Last night, or this morning, I was in bed soon after midnight and the Sage (having already had a little zizz) joined me, freshly bathed, soon after. A hug and kiss and I was ready to fall asleep, when he started a business discussion.
Now, a brief exchange of interesting news is one thing, but this was a quite big change of business policy with which I radically disagreed. I said so. He replied. We weren't quarrelling, you understand, but there was a need for a major discussion here.
"Darling, it's quarter past midnight and I was nearly asleep. I really don't want to talk about it now, you can't land something like that on me at this hour of the night". Fortunately, he agreed. However, he was not at all sleepy. It was after one o'clock, the last time I looked at the clock.
We discussed it again this morning. It was a splendid discussion, all respectful and forceful without any lack of respect for the other's view and a clear allowance of space for hearing one viewpoint before coming up with the other's.
He seems to have agreed with me. Good man. Maybe it was a good thing, explaining my tactics in an argument. We kept very focused and itemised all pros and cons - and then he realised I was right all along.
If he'd been, I'd have said so. I'd have said he was wonderful too. Actually, I might have said that at some time anyway.
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
The Lord don't like you as you ain't
There was a lack of cynicism in the 60s and early 70s. A fair bit of complacency of course, but also real optimism. Pat reminds me of all the falsies. Now we (well, some of us) have implants, veneers, injections and lifts, but then, towards the end of the decade, we (well, some of us) just cheerily added bits on. Padded bras if we were not quite well enough endowed, hairpieces if not all-out wigs, false eyelashes, the lot. They used to fall off sometimes, which struck everyone more as hilarious than embarrassing.
I remember when I worked at the library. Not quite the 60s in fact; I started there with a Saturday job in 1970. One girl came in with long, purple-painted nails one day. At some point in the morning, she issued a squeal. "I've shut my nail in someone's book!" A pale stump was left. She rushed to get the pack of new nails, stuck one on and started to paint it. Customers were still coming in and had to be served. We were all laughing so much we could hardly stand up.
Some women had so many artificial additions that it caused some anxiety once they were married. Their husbands had never seen them without full makeup on, so they had to choose between coming clean and showing their true unadorned selves or getting up early every morning, adding the eyelashes, the hair, doing the backcombing, putting on the face, all before he was awake.
I tried false eyelashes myself, once. I know, imagine how absurd I looked. I was only about 17. I remember the Sprout came round to pick us up (we were friends long before we looked upon each other with sentimental eyes) and he struggled manfully to mask his horror. I suspect I took them off again before we went out for dinner, as I don't remember making a complete idiot of myself all around town.
My mother and my sister had hairpieces. They both had short brown hair and they pinned the switch underneath their own at the crown and then backcombed to hide the join. It seemed to look fine then.
On the whole, except for the short-lived eyelash experiment, I didn't do any of this. I knew it wouldn't suit me. I was small and pale with long blonde hair which I either wore loose or twisted up into a knot. I didn't care much what I looked like though I was, simultaneously, very self-conscious. Certainly the black-eyed pale-lipped look wasn't me, but neither was the vivid and intense one. I was no hippy, thinking they were naive and unrealistic (I'm more tolerant now; I still think they were but I rather like that now). I remember when a girl of my age - about 14 - came up to me in the playground and intoned, passionately, "Make love not war 'cause love is lovely and war is ugly" - honestly, I'm not kidding, she said every word and she was all intense and starry-eyed - I gazed at her in bemusement.
I remember when I worked at the library. Not quite the 60s in fact; I started there with a Saturday job in 1970. One girl came in with long, purple-painted nails one day. At some point in the morning, she issued a squeal. "I've shut my nail in someone's book!" A pale stump was left. She rushed to get the pack of new nails, stuck one on and started to paint it. Customers were still coming in and had to be served. We were all laughing so much we could hardly stand up.
Some women had so many artificial additions that it caused some anxiety once they were married. Their husbands had never seen them without full makeup on, so they had to choose between coming clean and showing their true unadorned selves or getting up early every morning, adding the eyelashes, the hair, doing the backcombing, putting on the face, all before he was awake.
I tried false eyelashes myself, once. I know, imagine how absurd I looked. I was only about 17. I remember the Sprout came round to pick us up (we were friends long before we looked upon each other with sentimental eyes) and he struggled manfully to mask his horror. I suspect I took them off again before we went out for dinner, as I don't remember making a complete idiot of myself all around town.
My mother and my sister had hairpieces. They both had short brown hair and they pinned the switch underneath their own at the crown and then backcombed to hide the join. It seemed to look fine then.
On the whole, except for the short-lived eyelash experiment, I didn't do any of this. I knew it wouldn't suit me. I was small and pale with long blonde hair which I either wore loose or twisted up into a knot. I didn't care much what I looked like though I was, simultaneously, very self-conscious. Certainly the black-eyed pale-lipped look wasn't me, but neither was the vivid and intense one. I was no hippy, thinking they were naive and unrealistic (I'm more tolerant now; I still think they were but I rather like that now). I remember when a girl of my age - about 14 - came up to me in the playground and intoned, passionately, "Make love not war 'cause love is lovely and war is ugly" - honestly, I'm not kidding, she said every word and she was all intense and starry-eyed - I gazed at her in bemusement.
Monday, 21 July 2008
Weeza's Freeza
Dave's comment on the last post reminds me of the time, about 40 years ago, when my sister attended a rather posh cookery school called W1nkf1eld Pl@ce. A girl's contact lens dropped in the cucumber soup that was being made for dinner. No amount of fishing around could find it, so each girl was instructed to suck the soup through her teeth. Her own teeth, that is - thank you, Gordie, for noting the ambiguity. There was no sign of the lens, however. This was in the days of hard lenses, of course.
I took my daughter (who has no car yet) down to the doctor's to register; she'd already made an appointment with the midwife for later in the day. Then we went food shopping and spend the rest of the day cooking (me) and putting things away and washing up (Weeza). I did lots of basic minced beef sauce, to be turned into Bolognese, chilli, whatever, coq au vin, a chicken casserole with peppers, onion and tomato, chicken, mushroom and sweetcorn soup and minestrone soup. Apart from some roast chicken which she can eat over the next day or two, it will all go into the freezer, to be hauled out in the next few weeks.
When we were at the surgery again waiting for her appointment, a cheerful doctor came out for her next patient. "Ooh, I can smell some lovely cooking going on! Where's that coming from?" "Er, that might be me. I've been cooking all afternoon." "Onions," she said, coming over to me and sniffing; "yes, it's you. It smells delicious." I didn't quite know where to put myself.
All is fine with Weeza and she still feels very well. I must say, the surgery is lovely. All the staff seem very cheerful and friendly, including the receptionist (!) and she's quite happy about everything.
Ro arrived home during the afternoon and went straight up for a hot bath. He had a good time. "How was Okkervil River?" I asked. "Really good," he assured me. "Have you come across Shearwater?" I enquired casually. "Oh yes, that's the singer from OR's band and someone else, isn't it? I've got one of their albums - Rook, it's called I think". "Can't catch you out on anything, can I?" Thanks, Mike, at least I asked a half-decent question for once. I'm immersing myself in Rook (as it were) and becoming increasingly hooked. A fabulous voice, although a couple of octaves higher than I had expected.
Another thing Ro has mentioned were the snacks. Not those he bought, but those passed around the camp fire. "The advantage of pitching your tent next to older people, you know, in their 30s and 40s." He met a number of friends his own age too, including one of the Bens he was at school with - there were 3 Bens he used to bring home, with the result that the Sage used to call all his friends Ben. One of the 'older people' gave him a lift each way - he had posted the offer of a lift on a car-sharing website.
The other culinary fact was that people kept offering him cups of tea. "What is it with making tea?" he wondered. "I mean, I like tea, but I wouldn't bother with lugging around a camp stove and a kettle and a bottle of gas, just so I wouldn't have to go without tea for 3 days." "Was that your friends?" I asked, wondering if he's quiz me on my imperfect grammar. "Oh no, old people," he said, obviously not meaning those as old as I.
He's got a birthday coming up this week. He's aging too.
I took my daughter (who has no car yet) down to the doctor's to register; she'd already made an appointment with the midwife for later in the day. Then we went food shopping and spend the rest of the day cooking (me) and putting things away and washing up (Weeza). I did lots of basic minced beef sauce, to be turned into Bolognese, chilli, whatever, coq au vin, a chicken casserole with peppers, onion and tomato, chicken, mushroom and sweetcorn soup and minestrone soup. Apart from some roast chicken which she can eat over the next day or two, it will all go into the freezer, to be hauled out in the next few weeks.
When we were at the surgery again waiting for her appointment, a cheerful doctor came out for her next patient. "Ooh, I can smell some lovely cooking going on! Where's that coming from?" "Er, that might be me. I've been cooking all afternoon." "Onions," she said, coming over to me and sniffing; "yes, it's you. It smells delicious." I didn't quite know where to put myself.
All is fine with Weeza and she still feels very well. I must say, the surgery is lovely. All the staff seem very cheerful and friendly, including the receptionist (!) and she's quite happy about everything.
Ro arrived home during the afternoon and went straight up for a hot bath. He had a good time. "How was Okkervil River?" I asked. "Really good," he assured me. "Have you come across Shearwater?" I enquired casually. "Oh yes, that's the singer from OR's band and someone else, isn't it? I've got one of their albums - Rook, it's called I think". "Can't catch you out on anything, can I?" Thanks, Mike, at least I asked a half-decent question for once. I'm immersing myself in Rook (as it were) and becoming increasingly hooked. A fabulous voice, although a couple of octaves higher than I had expected.
Another thing Ro has mentioned were the snacks. Not those he bought, but those passed around the camp fire. "The advantage of pitching your tent next to older people, you know, in their 30s and 40s." He met a number of friends his own age too, including one of the Bens he was at school with - there were 3 Bens he used to bring home, with the result that the Sage used to call all his friends Ben. One of the 'older people' gave him a lift each way - he had posted the offer of a lift on a car-sharing website.
The other culinary fact was that people kept offering him cups of tea. "What is it with making tea?" he wondered. "I mean, I like tea, but I wouldn't bother with lugging around a camp stove and a kettle and a bottle of gas, just so I wouldn't have to go without tea for 3 days." "Was that your friends?" I asked, wondering if he's quiz me on my imperfect grammar. "Oh no, old people," he said, obviously not meaning those as old as I.
He's got a birthday coming up this week. He's aging too.
Sunday, 20 July 2008
Z has an eye in the back of her head
Not tipsy at all any more, and after a brief nap I've been doing the Sage's typing because I'll be out all day tomorrow. However, I thought I'd take my contact lens out and I can't find it anywhere. I mean, it must be in my eye, but I've poked and prodded and I can't feel it. You wouldn't think that this would happen and I'd be completely unaware of it, but I don't feel as if I've got a foreign body in the wrong place either. My fault for going to sleep without taking it out, but I usually get away with it. I hope it sorts itself out soon as I'll have a sore eye tomorrow otherwise.
It's raining again. It was fine this afternoon - in fact, we had a cheery barbecue in the garden. Good to see Phil's parents, we don't get together very often.
Ooh, it's tipping down. Poor old Ro.
It's raining again. It was fine this afternoon - in fact, we had a cheery barbecue in the garden. Good to see Phil's parents, we don't get together very often.
Ooh, it's tipping down. Poor old Ro.
Z is smashed
Really. It is taking the last of my concentration to type this. I will sit down and read the paper, probably laughing helplessly at all the government ballsups as if they don't affect me at all, and i'll return later.
Not bad though. Just one capital missing, as long as you're not fussy about the odd hyphen.
The Shearwater singer sings falsetto, you know. Very well, but it's still falsetto. At what stage do you call it counter-tenor? Hm.
Not bad though. Just one capital missing, as long as you're not fussy about the odd hyphen.
The Shearwater singer sings falsetto, you know. Very well, but it's still falsetto. At what stage do you call it counter-tenor? Hm.
Saturday, 19 July 2008
It's raining
The friend I mentioned the other day came here after all. I was looking after Squiffany and Pugsley at the time as their mother had gone to sort out details of the teaching post she's taking up in September (a year's part-time contract). The children went to meet Chris, who said hello. Squiffany gazed at him solemnly, sizing him up, and then she waved and smiled and returned his greeting. Later, they both danced for him, all around the dining room table, so I think he make a good impression.
Today, is Weeza's moving day. Her in-laws are helping them move and they will all arrive with a vanload of furniture and boxes sometime during the early afternoon. The bigger items of furniture are arriving next weekend, when Phil will move too - he has one more week's notice to serve out at his current job. Weeza was supposed to start maternity leave on Friday but, having done a handover to her replacement on Tuesday, she decided to call it a day. She'd finished everything she was supposed to do and she'd had enough, with only three weeks to go before her due date. They've been doing all the Londoners' things for the last time in the last couple of weeks. There'll be a lot to miss, but also a good many things they won't miss at all. I suspect that public transport in the suburbs will be hard to adjust to. In the countryside, of course, it's pretty well ignored. It's clearly intended for pensioners and students, and the council think that they don't much matter, so it's not necessary to make it convenient and comfortable, let alone reasonably priced for the non-frequent user.
