointment. They were lovely as always, though I did suddenly find myself in need of a nap. Squiffany fell asleep too and Pugsley (I had taken the precaution of switching on CBeebies - yes, Bad Granny) was quite happy and seemed to find us quite amusing.

My friend R, whose wedding in June I have agreed to play at, came at 5 to talk about music. I don't really do weddings, too stressful - she doesn't want traditional wedding music, so I've said I'll have a look and a think. The hymns are fine, and I'll play a couple on the organ and a couple on the clarinet. For the rest, I'm thinking one rousing, one gentle and one with a bit of swing and pace, so that they can dance down the aisle on the way out. I have until June.

I am involved with PCC stuff. The AGM is only 2 days after I arrive home from holiday - I'm leaving in 2 weeks. There's stuff to sort out. I've just arranged a Friday morning meeting to sort it out.

I've school stuff to do. It's well into the second week of the holidays. I need to get on with it.

Nadfas business. No, I haven't booked the hotel in Liverpool yet. I've a committee meeting next week, and I've three people to contact before that and Stuff to do as well.

I suddenly remembered that I hadn't renewed the TV licence. I couldn't find the reminder letter, but at least I had a licence from a couple of years back so had the number so could do it online. Yes, darlings, I've achieved something today. I remembered it too, albeit slightly late.

A bottle of bubbles was cracked in honour of Al's birthday - we also played Musical Bumps, Musical Statues and Ring-a-ring-of roses. "Party bags?" enquired Squiffany. Grannies rustle something up at no notice at all.

Ro suggested a takeaway. Oh, yes. And another bottle.

Z is denied

Not in any pre-cock-crowing sense of course, but Al denied all knowledge of me, or about this blog at any rate. It's true that he's never read it, but he does know it exists and has done for a couple of years.

I've been discovered, you see, and the discoverer, who is co-proprietor of one of my favourite businesses in town, popped in to the shop to mention it to Al, which was courteous of him. Like most people who don't read blogs, Al can't understand why I write one, or read other people's either.

So, hi Steve *wave*. I'll blush when I see you next...I see how you found me, I've tracked back...