Although I'd have liked to spend a day at the festival, I'm not hardy enough nowadays for camping in the rain. The third heavy shower in the last couple of hours has started. Fortunately, Ro was well equipped with waterproofs, but I suspect he won't venture out of his tent for a while this morning. I don't imagine he'll find it easy to sleep in late in this weather - or is it just that I couldn't?
I'm on duty at the new house this morning, awaiting deliveries. Having woken up early, four hours ago and not slept since, I've cleaned the kitchen beautifully, but now must get ready to go. Have a good Saturday, one and all.
Today, is Weeza's moving day. Her in-laws are helping them move and they will all arrive with a vanload of furniture and boxes sometime during the early afternoon. The bigger items of furniture are arriving next weekend, when Phil will move too - he has one more week's notice to serve out at his current job. Weeza was supposed to start maternity leave on Friday but, having done a handover to her replacement on Tuesday, she decided to call it a day. She'd finished everything she was supposed to do and she'd had enough, with only three weeks to go before her due date. They've been doing all the Londoners' things for the last time in the last couple of weeks. There'll be a lot to miss, but also a good many things they won't miss at all. I suspect that public transport in the suburbs will be hard to adjust to. In the countryside, of course, it's pretty well ignored. It's clearly intended for pensioners and students, and the council think that they don't much matter, so it's not necessary to make it convenient and comfortable, let alone reasonably priced for the non-frequent user.
Although I'd have liked to spend a day at the festival, I'm not hardy enough nowadays for camping in the rain. The third heavy shower in the last couple of hours has started. Fortunately, Ro was well equipped with waterproofs, but I suspect he won't venture out of his tent for a while this morning. I don't imagine he'll find it easy to sleep in late in this weather - or is it just that I couldn't?
I'm on duty at the new house this morning, awaiting deliveries. Having woken up early, four hours ago and not slept since, I've cleaned the kitchen beautifully, but now must get ready to go. Have a good Saturday, one and all.
Friday, 18 July 2008
Z suddenly comes over nostalgic, thanks to Martin
Martin was rhapsodising on the moon* today and it reminded me of my visit to the Taj Mahal - and then that reminded me of my honeymoon. Sadly, I'm not going to get all smoochy and sentimental on you. It's made me wonder just how we ever got through that first aeroplane flight.
The Sage isn't the best traveller. It all started when he and his brother were coming back across the North Sea on a car ferry, many years ago (I suspect it was back in the 50s, when I was a mere slip of a child). There was a storm, the captain of the English ferry refused to sail, the Dutch captain said "Pfft" and sailed - and the Sage and his brother went off for a full English**. They were dreadfully seasick on the way back, the ship nearly sank and the Sage has not travelled without anxiety ever since.
So, 1973. The Sage went to the doctor for some strong (and sedative) anti-sickness pills, for use on the journey from Heathrow to Mahé***.
We flew to Italy and stopped to pick up dinner and some more passengers. I tucked into the food, the Sage dozed. As we flew over North Africa, I was dreadfully excited. There was the Nile!!(!) I could see it, though I could make out nothing else, snaking across the landscape (I'd always rather be by the window than in the sensible aisle seat). I poked the Sage. "Look, look, there's the Nile!" He grunted and went back to sleep...
I stuck with him. I'm a saint. He really is a bad traveller though, I can't deny that.
Oh, by the way, we refuelled at Addis Ababa and we all got out and stretched our legs on the runway; the only time I've set foot in mainland Africa. There was a crashed plane at the end of the runway. It had been there a few weeks, apparently, although it wasn't a rare occurrence.
We stopped again in South Africa to pick up more passengers. I'll never forget**** landing on Mahé. The airport had been built by the shore, out into the water - I'm a gung-ho traveller and it didn't strike me that it wouldn't require much overshoot or cross-wind to land in the sea (I'm sure it's less intimidating now). When we got out, it was instant tropical island. It was fabulous. Steamy, humid, heat with the tang of the sea. No, it'll be one of the last memories to go.
*for pedants - on the subject of the moon
**that means a cooked breakfast, other-than-British darlings
***Main island of the Seychelles
****well, there's always Alzheimer's. Perhaps I shouldn't say that I'll never forget anything.
The Sage isn't the best traveller. It all started when he and his brother were coming back across the North Sea on a car ferry, many years ago (I suspect it was back in the 50s, when I was a mere slip of a child). There was a storm, the captain of the English ferry refused to sail, the Dutch captain said "Pfft" and sailed - and the Sage and his brother went off for a full English**. They were dreadfully seasick on the way back, the ship nearly sank and the Sage has not travelled without anxiety ever since.
So, 1973. The Sage went to the doctor for some strong (and sedative) anti-sickness pills, for use on the journey from Heathrow to Mahé***.
We flew to Italy and stopped to pick up dinner and some more passengers. I tucked into the food, the Sage dozed. As we flew over North Africa, I was dreadfully excited. There was the Nile!!(!) I could see it, though I could make out nothing else, snaking across the landscape (I'd always rather be by the window than in the sensible aisle seat). I poked the Sage. "Look, look, there's the Nile!" He grunted and went back to sleep...
I stuck with him. I'm a saint. He really is a bad traveller though, I can't deny that.
Oh, by the way, we refuelled at Addis Ababa and we all got out and stretched our legs on the runway; the only time I've set foot in mainland Africa. There was a crashed plane at the end of the runway. It had been there a few weeks, apparently, although it wasn't a rare occurrence.
We stopped again in South Africa to pick up more passengers. I'll never forget**** landing on Mahé. The airport had been built by the shore, out into the water - I'm a gung-ho traveller and it didn't strike me that it wouldn't require much overshoot or cross-wind to land in the sea (I'm sure it's less intimidating now). When we got out, it was instant tropical island. It was fabulous. Steamy, humid, heat with the tang of the sea. No, it'll be one of the last memories to go.
*for pedants - on the subject of the moon
**that means a cooked breakfast, other-than-British darlings
***Main island of the Seychelles
****well, there's always Alzheimer's. Perhaps I shouldn't say that I'll never forget anything.
Thursday, 17 July 2008
Z canoodles with a Man!!(!)
I went to the Sage and gave him a lingering kiss. "Thank you!" he said. "You don't say thank you for a snog," I reminded him. "Ah" he remembered, "Ro is away." "Yup. That's why I'm snogging you in the kitchen" I explained.
Ro has gone to the latitude festival. That means it'll probably rain most of the weekend. I had a chat with him last night. "You will go and watch Okkervil River, won't you?" I reminded him (that's them, right next to Blondie on the right side of the line up page - on the link, darlings, not this page. "Yes, I will, if I can" he replied patiently. "If there's a signing tent, you've got to queue up," I insisted. "Er" he said. "No, you must. Tell them your mother is a fan. They'll be mortified, but it'll be worth it to see their faces."
The Aga is to be serviced tomorrow, so we'll turn it off tonight. "Will you be in?" asked the Sage. I said I would. Noon is about the time he'll be going to see our Antiques Roadshow chum, who will be on his way back to Stansted. They've been filming this week at Oxburgh Hall. Chris, our chum, was a bit put out today. Someone brought in a rather impressive L'toft egg cup which is pretty valuable, but he didn't know that. He thought it was Caughley (another factory of the same period, but not as good) and so was very pleased to hear the news. What annoyed Chris, however, was that he was unwilling to be filmed. Apparently, he's an antique dealer and he'd bought the egg cup for £1 from someone living in the same village. Since he must have known it was worth considerably more, he came along to the Roadshow for a free valuation without the trade-off of being filmed if it was interesting. Anyway, I'm sorry to miss seeing Chris, who is a good chum, but it'll save him three quarters of an hour's driving if the Sage goes and meets him in a village by the main road rather than making him call here - though, being a polite and friendly sort of chappie, he would do that for the pleasure of seeing one or both of us. He lives several hundred miles away, so we don't meet often.
Ro has gone to the latitude festival. That means it'll probably rain most of the weekend. I had a chat with him last night. "You will go and watch Okkervil River, won't you?" I reminded him (that's them, right next to Blondie on the right side of the line up page - on the link, darlings, not this page. "Yes, I will, if I can" he replied patiently. "If there's a signing tent, you've got to queue up," I insisted. "Er" he said. "No, you must. Tell them your mother is a fan. They'll be mortified, but it'll be worth it to see their faces."
The Aga is to be serviced tomorrow, so we'll turn it off tonight. "Will you be in?" asked the Sage. I said I would. Noon is about the time he'll be going to see our Antiques Roadshow chum, who will be on his way back to Stansted. They've been filming this week at Oxburgh Hall. Chris, our chum, was a bit put out today. Someone brought in a rather impressive L'toft egg cup which is pretty valuable, but he didn't know that. He thought it was Caughley (another factory of the same period, but not as good) and so was very pleased to hear the news. What annoyed Chris, however, was that he was unwilling to be filmed. Apparently, he's an antique dealer and he'd bought the egg cup for £1 from someone living in the same village. Since he must have known it was worth considerably more, he came along to the Roadshow for a free valuation without the trade-off of being filmed if it was interesting. Anyway, I'm sorry to miss seeing Chris, who is a good chum, but it'll save him three quarters of an hour's driving if the Sage goes and meets him in a village by the main road rather than making him call here - though, being a polite and friendly sort of chappie, he would do that for the pleasure of seeing one or both of us. He lives several hundred miles away, so we don't meet often.
Weighing pigs
Regarding the total titsup that's happening this year about the school SATs - the thing that's upsetting me is not the complete hash that has been made of the marking, it's that the children concerned are being made to think that it matters to them. It absolutely doesn't. It's the league tables that it affects; the ranking of the school, for those who think that sort of thing matters (some parents, Ofsted, headteachers etc). It should not matter one brass farthing to the children themselves.
When SATs came to these shores, they were portrayed as being a measuring tool. The idea was that they would show the level each child was at by asking them questions at a rate that gradually became more difficult, but helped to show what they could do. It was said that most exams tested what a child didn't know, but SATs showed what (s)he did. But before long, they became more and more important, and this anxiety of the schools (and the parents) was transmitted to the child. Now, in the spring, primary schools coach to pass the SATs, not to further the education of the child. This is absolutely not what was intended at the start.
My younger son was in the guinea pig year, those born in 1983/84. They were the first to take the Key Stage 1 tests and the Key Stage 3 tests. They were also the first to take the AS levels in the lower sixth form, followed by A2s in the upper 6th. This means he was tested in year 2, year 6, year 9, year 11, year 12 and year 13. Official government tests, that is, national ones, not the usual end of term or year exams that we were used to. And all children are subjected to that now - though now, of course, the poor little creatures get Baseline Assessment (if that's what it's still called, I've been out of primary education for a couple of years) within the first few weeks of term, so that the Contextual Value Added scores can be taken into account at every stage. I'm not against testing, exams, and certainly not against rigour and high expectations, but the reliance on strictly regimented data at the top level is working against good education, not in favour of it, and is causing increasing anxiety for teachers and pupils.
In my naivety, I wasn't agin SATs when they started. I thought they would be useful. It was worrying, how many seven-year-olds couldn't read or write (not in our village school) and I thought it would help to target where improvement was most needed so that appropriate help could be given. But all that has happened is that children's lives have been made a misery. Never have they suffered such stress. It's a tribute to their resilience that, in spite of this, and the breakdown of family life and the pressure and anxiety of life, particularly in the cities, so many children still cope as well as they do.
And in the most recent instructions for Ofsted inspectors, it's the statistics that matter above all else. Look at the CVA scores, the SATs, the KS4 results, the RAISEonline data, the PANDA scores - oh no, scrub that last, that's been superseded. If we don't have a new acronym every couple of years, what are the mouse-pushers at the DfES to do with their time?
When SATs came to these shores, they were portrayed as being a measuring tool. The idea was that they would show the level each child was at by asking them questions at a rate that gradually became more difficult, but helped to show what they could do. It was said that most exams tested what a child didn't know, but SATs showed what (s)he did. But before long, they became more and more important, and this anxiety of the schools (and the parents) was transmitted to the child. Now, in the spring, primary schools coach to pass the SATs, not to further the education of the child. This is absolutely not what was intended at the start.
My younger son was in the guinea pig year, those born in 1983/84. They were the first to take the Key Stage 1 tests and the Key Stage 3 tests. They were also the first to take the AS levels in the lower sixth form, followed by A2s in the upper 6th. This means he was tested in year 2, year 6, year 9, year 11, year 12 and year 13. Official government tests, that is, national ones, not the usual end of term or year exams that we were used to. And all children are subjected to that now - though now, of course, the poor little creatures get Baseline Assessment (if that's what it's still called, I've been out of primary education for a couple of years) within the first few weeks of term, so that the Contextual Value Added scores can be taken into account at every stage. I'm not against testing, exams, and certainly not against rigour and high expectations, but the reliance on strictly regimented data at the top level is working against good education, not in favour of it, and is causing increasing anxiety for teachers and pupils.
In my naivety, I wasn't agin SATs when they started. I thought they would be useful. It was worrying, how many seven-year-olds couldn't read or write (not in our village school) and I thought it would help to target where improvement was most needed so that appropriate help could be given. But all that has happened is that children's lives have been made a misery. Never have they suffered such stress. It's a tribute to their resilience that, in spite of this, and the breakdown of family life and the pressure and anxiety of life, particularly in the cities, so many children still cope as well as they do.
And in the most recent instructions for Ofsted inspectors, it's the statistics that matter above all else. Look at the CVA scores, the SATs, the KS4 results, the RAISEonline data, the PANDA scores - oh no, scrub that last, that's been superseded. If we don't have a new acronym every couple of years, what are the mouse-pushers at the DfES to do with their time?
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
Curiouser and curiouser
Before I put in my contact lens today, I could read the screen at either distance equally well. I've tried with one eye, the other eye and both. Isn't that splendid? My brain simply adjusts patiently and makes the best of things. And, after experimentation with a lens in (which I wear in my right eye), I find that my left eye does the reading, but the right eye helps out with focus as I get further away and gradually takes over as necessary. I still can't tell as it's happening though, it's all quite automatic.
I know that this would not work for me with glasses. Once, I took my glasses out of my bag to put them on to drive home after dinner with friends. As I put them on, my sight blurred and I thought I was getting a migraine. One of the lenses had dropped out into my bag - fortunately, I had a knife with a very small screwdriver and I was able to repair it, but I simply couldn't see normally with one lens of my glasses.
My in-laws had an elderly live-in housekeeper - she'd originally come as a general help, and nursemaid to the year-old Sprout and she stayed on for the best part of 50 years before retiring on the death of Ma. She had lost the sight in one eye, by the time I knew her, from a cataract. In those days you had to wait until it was thick and opaque before it could be operated on. By the time Hilda reached that level of sight loss, she said that she had got used to it and chose not to have an operation. She had one lens of her glasses obscured and managed with one eye. However, years later, when she was about 70, I suppose, she suffered a detached retina and lost the sight in her good eye. She took it in her stride, had the cataract removed from the other eye and simply switched useful eyes. I have no idea how she managed to do that, but she never even mentioned any problems.
I know that this would not work for me with glasses. Once, I took my glasses out of my bag to put them on to drive home after dinner with friends. As I put them on, my sight blurred and I thought I was getting a migraine. One of the lenses had dropped out into my bag - fortunately, I had a knife with a very small screwdriver and I was able to repair it, but I simply couldn't see normally with one lens of my glasses.
My in-laws had an elderly live-in housekeeper - she'd originally come as a general help, and nursemaid to the year-old Sprout and she stayed on for the best part of 50 years before retiring on the death of Ma. She had lost the sight in one eye, by the time I knew her, from a cataract. In those days you had to wait until it was thick and opaque before it could be operated on. By the time Hilda reached that level of sight loss, she said that she had got used to it and chose not to have an operation. She had one lens of her glasses obscured and managed with one eye. However, years later, when she was about 70, I suppose, she suffered a detached retina and lost the sight in her good eye. She took it in her stride, had the cataract removed from the other eye and simply switched useful eyes. I have no idea how she managed to do that, but she never even mentioned any problems.
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
Z spreads a little happiness
Yes, well, you don't get three posts every day. Just lucky St Swithin's day, I suppose. It hasn't rained, by the way, which I think means nothing at all. It's if it rains that it means 40 days of rain. Not that this happens, literally.
Um. Oh, I remember. I was leaning forward a bit on one elbow, reading blogs and I shut my left eye and the right was all blurred, though when I shut it and opened the left again, it was fine. Then I sat upright and put out my arm, so that I was reading the screen at the correct arm's length distance, and the left eye was blurry and the right eye was clear. I slowly moved in, with both eyes open, and I couldn't tell at which point the left eye took over the reading. Isn't that interesting?
Oh. Well, I'm interested.
Anyway, I spread good cheer all round the village this afternoon. There were 7 prizes for the hanging basket and tub (of flowers/vegetables, not bath tubs) competitions and another 6 lucky draws (no not lucky drawers) for the voting slips. One of them was my grandchildren's (I didn't draw them, I got a Respected Local Personage to come round) but I thought they'd prefer a toy and some beads to the £15 voucher for the local haberdashery.
Afterwards, I biked round distributing prizes. I made a monumental cock-up at one point when I put a £20 voucher (aren't local businesses kind?) for the lovely local place to eat through the door of the neighbour of the person it was intended for. I had to go to a friend's house (I hadn't taken my bag so had no pen or paper) to write explanatory notes for both. What a little plonker I am. When I got back to the houses, Donna was in, so I was able to explain and advise her to await the return of the prize from her neighbour.
Everyone was happy of course and a couple of prizes, it turned out, were going to relations of village people who live Elsewhere, so I was able to pass all of them on. I sent in a lovely spreadsheet with all the voting figures, added up and averaged (as some people had occasionally got missed off the voting by someone who hadn't got round all the village), and the names of the winners, to the editor of the village magazine, and all I have to do now is give the entrance money to the treasurer.
Right. No more tonight. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.
Um. Oh, I remember. I was leaning forward a bit on one elbow, reading blogs and I shut my left eye and the right was all blurred, though when I shut it and opened the left again, it was fine. Then I sat upright and put out my arm, so that I was reading the screen at the correct arm's length distance, and the left eye was blurry and the right eye was clear. I slowly moved in, with both eyes open, and I couldn't tell at which point the left eye took over the reading. Isn't that interesting?
Oh. Well, I'm interested.
Anyway, I spread good cheer all round the village this afternoon. There were 7 prizes for the hanging basket and tub (of flowers/vegetables, not bath tubs) competitions and another 6 lucky draws (no not lucky drawers) for the voting slips. One of them was my grandchildren's (I didn't draw them, I got a Respected Local Personage to come round) but I thought they'd prefer a toy and some beads to the £15 voucher for the local haberdashery.
Afterwards, I biked round distributing prizes. I made a monumental cock-up at one point when I put a £20 voucher (aren't local businesses kind?) for the lovely local place to eat through the door of the neighbour of the person it was intended for. I had to go to a friend's house (I hadn't taken my bag so had no pen or paper) to write explanatory notes for both. What a little plonker I am. When I got back to the houses, Donna was in, so I was able to explain and advise her to await the return of the prize from her neighbour.
Everyone was happy of course and a couple of prizes, it turned out, were going to relations of village people who live Elsewhere, so I was able to pass all of them on. I sent in a lovely spreadsheet with all the voting figures, added up and averaged (as some people had occasionally got missed off the voting by someone who hadn't got round all the village), and the names of the winners, to the editor of the village magazine, and all I have to do now is give the entrance money to the treasurer.
Right. No more tonight. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.
Z wants to build a Power Base!!(!) (no she doesn't)
A few evenings ago I received a slightly unfortunately phrased email, which I didn't reply to as I suspected that the writer didn't quite mean to say what she said. The next day I had an apology. She didn't mean to say that she thought I (and a few others) were trying to build an exclusive group etc, it's others who think that.
Didn't quite cut the mustard as apologies go, really. It raised more questions than it answered and now I'm wondering who on earth doesn't think I'm perfect just as I am.
So I left it another day, as I was a bit tired and it was approaching midnight, and I wrote back the next morning and explained rather more fully the nature of this proposed group and that in fact the wish is not to keep people out but to get more in - those who don't join in already because the more formal committee can put people off contributing. I assured her that no apology was needed, I hadn't taken offence, da-di-da, you know - which is true; frankly I don't care. I can be offended, but you have to put a degree of effort into it.
Anyway, then I got another long email of explanation, and oh Lord, it's fine, really. I'm just glad it isn't my bother.
Emailing is just too easy, you know. I said much the same thing when I was exchanging emails with that lady who got worked up because I decided not to join her Latin class - you will dash off an emailed note saying things you would not say if you had typed and printed or hand-written it. Emailing doesn't feel like writing a letter, but it is - and to make matters worse, its recipient can snap back and exacerbate the whole thing. You can get a bit carried away with the cleverness of your prose, or your feelings of irritation or indignation can make you give a snappy answer, because emailing is an odd sort of communication, between writing and speaking. If you say something, your tone of voice or the reaction of the person you're speaking to colours and can smooth the message you're giving.
It's not the first time I've had such an experience from that particular person, and if she does it to me she will have to others. She explains and tries to put things right afterwards, but her initial reaction is often inappropriately strong and I wish she could realise that and not press the send button until she's thought about it a bit.
Didn't quite cut the mustard as apologies go, really. It raised more questions than it answered and now I'm wondering who on earth doesn't think I'm perfect just as I am.
So I left it another day, as I was a bit tired and it was approaching midnight, and I wrote back the next morning and explained rather more fully the nature of this proposed group and that in fact the wish is not to keep people out but to get more in - those who don't join in already because the more formal committee can put people off contributing. I assured her that no apology was needed, I hadn't taken offence, da-di-da, you know - which is true; frankly I don't care. I can be offended, but you have to put a degree of effort into it.
Anyway, then I got another long email of explanation, and oh Lord, it's fine, really. I'm just glad it isn't my bother.
Emailing is just too easy, you know. I said much the same thing when I was exchanging emails with that lady who got worked up because I decided not to join her Latin class - you will dash off an emailed note saying things you would not say if you had typed and printed or hand-written it. Emailing doesn't feel like writing a letter, but it is - and to make matters worse, its recipient can snap back and exacerbate the whole thing. You can get a bit carried away with the cleverness of your prose, or your feelings of irritation or indignation can make you give a snappy answer, because emailing is an odd sort of communication, between writing and speaking. If you say something, your tone of voice or the reaction of the person you're speaking to colours and can smooth the message you're giving.
It's not the first time I've had such an experience from that particular person, and if she does it to me she will have to others. She explains and tries to put things right afterwards, but her initial reaction is often inappropriately strong and I wish she could realise that and not press the send button until she's thought about it a bit.
The Sage speaks to the Police!!(!)
The telephone rang at ten past eight. I had only just got up so I left it to the Sage, who had been up for ages, to answer. When I came downstairs, he was on the phone again, to a neighbour.
You remember that I told you, the other day, about a young bullock that got out into the lane and then broke into our field with the cows? Its owner came and fetched it back, but this time a whole lot - 14 or something - broke out and ended up in the road, so someone rang the police and they rang us to ask who the cattle belong to. The Sage told them, but said that the farmer won't be home at this time of day, so gave directions to the farm as well.
Then he rang Ermintrude, the neighbour, and they had an enjoyable grumble together.
The farmer is a very pleasant chap and everyone likes him personally, but this sort of thing happens regularly and he is very casual about it. A couple of years ago, his cows kept breaking down our fence to get in with our cows, which had more grass - they waded through the river, which was not fenced in as it's where they drink, and across the footpath. The fence has needed regular repairs ever since. These very young bullocks are fenced in, but they're like any gang of little boys and will get up to mischief and it needs a good fence to hold them. The farmer - shall we call him Bartleby? - won't give out his mobile phone number and says "that's for me to use, not you" so you can't tell him quickly when there's a problem.
Anyway, the Sage, being a sensible sort of fellow and not wanting the cattle to cause an accident, has been down to keep them safe in the lane until Bartleby arrived. They put them back in the field - but Bartleby hadn't brought a hammer or staples to mend the fence. So it's held together with baler twine for the time being.
You remember that I told you, the other day, about a young bullock that got out into the lane and then broke into our field with the cows? Its owner came and fetched it back, but this time a whole lot - 14 or something - broke out and ended up in the road, so someone rang the police and they rang us to ask who the cattle belong to. The Sage told them, but said that the farmer won't be home at this time of day, so gave directions to the farm as well.
Then he rang Ermintrude, the neighbour, and they had an enjoyable grumble together.
The farmer is a very pleasant chap and everyone likes him personally, but this sort of thing happens regularly and he is very casual about it. A couple of years ago, his cows kept breaking down our fence to get in with our cows, which had more grass - they waded through the river, which was not fenced in as it's where they drink, and across the footpath. The fence has needed regular repairs ever since. These very young bullocks are fenced in, but they're like any gang of little boys and will get up to mischief and it needs a good fence to hold them. The farmer - shall we call him Bartleby? - won't give out his mobile phone number and says "that's for me to use, not you" so you can't tell him quickly when there's a problem.
Anyway, the Sage, being a sensible sort of fellow and not wanting the cattle to cause an accident, has been down to keep them safe in the lane until Bartleby arrived. They put them back in the field - but Bartleby hadn't brought a hammer or staples to mend the fence. So it's held together with baler twine for the time being.
Monday, 14 July 2008
Z bangs a Drum
A day at the high school, interviewing in the morning - we had a real difficulty in choosing between the top two candidates as they were so very, very good and our final deliberations took an extra half hour; not because we disagreed but because we all had the same level of difficulty and for the same reasons, so no one was trying to persuade the others. In the afternoon, I went to a music lesson and played the Djembe drums, which was jolly. I then had an end-of-year chat with the music teacher, which was useful and governor-appropriate, and ended in my offering to continue to go in weekly next year two, not because I feel obliged but because I enjoy it.
Nothing in the diary for tomorrow, which is just as well as I've things to catch up on.
There's a bit of a quagmire on the field because there's a leak in the water pipe where it connects to the house supply. It was only renewed last year - I'm not sure that it's the new bit that's leaking, but it's in the same area. Nearby, there's a tank which provides drinking water to cattle, with a ballcock so that it automatically fills up. The bogginess is all around that. Several weeks ago, a chappie from the water board came out, agreed it was their problem and it would go on the schedule for repair. After a reminder, they came, but by that time it was all so wet and muddy that they couldn't be bothered to investigate properly and sent in a report that the problem was with the tank. Someone else came out today and fortunately the Sage happened to see him, and went out to lift the manhole cover and prove that it was their side of the supply. So he agreed that they have to do it. It's not an awful leak, but there's a real mess around there now and, even if it's only 3 or 4 gallons an hour (let's say, I've no real idea), that's a lot over 6 weeks or more. Fortunately, the field being sandy soil on gravel, it will drain quite quickly once the pipe is mended.
Nothing in the diary for tomorrow, which is just as well as I've things to catch up on.
There's a bit of a quagmire on the field because there's a leak in the water pipe where it connects to the house supply. It was only renewed last year - I'm not sure that it's the new bit that's leaking, but it's in the same area. Nearby, there's a tank which provides drinking water to cattle, with a ballcock so that it automatically fills up. The bogginess is all around that. Several weeks ago, a chappie from the water board came out, agreed it was their problem and it would go on the schedule for repair. After a reminder, they came, but by that time it was all so wet and muddy that they couldn't be bothered to investigate properly and sent in a report that the problem was with the tank. Someone else came out today and fortunately the Sage happened to see him, and went out to lift the manhole cover and prove that it was their side of the supply. So he agreed that they have to do it. It's not an awful leak, but there's a real mess around there now and, even if it's only 3 or 4 gallons an hour (let's say, I've no real idea), that's a lot over 6 weeks or more. Fortunately, the field being sandy soil on gravel, it will drain quite quickly once the pipe is mended.
Sunday, 13 July 2008
Z relaxes, almost
The festival is finished, the church has been undecorated, except for the flowers and the treasurer is counting the takings (well, if I were she, I'd leave it until after dinner). I have the tub and hanging basket competition to count the votes for of (sort out the grammar yourselves, darlings, will you?) and then there will be the prize draw of the voting slips, because we have such generous sponsors that we can give a prize for everything.
Dinner is cooking - I wrapped a pork fillet (tenderloin, if that's how you know it) in bacon and shoved it in the oven, scrubbed some spuds and put them on to boil, cut up an out-of-season (Lord knows what country it came from) butternut squash and rubbed it with olive oil and bunged that in the oven, rejected the idea of picking veggies out of the garden and got some sweetcorn out of the freezer instead (total convenience food tonight, you see). Then, and only then ... 0:-) ... I opened a chilled bottle of wine and poured myself a glassful.
Ooh, and I arrived home to find a verbal invitation to a wedding next month. I'd known it was happening ages ago and knew we were to be invited, and that sort of relaxed attitude is fine by me. It's the sister of the girl whose wedding I went to in Madras three and a half years ago. This time, it won't be in India - booo!!(!) - although 6 weeks notice might be pushing it for that I suppose, possibly, especially as I will have a very small new grandbaby by then - just as well, I'd be so sorely tempted, however hot it is out there in August. Anyway, I rang back, gave Auntie my address and we'll have a written invitation next week.
Right. I expect dinner's about cooked. You see how much I care? I write to you before I eat. Greater love hath no Z than this.
Dinner is cooking - I wrapped a pork fillet (tenderloin, if that's how you know it) in bacon and shoved it in the oven, scrubbed some spuds and put them on to boil, cut up an out-of-season (Lord knows what country it came from) butternut squash and rubbed it with olive oil and bunged that in the oven, rejected the idea of picking veggies out of the garden and got some sweetcorn out of the freezer instead (total convenience food tonight, you see). Then, and only then ... 0:-) ... I opened a chilled bottle of wine and poured myself a glassful.
Ooh, and I arrived home to find a verbal invitation to a wedding next month. I'd known it was happening ages ago and knew we were to be invited, and that sort of relaxed attitude is fine by me. It's the sister of the girl whose wedding I went to in Madras three and a half years ago. This time, it won't be in India - booo!!(!) - although 6 weeks notice might be pushing it for that I suppose, possibly, especially as I will have a very small new grandbaby by then - just as well, I'd be so sorely tempted, however hot it is out there in August. Anyway, I rang back, gave Auntie my address and we'll have a written invitation next week.
Right. I expect dinner's about cooked. You see how much I care? I write to you before I eat. Greater love hath no Z than this.
Saturday, 12 July 2008
The Fêteful Day
went fine. A mild and brief shower, just when the high school's wind band was entertaining us, but they played on as their sheet music started to curl and it was over in a couple of minutes - the rain that is. From then onwards, it was a fine day.
I showed Norfolk village granny credentials by strolling along, burger in one hand, pint of beer in the other, pushing Pugsley in his pushchair with a couple of leftover fingers.
Dilly and Al went to the local theatre this evening and Ro was babysitting, so we took our dinner through to keep him company and then the Sage went to do whatever Sages do on a Saturday evening while Ro and I watched a film. We took the Mac with us, as it enjoys the company. Besides, Al and Dil have been having a major springclean and their television is temporarily in their bedroom and the Mac is much bigger than a laptop, almost as easy to transport (I exaggerate) and better for two people to watch films on. Hot Fuzz. Haven't seen it before. Chortled happily.
When we came back, Ro carrying the computer (screen and comp are all-in-one), I with the keyboard, mouse, tray of dinner plates etc, newspaper and bits and pieces, we discovered that the Sage had gone out without telling us or leaving us a key. I went and asked for the spare key. Al had it on his keyring. Al was in the bathroom. Then he couldn't find his keys. He searched, with no useful result. Dilly glanced and found the keys. "Not her fault" I explained. "It's what women do and men don't."
Being small-minded and of a teasing frame of mind, I have left the key in the locked door, so that the Sage will have to knock when he gets home. I hope that's soon actually, as I'm quite tired. Unusual for me to think about going to bed before midnight; I don't like to miss the best bit of the day - well, one of them - but I was up early. And will be tomorrow.
I showed Norfolk village granny credentials by strolling along, burger in one hand, pint of beer in the other, pushing Pugsley in his pushchair with a couple of leftover fingers.
Dilly and Al went to the local theatre this evening and Ro was babysitting, so we took our dinner through to keep him company and then the Sage went to do whatever Sages do on a Saturday evening while Ro and I watched a film. We took the Mac with us, as it enjoys the company. Besides, Al and Dil have been having a major springclean and their television is temporarily in their bedroom and the Mac is much bigger than a laptop, almost as easy to transport (I exaggerate) and better for two people to watch films on. Hot Fuzz. Haven't seen it before. Chortled happily.
When we came back, Ro carrying the computer (screen and comp are all-in-one), I with the keyboard, mouse, tray of dinner plates etc, newspaper and bits and pieces, we discovered that the Sage had gone out without telling us or leaving us a key. I went and asked for the spare key. Al had it on his keyring. Al was in the bathroom. Then he couldn't find his keys. He searched, with no useful result. Dilly glanced and found the keys. "Not her fault" I explained. "It's what women do and men don't."
Being small-minded and of a teasing frame of mind, I have left the key in the locked door, so that the Sage will have to knock when he gets home. I hope that's soon actually, as I'm quite tired. Unusual for me to think about going to bed before midnight; I don't like to miss the best bit of the day - well, one of them - but I was up early. And will be tomorrow.
Friday, 11 July 2008
Fete nearly accompli
Of course, when the village has a fete (no point in putting in the accent unless you're using Safari as your browser, which probably none of you is) it doesn't just have a fete. It has a Beer Festival. It's no wonder that it goes down such a storm. From morning until night and on into the small hours (midnight at any rate), we Party On with the best of them.
Today, I played the organ for David's funeral and then went back to the church in the afternoon to decorate it. I bought all Al's flowers yesterday, cut swathes of greenery from the garden and did lots of flower arrangements. The church exhibition's theme this year is 'Childhood Memories'. I took a liquid theme as I grew up by Oulton Broad and wrote about (with a photo of mini-me) messing about in boats, my early fascination with newts and the winter of 1963, which was incredibly cold, with ice so thick on the Broad that cars could drive on it.
The Sage's earliest memories were of the war. So that's what his display is about.
I finally lurched home, limping on both feet, at about 6 o'clock, or possibly later. We'd planned to have a barbecue but the weather had turned showery, so Dilly cooked dinner for us all, which was lovely. She had come to help me in the church and the children were angelic, until Pugsley started to become uncharacteristically fretful at about 5ish, at which point it dawned on us that he'd missed his afternoon nap. He kept his patience, with an effort, until she was ready to take him home. He then went straight to bed and to sleep and missed his dinner. We wonder if he'll wake up hungry in the middle of the night.
A registered envelope arrived this morning, addressed to me. The Sage signed for it, and was highly curious to know what it was. It's Ro's ticket to the Latitude festival - I'm so annoyed with myself that I didn't buy a ticket for myself too, when I was getting his as a present, because I thought he'd hate to have to go with his old mother. Since, of course, they have sold out.
I also received four free light bulbs from British Gas.
I also had a dividend cheque for £19.55.
Dilly has been offered a part-time teaching job next year, and has accepted it.
Today, I played the organ for David's funeral and then went back to the church in the afternoon to decorate it. I bought all Al's flowers yesterday, cut swathes of greenery from the garden and did lots of flower arrangements. The church exhibition's theme this year is 'Childhood Memories'. I took a liquid theme as I grew up by Oulton Broad and wrote about (with a photo of mini-me) messing about in boats, my early fascination with newts and the winter of 1963, which was incredibly cold, with ice so thick on the Broad that cars could drive on it.
The Sage's earliest memories were of the war. So that's what his display is about.
I finally lurched home, limping on both feet, at about 6 o'clock, or possibly later. We'd planned to have a barbecue but the weather had turned showery, so Dilly cooked dinner for us all, which was lovely. She had come to help me in the church and the children were angelic, until Pugsley started to become uncharacteristically fretful at about 5ish, at which point it dawned on us that he'd missed his afternoon nap. He kept his patience, with an effort, until she was ready to take him home. He then went straight to bed and to sleep and missed his dinner. We wonder if he'll wake up hungry in the middle of the night.
A registered envelope arrived this morning, addressed to me. The Sage signed for it, and was highly curious to know what it was. It's Ro's ticket to the Latitude festival - I'm so annoyed with myself that I didn't buy a ticket for myself too, when I was getting his as a present, because I thought he'd hate to have to go with his old mother. Since, of course, they have sold out.
I also received four free light bulbs from British Gas.
I also had a dividend cheque for £19.55.
Dilly has been offered a part-time teaching job next year, and has accepted it.
Thursday, 10 July 2008
Auctions and bidding
Gordie wondered if it was quite ethical for an auctioneer to run the bidding up to the reserve, rather than let it finish at the point where there is only one bidder left.
Right - well, first of all, most items have a reserve; that is, a price below which the lot will not be sold. Put it this way - if you went to a car dealer, wanting to sell your car for £2,000 and he only offered you £500, you'd probably not sell, would you? Especially if you still owed £1,000 on it. You would have a figure in your mind for negotiation, but there would be a point at which you could not sell it unless you were completely desperate - and if you knew it was worth the money and he'd be selling it on at a profit, you'd keep bargaining for a realistic offer, or take it home again.
When you send a picture to an auction, you own it until the fall of the hammer and you are under no obligation to sell it for less than the sum that you and the auctioneer have agreed it's worth. You will also agree with the auctioneer if there's any flexibility on that. For example, let's say there's £100 reserve, but someone bids £95. If the auctioneer takes it to £100, another bid actually pushes it past the reserve, so he probably would let it go at £95.
For an auction to work, there needs to be at least two people bidding. But let's say you are willing to pay £100, but no one else is bidding. It is acceptable for the auctioneer to point down and take bids 'off the book' until the reserve is reached - but not after. This is up to the ethics of the auctioneer - if he knows that there is someone in the room who might pay more than the reserve, he must not take advantage of that, but let the piece find its own level in the bidding. Nor may he use a commission bid (that is, someone who has left a maximum bid with him) to bump up the bidding past the reserve. The Sage is always cautious about leaving bids unless he trusts the auctioneer because not all of them are completely scrupulous about not using commission bids.
So far, you think that as a buyer you are being manipulated. But look at it from the other side.
Gordie and Z are friends with an interest in pictures in common and they go to an auction together. Gordie really likes the Seago and says so. Z likes it too, but she wouldn't dream of running the price up high for her friend, so she says she won't bid until he drops out. Fair enough, but it would not be fair on the owner of the picture that the price is artificially low because two friends have done some private negotiation.
Between friends or colleagues this is one thing, but among dealers it's a different matter. And this is where you need a skillful auctioneer who knows what things should be worth and has valued them correctly with a realistic reserve. An auction ring is illegal, but regularly used.
A group of dealers gets together and agrees how to bid to get lots for the lowest possible price. The designated bidder buys the items and pays for them and afterwards, they all get together and have a private auction amongst themselves. The pieces are resold, the buyer is reimbursed and everyone shares the profit - except the former owner who didn't get the value of his pieces, and the auctioneer who earns a reduced commission - and, arguably, deserves to, you might say. Well yes, if he only takes live bids in the room and then lets it go, but if he's allowed to bid an item up to its sensible reserve, it won't happen; or at any rate, to a much lesser extent.
Of course, at the sort of auction we went to yesterday, this sort of thing would not happen. There was no question of any dodgy dealership at all and, although the room was full, there was also a whole tableful of people taking telephone bids. No question of collusion and quite a few private buyers, because I saw them. The sale went well because it deserved to; it was, genuinely, a private collection put together over many years, of very attractive and appealing local pictures. It was very professionally conducted in a relaxed atmosphere. I thought it was lovely that the vendors had chosen to sell in Norwich rather than send the pictures to London and I think that paid off, in that there were so many private collectors as well as dealers.
I think I may have given you the impression that there is only ever one person bidding - that's not so and it's all the more fun when there's spirited bidding in the room. Some people are willing to come in at the start and others prefer to wait and see how it's going (if the auctioneer gave up as soon as no one bid, these people would never come in, but they might bid strongly once they get going). If I want a piece I bid promptly (if I can get a bid in edgeways) and remain determined, bidding again as soon as I'm taken out. I know perfectly well that I'm not going to get it for more than a bid less than the guide price or estimate (unless I'm very lucky and the reserve is well under that; an unlikely circumstance) so I don't mind if there's not another bidder - though there may well be and it's more fun that way as there's an extra element of competition. I fix in my mind the price I want to pay and the price I will go up to if I must - though if there's really spirited bidding, I might think 'hm, maybe I've undervalued it a bit' and go a bit further if I can afford to. Always remember to add on the auctioneer's commission and VAT on the hammer price, and check if there's any extra tax on the item itself. There may be if it's being sold by a dealer, if it's been imported for sale or if the painter is still alive he's paid commission every time his piece is auctioned.
If you go to a general auction sale and there isn't a catalogue or it's just a printed sheet, there may be no reserves and everything is just sold as seen.
I've not been clear enough - let's go through it carefully.
I go to an auction and see a tea cup and saucer that is just what I want. And the estimate is only £200-£220 - what a bargain that would be! The bidding starts at £80 and goes up steadily until it reaches £160, but then the other bidder shakes his head. He doesn't appreciate fine china, it seems. The auctioneer looks around for another bidder, but he doesn't see one. There am I, all hopeful and keen and ready to continue bidding, but the reserve (the price the seller has said that the bidding must reach) is higher than £160. It is normal practice in any auction house for an auctioneer to continue as if there is another bidder (this is called 'taking bids off the wall'). So, he says "£170", I bid £180, he says "£190", I put my hand up again for £200 and then the auctioneer continues to look around - but if there is no other bidder and the reserve price has been reached (that is, he has bid up to the reserve), he will bang down his gavel, and the cup and saucer becomes mine.
Sometimes, it works the other way. No one wants to start the bidding and then the auctioneer will probably offer a lower starting price. Then, when I've put in my bid, he will point at his book to indicate that he is bidding against the reserve (that is, running up the price because my bid is still lower than the price he can sell at) until someone else is encouraged to start bidding; then he'll take my bid alternately from the other person's in the usual way. I'll probably be overcome with excitement and end up bidding more than I meant to for the cup and saucer.
Of course, more often there are at least two bidders and it isn't necessary to do any of this. But if the auctioneer waits ages, anxiously, for bids, it absolutely kills the atmosphere and there's a good chance that hardly anything will sell. That's why a good auctioneer is worth his weight in teacups.
Anything more you would like to know, Gordie and Dandelion? Or TMI already? Query anything I've said, by all means.
Right - well, first of all, most items have a reserve; that is, a price below which the lot will not be sold. Put it this way - if you went to a car dealer, wanting to sell your car for £2,000 and he only offered you £500, you'd probably not sell, would you? Especially if you still owed £1,000 on it. You would have a figure in your mind for negotiation, but there would be a point at which you could not sell it unless you were completely desperate - and if you knew it was worth the money and he'd be selling it on at a profit, you'd keep bargaining for a realistic offer, or take it home again.
When you send a picture to an auction, you own it until the fall of the hammer and you are under no obligation to sell it for less than the sum that you and the auctioneer have agreed it's worth. You will also agree with the auctioneer if there's any flexibility on that. For example, let's say there's £100 reserve, but someone bids £95. If the auctioneer takes it to £100, another bid actually pushes it past the reserve, so he probably would let it go at £95.
For an auction to work, there needs to be at least two people bidding. But let's say you are willing to pay £100, but no one else is bidding. It is acceptable for the auctioneer to point down and take bids 'off the book' until the reserve is reached - but not after. This is up to the ethics of the auctioneer - if he knows that there is someone in the room who might pay more than the reserve, he must not take advantage of that, but let the piece find its own level in the bidding. Nor may he use a commission bid (that is, someone who has left a maximum bid with him) to bump up the bidding past the reserve. The Sage is always cautious about leaving bids unless he trusts the auctioneer because not all of them are completely scrupulous about not using commission bids.
So far, you think that as a buyer you are being manipulated. But look at it from the other side.
Gordie and Z are friends with an interest in pictures in common and they go to an auction together. Gordie really likes the Seago and says so. Z likes it too, but she wouldn't dream of running the price up high for her friend, so she says she won't bid until he drops out. Fair enough, but it would not be fair on the owner of the picture that the price is artificially low because two friends have done some private negotiation.
Between friends or colleagues this is one thing, but among dealers it's a different matter. And this is where you need a skillful auctioneer who knows what things should be worth and has valued them correctly with a realistic reserve. An auction ring is illegal, but regularly used.
A group of dealers gets together and agrees how to bid to get lots for the lowest possible price. The designated bidder buys the items and pays for them and afterwards, they all get together and have a private auction amongst themselves. The pieces are resold, the buyer is reimbursed and everyone shares the profit - except the former owner who didn't get the value of his pieces, and the auctioneer who earns a reduced commission - and, arguably, deserves to, you might say. Well yes, if he only takes live bids in the room and then lets it go, but if he's allowed to bid an item up to its sensible reserve, it won't happen; or at any rate, to a much lesser extent.
Of course, at the sort of auction we went to yesterday, this sort of thing would not happen. There was no question of any dodgy dealership at all and, although the room was full, there was also a whole tableful of people taking telephone bids. No question of collusion and quite a few private buyers, because I saw them. The sale went well because it deserved to; it was, genuinely, a private collection put together over many years, of very attractive and appealing local pictures. It was very professionally conducted in a relaxed atmosphere. I thought it was lovely that the vendors had chosen to sell in Norwich rather than send the pictures to London and I think that paid off, in that there were so many private collectors as well as dealers.
I think I may have given you the impression that there is only ever one person bidding - that's not so and it's all the more fun when there's spirited bidding in the room. Some people are willing to come in at the start and others prefer to wait and see how it's going (if the auctioneer gave up as soon as no one bid, these people would never come in, but they might bid strongly once they get going). If I want a piece I bid promptly (if I can get a bid in edgeways) and remain determined, bidding again as soon as I'm taken out. I know perfectly well that I'm not going to get it for more than a bid less than the guide price or estimate (unless I'm very lucky and the reserve is well under that; an unlikely circumstance) so I don't mind if there's not another bidder - though there may well be and it's more fun that way as there's an extra element of competition. I fix in my mind the price I want to pay and the price I will go up to if I must - though if there's really spirited bidding, I might think 'hm, maybe I've undervalued it a bit' and go a bit further if I can afford to. Always remember to add on the auctioneer's commission and VAT on the hammer price, and check if there's any extra tax on the item itself. There may be if it's being sold by a dealer, if it's been imported for sale or if the painter is still alive he's paid commission every time his piece is auctioned.
If you go to a general auction sale and there isn't a catalogue or it's just a printed sheet, there may be no reserves and everything is just sold as seen.
I've not been clear enough - let's go through it carefully.
I go to an auction and see a tea cup and saucer that is just what I want. And the estimate is only £200-£220 - what a bargain that would be! The bidding starts at £80 and goes up steadily until it reaches £160, but then the other bidder shakes his head. He doesn't appreciate fine china, it seems. The auctioneer looks around for another bidder, but he doesn't see one. There am I, all hopeful and keen and ready to continue bidding, but the reserve (the price the seller has said that the bidding must reach) is higher than £160. It is normal practice in any auction house for an auctioneer to continue as if there is another bidder (this is called 'taking bids off the wall'). So, he says "£170", I bid £180, he says "£190", I put my hand up again for £200 and then the auctioneer continues to look around - but if there is no other bidder and the reserve price has been reached (that is, he has bid up to the reserve), he will bang down his gavel, and the cup and saucer becomes mine.
Sometimes, it works the other way. No one wants to start the bidding and then the auctioneer will probably offer a lower starting price. Then, when I've put in my bid, he will point at his book to indicate that he is bidding against the reserve (that is, running up the price because my bid is still lower than the price he can sell at) until someone else is encouraged to start bidding; then he'll take my bid alternately from the other person's in the usual way. I'll probably be overcome with excitement and end up bidding more than I meant to for the cup and saucer.
Of course, more often there are at least two bidders and it isn't necessary to do any of this. But if the auctioneer waits ages, anxiously, for bids, it absolutely kills the atmosphere and there's a good chance that hardly anything will sell. That's why a good auctioneer is worth his weight in teacups.
Anything more you would like to know, Gordie and Dandelion? Or TMI already? Query anything I've said, by all means.
Cow's that? Out!!(!)
It's always when you've been pottering round for a bit and not putting your face on that things happen. At least I was dressed. I rarely come downstairs before I'm dressed as it's the sure prompt for a small and orderly queue of people to come to the door and embarrass me.
Anyway, I did this and that and was just thinking of putting the eye in and the face on when the phone rang. It was Daphne. A cow had just walked past her door going towards the road. I thanked her, said I'd go and see what I could do - I was just putting in the contact lens when Dilly rang. She gave the same unwelcome news, but added that she didn't think it was one of ours as it was very small and she thought it was a boy. I started to cuss the neighbouring farmer - a charming man but an annoying stockman - who is really quite careless about keeping his cattle in his fields. Then I got on my bike, clutching a stout walking stick in one hand and whizzed off towards the church. There was no sign of a cow or bullock. I went up the road some way, in case it had gone into someone's garden, but couldn't see it. I went to look down the footpath alongside our field and there were two large cows talking to their cousins which were still in the field. They were well down the path and I went home to get some rope to close off the path.
I also spent three minutes slapping on some make-up. Vain? Merely considerate of other people.
The Sage came home. I suggested that he might try to remember taking his phone with him in case I needed him and told him the situation. We agreed that he'd go across the field and I'd go back to the path in case they went the wrong way.
No more drama, those good girls were peacefully grazing, the Sage found where the fence was broken down and I walked them back to the opening, and they returned home. I'd noticed the cause of all the trouble though; a small bullock which was nuzzling the cows hopefully in a "will you be my new mum?" sort of way. He really was quite small and I feel sorry for him. Evidently, he'd got out of his field, got lost, nearly went on the road, then saw the cows and pushed his way through the fence. Then they went through the gap. We left him there with the cows - the farmers can sort it out.
It was 10.45. I went home and had a substantial breakfast, as I'd not eaten yet, of black coffee, plain yoghurt, dry toast and (this was what made it more substantial than usual) a banana. If it weren't for the quantity of wine I drink (though not normally for breakfast) I'd be tiny already.
Anyway, I did this and that and was just thinking of putting the eye in and the face on when the phone rang. It was Daphne. A cow had just walked past her door going towards the road. I thanked her, said I'd go and see what I could do - I was just putting in the contact lens when Dilly rang. She gave the same unwelcome news, but added that she didn't think it was one of ours as it was very small and she thought it was a boy. I started to cuss the neighbouring farmer - a charming man but an annoying stockman - who is really quite careless about keeping his cattle in his fields. Then I got on my bike, clutching a stout walking stick in one hand and whizzed off towards the church. There was no sign of a cow or bullock. I went up the road some way, in case it had gone into someone's garden, but couldn't see it. I went to look down the footpath alongside our field and there were two large cows talking to their cousins which were still in the field. They were well down the path and I went home to get some rope to close off the path.
I also spent three minutes slapping on some make-up. Vain? Merely considerate of other people.
The Sage came home. I suggested that he might try to remember taking his phone with him in case I needed him and told him the situation. We agreed that he'd go across the field and I'd go back to the path in case they went the wrong way.
No more drama, those good girls were peacefully grazing, the Sage found where the fence was broken down and I walked them back to the opening, and they returned home. I'd noticed the cause of all the trouble though; a small bullock which was nuzzling the cows hopefully in a "will you be my new mum?" sort of way. He really was quite small and I feel sorry for him. Evidently, he'd got out of his field, got lost, nearly went on the road, then saw the cows and pushed his way through the fence. Then they went through the gap. We left him there with the cows - the farmers can sort it out.
It was 10.45. I went home and had a substantial breakfast, as I'd not eaten yet, of black coffee, plain yoghurt, dry toast and (this was what made it more substantial than usual) a banana. If it weren't for the quantity of wine I drink (though not normally for breakfast) I'd be tiny already.
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
Z sits on her hands
This is the auction we went to. The collection being sold - Lots 1-128 - belonged to someone whom the Sage had known for many years; indeed, he'd sold him a dozen or so of the pictures. It was a lovely collection; mostly of East Anglian painters and mainly land, sea and river scapes with a few still lifes and flower paintings. The ones I liked best were the Tom Smythes and the Campbell Mellons, and I've a soft spot for John Moore and Eloise Stannard. I also liked the Seago, which was Lot 128, but that was certainly well beyond even our wildest splashing-out range. In fact, we put in a bid here and there (not in the thousands) but didn't buy anything.
Now I see the prices online, it's interesting - the auctioneer mostly said if something wasn't sold (and most pictures were) but sometimes, if a piece doesn't meet its reserve, one doesn't exactly broadcast the fact. The most expensive pictures were 'sold' for £88,000, but we didn't believe it (the estimate was £100,000-£150,000) and I see that the lot has been announced as selling for £85,000. That means that they didn't meet their reserve, the auctioneer tried to push them up against the reserve (this is legitimate, but pushing it once the reserve has been met is not, it's totally unethical) but then spoke to the buyer and the bidder and brokered a sale after all at the lower price.
If you don't want to look through all the prices, I should tell you that this was by far the most expensive lot and most of them were in the hundreds or low thousands. You might still protest that this is a lot of money for a painting but don't look at these fairly low-price collectors, look at the people who blow thousands, or hundreds of thousands of pound on a party or a holiday or millions on - well, anything really. It's easy come, easy go to them.
We saw a lot of people we knew. One chap said "hello" and I greeted him in return - it took a second to think why I knew him. He used, before his retirement, to be our MP. I always liked him. He was a very good constituent MP and was always willing to come to local events, even when he was a cabinet minister. Once, he came to open an extension to the village school. He was Secretary of State for Education at the time and he spent some time finding out my views on various current education matters. I was vastly gratified, the next week, to hear him in the House of Commons repeating some of the things I'd said. I'm not for one minute saying that I influenced his thinking, maybe I (with others) reinforced it but it was, in my experience, typical of him. He listened to people and considered what they had to say.
We also saw our good friends A & A, who used to have an art gallery in L'toft. They bought the house we lived in when we got married, and still live there 34 years later. A was with the Sprout* and me on our first visit to London together, the one that made us realise just how much we were starting to like each other...
Among the staff who were taking telephone bids was a man whose face I knew, but I couldn't place him until A hissed "That's him off the telly!" Indeed it was; someone who's often on Fl0g 1t and similar vaguely antiquey sort of daytime programmes (did I mention that the Sage was once interviewed as an expert on that programme? It's been aired at least 3 times, which makes people think he's a regular). I can't find a picture - it's kraM yecatS (sorry, but I'd mislead unfortunate Google searchers by bringing them here). He is a proper antiques expert though, he's not just doing it for show on daytime TV! The auctioneer was the woman mentioned in this article, who was excellent and had both authority and considerable charm.
All in all, then, a most enjoyable couple of hours. The pictures were all hung in the saleroom so I was able to have a good look before the sale started. Afterwards, I left the Sage having lunch with A & A and nipped off to have a quick look round the shops, but I wasn't very tempted. I bought a pair of trousers and a top, but that wasn't much considering I was in quite a buying mood. It would be silly to buy many clothes, in fact, as I still have weight to lose. Only one size down as yet, and a stone. 14 pounds. 6.4 kilos. It's going though, and missing lunch isn't a bad thing once in a while.
I only saw a few of the Norwich elephants (scoot over to Dave’s blog if you want pictures) but I wasn't awfully impressed. They look better in the photos, I thought. Quite effective as street art, and I'm all for people being engaged in art - maybe they are a bit too spread out. I only saw a few of them as I didn't have time to go all over the city centre.
*He became the Sage when he wisely married me
Now I see the prices online, it's interesting - the auctioneer mostly said if something wasn't sold (and most pictures were) but sometimes, if a piece doesn't meet its reserve, one doesn't exactly broadcast the fact. The most expensive pictures were 'sold' for £88,000, but we didn't believe it (the estimate was £100,000-£150,000) and I see that the lot has been announced as selling for £85,000. That means that they didn't meet their reserve, the auctioneer tried to push them up against the reserve (this is legitimate, but pushing it once the reserve has been met is not, it's totally unethical) but then spoke to the buyer and the bidder and brokered a sale after all at the lower price.
If you don't want to look through all the prices, I should tell you that this was by far the most expensive lot and most of them were in the hundreds or low thousands. You might still protest that this is a lot of money for a painting but don't look at these fairly low-price collectors, look at the people who blow thousands, or hundreds of thousands of pound on a party or a holiday or millions on - well, anything really. It's easy come, easy go to them.
We saw a lot of people we knew. One chap said "hello" and I greeted him in return - it took a second to think why I knew him. He used, before his retirement, to be our MP. I always liked him. He was a very good constituent MP and was always willing to come to local events, even when he was a cabinet minister. Once, he came to open an extension to the village school. He was Secretary of State for Education at the time and he spent some time finding out my views on various current education matters. I was vastly gratified, the next week, to hear him in the House of Commons repeating some of the things I'd said. I'm not for one minute saying that I influenced his thinking, maybe I (with others) reinforced it but it was, in my experience, typical of him. He listened to people and considered what they had to say.
We also saw our good friends A & A, who used to have an art gallery in L'toft. They bought the house we lived in when we got married, and still live there 34 years later. A was with the Sprout* and me on our first visit to London together, the one that made us realise just how much we were starting to like each other...
Among the staff who were taking telephone bids was a man whose face I knew, but I couldn't place him until A hissed "That's him off the telly!" Indeed it was; someone who's often on Fl0g 1t and similar vaguely antiquey sort of daytime programmes (did I mention that the Sage was once interviewed as an expert on that programme? It's been aired at least 3 times, which makes people think he's a regular). I can't find a picture - it's kraM yecatS (sorry, but I'd mislead unfortunate Google searchers by bringing them here). He is a proper antiques expert though, he's not just doing it for show on daytime TV! The auctioneer was the woman mentioned in this article, who was excellent and had both authority and considerable charm.
All in all, then, a most enjoyable couple of hours. The pictures were all hung in the saleroom so I was able to have a good look before the sale started. Afterwards, I left the Sage having lunch with A & A and nipped off to have a quick look round the shops, but I wasn't very tempted. I bought a pair of trousers and a top, but that wasn't much considering I was in quite a buying mood. It would be silly to buy many clothes, in fact, as I still have weight to lose. Only one size down as yet, and a stone. 14 pounds. 6.4 kilos. It's going though, and missing lunch isn't a bad thing once in a while.
I only saw a few of the Norwich elephants (scoot over to Dave’s blog if you want pictures) but I wasn't awfully impressed. They look better in the photos, I thought. Quite effective as street art, and I'm all for people being engaged in art - maybe they are a bit too spread out. I only saw a few of them as I didn't have time to go all over the city centre.
*He became the Sage when he wisely married me
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
Z and the Sage plan to go out together
Three meetings, each on a completely different subject, today, as well as meals on wheels and playing the organ for a funeral. It was all spread over 12 hours. I've got minutes to write from two of them tomorrow.
The Sage went to view a sale in Norwich. When he showed me the catalogue, I wished I'd been able to go too. I invited myself to go with him to the sale itself, tomorrow. No plans to buy anything, but we'd like to see the auction and besides, the Sage knows the vendor who was a keen buyer of pictures at his own auctions in the past, back in the days when the Sage was a full-time auctioneer, before he chose his tiny specialisation in semi-retirement.
Since we're going to be in the centre of Norwich, I'd like to spend a bit of time pottering around, but I bet the Sage will be keen to get home again. He's very purposeful, my husband.
The Sage went to view a sale in Norwich. When he showed me the catalogue, I wished I'd been able to go too. I invited myself to go with him to the sale itself, tomorrow. No plans to buy anything, but we'd like to see the auction and besides, the Sage knows the vendor who was a keen buyer of pictures at his own auctions in the past, back in the days when the Sage was a full-time auctioneer, before he chose his tiny specialisation in semi-retirement.
Since we're going to be in the centre of Norwich, I'd like to spend a bit of time pottering around, but I bet the Sage will be keen to get home again. He's very purposeful, my husband.
Monday, 7 July 2008
The woman's a fool
I've been giving tips to the Sage on how to win an argument and look good too - that is, not appear to play dirty.
I don't know whether to hope he's taken it in or not. If he has, I'll have to up my game somewhat.
I'll still outdebate him though. I've got more on my side than words.
I don't know whether to hope he's taken it in or not. If he has, I'll have to up my game somewhat.
I'll still outdebate him though. I've got more on my side than words.
Z Pavlova
Salad tonight, with smoked mackerel, which I have lovingly filleted to save my darling boys the trouble. I took the food through to the dining room except the potatoes, which are still cooking. I laid the table. The sounds must have filtered through to Ro in the room above (it's not his bedroom but has better wireless reception than his room). I heard clattering on the back stairs. "Sorry" I said, "five more minutes". Moments later, the Sage's hungry head poked round the door. "Sorry," I said, "Five more minutes."
I just need to make the right noises and they appear. It's like putting the kettle on, which works without sound with the Sage.
I just need to make the right noises and they appear. It's like putting the kettle on, which works without sound with the Sage.
Wasting words
I didn't mention, yesterday, that Al has found his Queen! There are pictures of childbirth on his bee blog too, which is not nearly as not-for-the-squeamish as it sounds. All awfully exciting.
We've decided to put a fence all around the 4-acre field in front of the house. We used to let a friend graze sheep there, using electric fencing, but she got a proper (meaning, it brings in an income) job some years ago and since, it's just been cut for hay. It was cut a couple of weeks ago and there may be an aftermath, depending on the amount of rain we get this summer. After that, we'll lend or let it for grazing again - sheep are best as they nibble the grass very short and their little hooves don't damage the ground while they fertilise it nicely at the same time. Horse owners pay, on the other hand, but horses aren't good for pasture as they only eat some of the grass and their droppings should be cleared up as they won't eat near them and they encourage rank growth and weeds. I dunno. It'll all work out. Our charming Polish couple have heavily cut back the privet hedge around the tennis court and more undergrowth needs to be trimmed (no birds' nests were injured during this operation, we checked very carefully) and then they will dig the holes for the posts. A farmer friend will lend his post-hole borer.
The farmer friend is Jonathan, by the way, who had that horrible accident with his foot a few weeks ago. He is doing very well now and determined to be back in the saddle, tractor-wise, before long. His paperwork and accounts are all very well up to date now, as he didn't do nothing during his recuperation.
Anyway, Jack and Barbara (I know, I expect they have Anglicised their names for our benefit) rang this morning to say it was pouring with rain where they live and what was it like here? It was fine at the time, but rain was forecast so they didn't come over. It has bucketed down since, so just as well.
You know, if the PM wants to complain about food waste, he might start by looking at supermarkets which reject perfectly good but marginally "too big" or "too small" produce from farmers, which often has to be dumped. You'd really think he would have more important things to think about. Indeed, that sort of thing is important, but not at a strategic level. He is trying to pass the blame to us and to distract us from what's really going wrong with prices and his government of the country.
I understand he chartered an aeroplane to go to the G8 summit conference in Japan. If that is so, it seems awfully wasteful to me.
Of course, the whole drama about "one third of the food we buy is thrown away" is not even accurate. I remember distinctly that when this report first came out a few years ago, it was said that it was not possible to differentiate between wasted good food and vegetable peelings, bones etc which were inedible. So if you bought a chicken, roasted it, ate all the meat and threw away the carcase or boiled it up for soup and only threw away the bones, you'd still be chucking about a pound of organic matter away, which would probably be about a quarter of the total weight. I'm not saying that people don't waste food - and indeed, I think it's better to know when you've eaten enough and stop, even if that does mean food is left on the plate - but that I don't believe it's anywhere near what has become the standard suggested amount.
There's not a great deal wasted here, in fact, because Tilly and the chickens eat much of the scraps, other vegetable waste goes on the compost heap and we use up most leftovers. But sometimes things get thrown away, as well as the inedible bits. And I can do without a politician who has been promoted past his level of competence patronising me by telling me how to housekeep.
We've decided to put a fence all around the 4-acre field in front of the house. We used to let a friend graze sheep there, using electric fencing, but she got a proper (meaning, it brings in an income) job some years ago and since, it's just been cut for hay. It was cut a couple of weeks ago and there may be an aftermath, depending on the amount of rain we get this summer. After that, we'll lend or let it for grazing again - sheep are best as they nibble the grass very short and their little hooves don't damage the ground while they fertilise it nicely at the same time. Horse owners pay, on the other hand, but horses aren't good for pasture as they only eat some of the grass and their droppings should be cleared up as they won't eat near them and they encourage rank growth and weeds. I dunno. It'll all work out. Our charming Polish couple have heavily cut back the privet hedge around the tennis court and more undergrowth needs to be trimmed (no birds' nests were injured during this operation, we checked very carefully) and then they will dig the holes for the posts. A farmer friend will lend his post-hole borer.
The farmer friend is Jonathan, by the way, who had that horrible accident with his foot a few weeks ago. He is doing very well now and determined to be back in the saddle, tractor-wise, before long. His paperwork and accounts are all very well up to date now, as he didn't do nothing during his recuperation.
Anyway, Jack and Barbara (I know, I expect they have Anglicised their names for our benefit) rang this morning to say it was pouring with rain where they live and what was it like here? It was fine at the time, but rain was forecast so they didn't come over. It has bucketed down since, so just as well.
You know, if the PM wants to complain about food waste, he might start by looking at supermarkets which reject perfectly good but marginally "too big" or "too small" produce from farmers, which often has to be dumped. You'd really think he would have more important things to think about. Indeed, that sort of thing is important, but not at a strategic level. He is trying to pass the blame to us and to distract us from what's really going wrong with prices and his government of the country.
I understand he chartered an aeroplane to go to the G8 summit conference in Japan. If that is so, it seems awfully wasteful to me.
Of course, the whole drama about "one third of the food we buy is thrown away" is not even accurate. I remember distinctly that when this report first came out a few years ago, it was said that it was not possible to differentiate between wasted good food and vegetable peelings, bones etc which were inedible. So if you bought a chicken, roasted it, ate all the meat and threw away the carcase or boiled it up for soup and only threw away the bones, you'd still be chucking about a pound of organic matter away, which would probably be about a quarter of the total weight. I'm not saying that people don't waste food - and indeed, I think it's better to know when you've eaten enough and stop, even if that does mean food is left on the plate - but that I don't believe it's anywhere near what has become the standard suggested amount.
There's not a great deal wasted here, in fact, because Tilly and the chickens eat much of the scraps, other vegetable waste goes on the compost heap and we use up most leftovers. But sometimes things get thrown away, as well as the inedible bits. And I can do without a politician who has been promoted past his level of competence patronising me by telling me how to housekeep.
Sunday, 6 July 2008
Bums on seats
You know, I do recommend churchgoing if you're getting a bit het-up. Of course, it may be the stress of churchgoing that hets you up in the first place, but it calms you down too, especially if you stop and listen and think about it a bit.
The flowers from last week were falling about a bit, which meant a fair bit of picking up after I'd carted them down the aisle and into the kitchen (this may be a v. old church, but we have Mod Cons) and I had brought along some foliage - random leaves, feverfew (can't remember the Latin) and alchemilla mollis (can't remember the English) and a bunch of sunflowers and a bunch of chrysanthemums and decided to refresh the best of last week's and make two arrangements into one. Not, in this case, aided by two bored toddlers, it went pretty well and looked good when reinstated on the reredos behind the altar.
At the same time, I was getting things ready for coffee; filling the urn and a kettle, switching on the hot water, putting coffee into cafetières, getting out mugs, sugar and milk, putting out biscuits, tables and chairs etc and the usual unlocking of extra doors in case of fire, and - oh you know, stuff. The usual.
The Fellow* suggested that we sit near the front to encourage the minister, rather than at the back to keep an eye on the congregation. Most of the hymns were much too high for me, which did not put me off but probably hurt his ears rather. I explained, afterwards, that an organist would rather hear someone singing badly than have no response at all.
Anyway, splendid sermon, with the excellent suggestion, tongue in cheek as it was, that we might get Results if we offered Hard Cash to children to come to Sunday School. Seriously, I'm all for it. Get 'em in first and they'll feel the benefits in due course. I'm not up for indoctrinating little children and I'm quite uncomfortable with the hardline religious stuff as preached to people who don't know enough to argue and question, but it keeps me going when nothing else would and exposure in childhood has done its bit all through life.
*My fellow churchwarden, who is a darling.
Update I've reread this and realised I gave the wrong impression - I didn't actually go to Sunday School as a child, I went to church as our mother liked to keep an eye on me. I went there once though with a friend and found it a bit too friendly and clubby for me. I think that was my morose and solitary personality at fault there though.
The flowers from last week were falling about a bit, which meant a fair bit of picking up after I'd carted them down the aisle and into the kitchen (this may be a v. old church, but we have Mod Cons) and I had brought along some foliage - random leaves, feverfew (can't remember the Latin) and alchemilla mollis (can't remember the English) and a bunch of sunflowers and a bunch of chrysanthemums and decided to refresh the best of last week's and make two arrangements into one. Not, in this case, aided by two bored toddlers, it went pretty well and looked good when reinstated on the reredos behind the altar.
At the same time, I was getting things ready for coffee; filling the urn and a kettle, switching on the hot water, putting coffee into cafetières, getting out mugs, sugar and milk, putting out biscuits, tables and chairs etc and the usual unlocking of extra doors in case of fire, and - oh you know, stuff. The usual.
The Fellow* suggested that we sit near the front to encourage the minister, rather than at the back to keep an eye on the congregation. Most of the hymns were much too high for me, which did not put me off but probably hurt his ears rather. I explained, afterwards, that an organist would rather hear someone singing badly than have no response at all.
Anyway, splendid sermon, with the excellent suggestion, tongue in cheek as it was, that we might get Results if we offered Hard Cash to children to come to Sunday School. Seriously, I'm all for it. Get 'em in first and they'll feel the benefits in due course. I'm not up for indoctrinating little children and I'm quite uncomfortable with the hardline religious stuff as preached to people who don't know enough to argue and question, but it keeps me going when nothing else would and exposure in childhood has done its bit all through life.
*My fellow churchwarden, who is a darling.
Update I've reread this and realised I gave the wrong impression - I didn't actually go to Sunday School as a child, I went to church as our mother liked to keep an eye on me. I went there once though with a friend and found it a bit too friendly and clubby for me. I think that was my morose and solitary personality at fault there though.
Saturday, 5 July 2008
Goodness gracious Z
I have the Fug Girls to thank for this divine piece of film. If you think the dancing is good, wait until you get to the singing. And the trousers - I have no words to describe the trousers.
Friday, 4 July 2008
Tomorrow, the Sage and Z will be Polished
Tonight's barbecue was steak. The children had burgers because they prefer them, but they are proper butcher-made burgers, not some mass-produced nonsense with cereal fillers in them. When Ro arrived home, he said that he wasn't very hungry and a steak would be a bit wasted on him, so he had burgers too.
Ro is taken out to lunch by his bosses every Friday. They like a meal out and, as he's their only employee, he goes with them. They would like to employ someone else, but they haven't found anyone else as good as Ro (this is true, not proud-mummyishness; I'm not saying that there is no one as good as Ro, but that he fits into the company very well) so they just all work hard. Today, they went to an Indian restaurant and the portions were generous (as are Ro's employers) and he was hungry. He works late on Fridays to make up for the long lunchtime; they don't ask him to but he wouldn't take advantage, of course.
There are going to be two funerals at the local church next week - I'll be playing the organ for both of them. One is for a lady, in her 90s, whose husband died more than 30 years ago (he was considerably older than she and did not die prematurely) and she will be buried with him in the double grave. The gravedigger hoped that he'd be able to bring in his small mechanical digger, but the Sage said he'd phoned to tell him he was afraid it would have to be a hand job. A hand job takes a long time and is hard work, he explained.
Dilly and I caught each others' eyes and snorted with laughter. The Sage didn't understand why.
The other funeral is for David whom I mentioned a few days ago. We're busily harvesting produce from his garden for Al to sell; it is in respect and friendship to his memory that we don't want to let it waste and his family have a lot of other clearing up to do. Dilly and I will go along at 8 tomorrow morning, pick flowers and lettuces, then go and drop them off at the shop, pick up the carpet cleaner from our cousins whose business includes letting out such equipment and be home by 9 to relieve the Sage, who will have been babysitting, to tell the Polish people what needs to be done.
"Walker says you're a cancer; I just think you're a 'flu." Crying Drunk, by the Old 97's (sic). Is it any wonder that I love 'em? Add that to "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have designs on you" and "I won't tell a soul except the people in the nightclub where I sing" - Designs on You - and you won't be surprised that I play them over and over. Fabulous. The guitar riff on Stoned would be enough to win me over in any case.
Ro is taken out to lunch by his bosses every Friday. They like a meal out and, as he's their only employee, he goes with them. They would like to employ someone else, but they haven't found anyone else as good as Ro (this is true, not proud-mummyishness; I'm not saying that there is no one as good as Ro, but that he fits into the company very well) so they just all work hard. Today, they went to an Indian restaurant and the portions were generous (as are Ro's employers) and he was hungry. He works late on Fridays to make up for the long lunchtime; they don't ask him to but he wouldn't take advantage, of course.
There are going to be two funerals at the local church next week - I'll be playing the organ for both of them. One is for a lady, in her 90s, whose husband died more than 30 years ago (he was considerably older than she and did not die prematurely) and she will be buried with him in the double grave. The gravedigger hoped that he'd be able to bring in his small mechanical digger, but the Sage said he'd phoned to tell him he was afraid it would have to be a hand job. A hand job takes a long time and is hard work, he explained.
Dilly and I caught each others' eyes and snorted with laughter. The Sage didn't understand why.
The other funeral is for David whom I mentioned a few days ago. We're busily harvesting produce from his garden for Al to sell; it is in respect and friendship to his memory that we don't want to let it waste and his family have a lot of other clearing up to do. Dilly and I will go along at 8 tomorrow morning, pick flowers and lettuces, then go and drop them off at the shop, pick up the carpet cleaner from our cousins whose business includes letting out such equipment and be home by 9 to relieve the Sage, who will have been babysitting, to tell the Polish people what needs to be done.
"Walker says you're a cancer; I just think you're a 'flu." Crying Drunk, by the Old 97's (sic). Is it any wonder that I love 'em? Add that to "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have designs on you" and "I won't tell a soul except the people in the nightclub where I sing" - Designs on You - and you won't be surprised that I play them over and over. Fabulous. The guitar riff on Stoned would be enough to win me over in any case.
Z raises a glass
It's a beautiful day. I've picked lettuces, sweet peas, gooseberries and artichokes for the shop. I've cycled in for my shopping and been to the library. I will take the papers, the books, a glass of wine and some smoked salmon and go and relax on the lawn.
I've been eating little but fruit and yoghurt this week until the evening, but today I feel completely self-indulgent. It's too hot to work in the garden and too fine to work indoors. As I cycled, I thought of a subject for a post, but now it's all planned in my head, it feels that the job's done and I don't really need to write it down any more. Maybe later. Possibly.
Cheers, darlings
I've been eating little but fruit and yoghurt this week until the evening, but today I feel completely self-indulgent. It's too hot to work in the garden and too fine to work indoors. As I cycled, I thought of a subject for a post, but now it's all planned in my head, it feels that the job's done and I don't really need to write it down any more. Maybe later. Possibly.
Cheers, darlings
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Old Z, new tricks
I went in to the fish stall on the market today. I thought a barbecue would be good and I've bought whole sea bream all round, with salmon for the children. I'm not being mean, I think they'll balk at the bones. Everyone was out today and I stopped for several chats. When I was spoken to by name, the fishmonger remarked on it. "We called our foal Z" he said, "after my wife's grandmother. Her show name is S1lver L1n1ng." I said gratified sorts of things about both names. It transpired that the mare, the foal's mother, had died during the delivery but a live and healthy foal was some consolation. I asked how it was being brought up - apparently, someone else's mare had borne a sick foal that, after operations, was not going to survive, so it was replaced by the newly-born Z.
One customer was also buying for a barbecue, but some of the fish cost more than she was willing to pay. Then she said that her dogs were very fond of scallops, so she often bought them for a Sunday breakfast treat. I admitted that scallops are a treat for me, never mind for dogs.
Last night's barbecue was a success - Ro's idea, Dilly made salads, Al bought the meat and rolls, I provided a range of drinks, with cutlery and china and the Sage did the cooking. We remarked on Ro's powers of delegation, as well as of suggestion.
Squiffany politely asked me what I'd like to drink. "Wine, please," I said and then, after it was poured, "Cheers". She was rather enchanted at that and toasted the whole family. "Cheers, Granny, Cheers Daddy" - you get the picture. Pugsley repeated the salutations. Cheers every time anyone raised a glass took up a fair bit of the evening.
Just off for some Governor training. 20 years experience is by no means enough not to need to keep updating one's knowledge.
One customer was also buying for a barbecue, but some of the fish cost more than she was willing to pay. Then she said that her dogs were very fond of scallops, so she often bought them for a Sunday breakfast treat. I admitted that scallops are a treat for me, never mind for dogs.
Last night's barbecue was a success - Ro's idea, Dilly made salads, Al bought the meat and rolls, I provided a range of drinks, with cutlery and china and the Sage did the cooking. We remarked on Ro's powers of delegation, as well as of suggestion.
Squiffany politely asked me what I'd like to drink. "Wine, please," I said and then, after it was poured, "Cheers". She was rather enchanted at that and toasted the whole family. "Cheers, Granny, Cheers Daddy" - you get the picture. Pugsley repeated the salutations. Cheers every time anyone raised a glass took up a fair bit of the evening.
Just off for some Governor training. 20 years experience is by no means enough not to need to keep updating one's knowledge.
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Z does not speak good English, but Pugsley does, almost
"Gordon Bennett!" I exclaimed. "It's almos' as bad as the car, innit?" I'm afraid I speak Estuary English along with most people nowadays. The Sage had just got back from his fourth visit to the dentist, his newly-crowned tooth is sparkling prettily and he has paid the bill. Nearly £800. It's when you need the services of the dentist, the vet or the car mechanic that you appreciate the NHS.
Pugsley has achieved 4 word sentences now. Such as "Come on, Granny, outdoors" "Find socks and shoes" "Bird on the grass" "Poo on the grass" (observing Tilly performing her morning functions) and "Flies on the poo." His sentences are always well-constructed and make sense, and he speaks very clearly, although he does not yet appreciate that a verb is necessary for grammatical correctness. Squiffany went reluctantly to her nursery school - she's still finding it hard to leave her mummy and brother although she does join in and enjoy it when she's there.
When Dilly and I were sitting on the wall (well, the foundations of the wall-to-be) chatting, Pugsley came up and remarked on the tiny red spiders scuttling over it. "Tiny spiders, spider webs" he remarked. "What colour are they?" asked his mother. "Spiders" he said again. "Are they blue, yellow, red or green?" I said. "Red spiders" he told me, slightly puzzled by my stupidity. "Did you know he knew that?" I asked Dilly. "No, but I didn't know he could count either, until he did the other day." It's having a big sister that does it. She tells him all sorts of useful things.
Pugsley has achieved 4 word sentences now. Such as "Come on, Granny, outdoors" "Find socks and shoes" "Bird on the grass" "Poo on the grass" (observing Tilly performing her morning functions) and "Flies on the poo." His sentences are always well-constructed and make sense, and he speaks very clearly, although he does not yet appreciate that a verb is necessary for grammatical correctness. Squiffany went reluctantly to her nursery school - she's still finding it hard to leave her mummy and brother although she does join in and enjoy it when she's there.
When Dilly and I were sitting on the wall (well, the foundations of the wall-to-be) chatting, Pugsley came up and remarked on the tiny red spiders scuttling over it. "Tiny spiders, spider webs" he remarked. "What colour are they?" asked his mother. "Spiders" he said again. "Are they blue, yellow, red or green?" I said. "Red spiders" he told me, slightly puzzled by my stupidity. "Did you know he knew that?" I asked Dilly. "No, but I didn't know he could count either, until he did the other day." It's having a big sister that does it. She tells him all sorts of useful things.
Tuesday, 1 July 2008
Z is not power-hungry
I went off to the high school as usual to help with a music lesson and found the head of maths in the room instead, just drawing the lesson to a close. She looked slightly harassed. They are the liveliest Year 9 group; I've spent some time with them. The teacher had left a note asking me to start off the next class. Ah. Never done that before.
It took some raising of my voice - I speak loud and clear because both Kenny, our former gardener, and my mother suffered from tinnitus and couldn't always hear a quiet voice, and I've not lost the habit. However, a couple of dozen chatty teenagers drowned me out for a minute. They soon settled down, I explained what they had to do, passed out worksheets and started off the lesson. D'you know, they were angels. No trouble at all. A few clicked the clipboards a couple of times, but a look, quizzical rather than severe, was enough - they weren't really meaning to annoy, it was merely irresistible. The teacher came in after 40 minutes, very apologetic that it had been rather more than starting the lesson, but i assured her that it had been no problem at all - and it was true.
The chairman of governors wrote to me yesterday to tell me that one of the other governors whose term of appointment is up has decided to step down. Another long-term governor is intending to before long, I know. Both are excellent, very knowledgeable - both former senior teachers at the school, as it happens. I'm dismayed. I had realised (after having seriously considered standing down this autumn) that I'd have to carry on - there are constant changes afoot and it really does help to have a few people around who have known the place for some time - but I had rather wanted to relinquish the vice-chairmanship and there aren't many people who would be likely alternative candidates. I've been going into school and into lessons a good deal this past year and have enjoyed that, both in music and learning support, so I'm just hoping that the chairman will carry on for a few more years.
It took some raising of my voice - I speak loud and clear because both Kenny, our former gardener, and my mother suffered from tinnitus and couldn't always hear a quiet voice, and I've not lost the habit. However, a couple of dozen chatty teenagers drowned me out for a minute. They soon settled down, I explained what they had to do, passed out worksheets and started off the lesson. D'you know, they were angels. No trouble at all. A few clicked the clipboards a couple of times, but a look, quizzical rather than severe, was enough - they weren't really meaning to annoy, it was merely irresistible. The teacher came in after 40 minutes, very apologetic that it had been rather more than starting the lesson, but i assured her that it had been no problem at all - and it was true.
The chairman of governors wrote to me yesterday to tell me that one of the other governors whose term of appointment is up has decided to step down. Another long-term governor is intending to before long, I know. Both are excellent, very knowledgeable - both former senior teachers at the school, as it happens. I'm dismayed. I had realised (after having seriously considered standing down this autumn) that I'd have to carry on - there are constant changes afoot and it really does help to have a few people around who have known the place for some time - but I had rather wanted to relinquish the vice-chairmanship and there aren't many people who would be likely alternative candidates. I've been going into school and into lessons a good deal this past year and have enjoyed that, both in music and learning support, so I'm just hoping that the chairman will carry on for a few more years.
Not a cloud in the sky
After the last couple of days, it'll take a while to re-establish my frivolous credentials. Hm. Haven't had breakfast yet. I'll go and open a bottle or two of champagne while I think about it.
Won't think very hard though. The sun's shining.
Won't think very hard though. The sun's shining.
Monday, 30 June 2008
Dinner was late
We were all relaxing on the lawn, the Sage having washed down all the garden chairs which he had inexplicably decided to move under trees: trees where birds had both roosted and crapped.
I asked the Sage if he'd watered David's plants. Some of them, he said. We realised that meant that the rest would need to be done this evening, otherwise they might not survive the night after a hot day in the greenhouse. We got into the car and set off. "Only 20 minutes" I said. "Then I need to get dinner on."
David's son had called into the shop earlier on, to ask Al if he would like to pick the produce that he would, otherwise, have bought. The Sage had been along to his house to check how much there was.
So, we arrived at around 6.30, to find David's son and son-in-law busy watering. We got out, introduced ourselves and said how sorry we were for their loss. They are two lovely men, one lives just down the road from us and the other, with David's daughter, in the next village. There is another son too, who is quite ill - they had all been more worried about him than about their father, although they knew he had slowed down a bit of late.
They were starting to clear up - D was the sort of chap who found a use for everything and never threw anything away. They'd taken a load of plants out of the greenhouse and laid them on the lawn - a couple of hundred, easily. They were putting aside what they wanted to take, but there's loads to deal with one way or another. We've said we'll pick all the fruit and veg and flowers we can and Al will pay them at the end. There are 4 really good compost bins, at least 2 of which I think Weeza and Phil will want to buy (the family is not bothered about money, they just need to deal with it all as soon as they can) and we will take and look after all the potted plants. There are hundreds of pots and seed trays and we said we'll take them too - it's a fair bit of work we've let ourselves in for, but what can you do? They dearly loved their father and would hate all his work to be thrown away, and we know what they mean. The pots will be used, over the next few years.
There will be a church service and then a cremation - I said that, if they want hymns, I will probably be the person playing them. Dave was the same age as the Sage; far too young to die. His wife had died of the same illness their son now suffers from, 15 years ago.
Annie called round to say how sorry she was. She spoke hesitantly, not typical of her, because she was upset. He had given her and her husband many plants for their garden and he was a good friend.
I asked the Sage if he'd watered David's plants. Some of them, he said. We realised that meant that the rest would need to be done this evening, otherwise they might not survive the night after a hot day in the greenhouse. We got into the car and set off. "Only 20 minutes" I said. "Then I need to get dinner on."
David's son had called into the shop earlier on, to ask Al if he would like to pick the produce that he would, otherwise, have bought. The Sage had been along to his house to check how much there was.
So, we arrived at around 6.30, to find David's son and son-in-law busy watering. We got out, introduced ourselves and said how sorry we were for their loss. They are two lovely men, one lives just down the road from us and the other, with David's daughter, in the next village. There is another son too, who is quite ill - they had all been more worried about him than about their father, although they knew he had slowed down a bit of late.
They were starting to clear up - D was the sort of chap who found a use for everything and never threw anything away. They'd taken a load of plants out of the greenhouse and laid them on the lawn - a couple of hundred, easily. They were putting aside what they wanted to take, but there's loads to deal with one way or another. We've said we'll pick all the fruit and veg and flowers we can and Al will pay them at the end. There are 4 really good compost bins, at least 2 of which I think Weeza and Phil will want to buy (the family is not bothered about money, they just need to deal with it all as soon as they can) and we will take and look after all the potted plants. There are hundreds of pots and seed trays and we said we'll take them too - it's a fair bit of work we've let ourselves in for, but what can you do? They dearly loved their father and would hate all his work to be thrown away, and we know what they mean. The pots will be used, over the next few years.
There will be a church service and then a cremation - I said that, if they want hymns, I will probably be the person playing them. Dave was the same age as the Sage; far too young to die. His wife had died of the same illness their son now suffers from, 15 years ago.
Annie called round to say how sorry she was. She spoke hesitantly, not typical of her, because she was upset. He had given her and her husband many plants for their garden and he was a good friend.
Sunday, 29 June 2008
The port has been named Isaac
Sorry, darlings, all a bit religious.
The sidesman waved a port bottle at me. "Only *this much* left" she cried, which meant we might run out. It's my job to provide the communion wine, i.e. reasonably decent port. I sped off home to fetch the spare bottle I had in the larder. Unfortunately, it was sherry. There was a bottle of port, but it was extremely good 20-year-old vintage stuff. I hesitated, for several minutes. I looked again. No other option - and Weeza and Phil had borrowed my car, and there was no time to bike into town.
I decided. The good port would be used as the symbol of Christ's blood (no belief in transubstantiation in this blog, thank you). It was a waste, frankly, but in a good cause and it would be given willingly. I went out and locked the door.
Al was just going across the drive, and he came to greet me, grinning at the sight of the bottle in my hand. When I told him the tale, he produced his car key and said he'd drive me in to get another bottle. I genuinely had been going to give it though, so I think I've earned the points in St Peter's big book.
Dave* had to tell me his neighbour, David*, had died suddenly yesterday. He hadn't arrived to pick up a friend, so friend had called round and found him. I'd seen David on Friday afternoon - he grew salad and stuff for Al and he'd dropped in to the shop with a box of gooseberries. He'd promised to come back in the morning with half a dozen lettuces - but he didn't live to cut them. We're all shocked and sorry. The list of ill friends has continued to grow, too. There are so many people who have received awful shocks in the last few weeks.
I felt tense and depressed during the service. I've been losing it a bit - too much to do and too many people to worry about. However, I (unusually) had read a passage in the Bible this morning - St Paul's 1st epistle to the Corinthians, Chapter 13, which I'll put at the end. And then, the Gospel reading was Luke Chapter 10, Verses 25 - 37 - which I'll give in a modern translation this time.
Okay, I'm no believer in signs and symbols, but all the same, I decided to focus out rather than in. It helped.
*honestly, both of them. All the best ones are called David.
Don't feel obliged to read them, the point is that the subject of both is love
St Paul's 1st epistle to the Corinthians, Chapter 13
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, if I have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, if I have not love, I am nothing. And though I give all my goods to feed the poor, and deliver up my body to be burned, if I have not love, it profiteth me nothing. Love suffereth long and is kind; love envieth not; love acteth not rashly, is not puffed up: Doth not behave indecently, seeketh not her own, is not provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth: Covereth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. And when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall vanish away. When I was a child I talked as a child; I understood as a child, I reasoned as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. And now we see by means of a glass obscurely; but then face to face: now I know in part, but then I shall know, even as also I am known. And now abide these three, faith, hope, love; but the greatest of these is love.
Luke Chapter 10, Verses 25 - 37
25 One day an expert in religious law stood up to test Jesus by asking him this question: “Teacher, what should I do to inherit eternal life?”
26 Jesus replied, “What does the law of Moses say? How do you read it?"
27 The man answered, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind.’ And, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’”
28 “Right!” Jesus told him. “Do this and you will live!”
29 The man wanted to justify his actions, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbour?”
30 Jesus replied with a story: “A Jewish man was traveling on a trip from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he was attacked by bandits. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him up, and left him half dead beside the road.
31 “By chance a priest came along. But when he saw the man lying there, he crossed to the other side of the road and passed him by. 32 A Temple assistant[b] walked over and looked at him lying there, but he also passed by on the other side.
33 “Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. 34 Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds with olive oil and wine and bandaged them. Then he put the man on his own donkey and took him to an inn, where he took care of him. 35 The next day he handed the innkeeper two silver coins,[c] telling him, ‘Take care of this man. If his bill runs higher than this, I’ll pay you the next time I’m here.’
36 “Now which of these three would you say was a neighbour to the man who was attacked by bandits?” Jesus asked.
37 The man replied, “The one who showed him mercy.”
Then Jesus said, “Yes, now go and do the same.”
The sidesman waved a port bottle at me. "Only *this much* left" she cried, which meant we might run out. It's my job to provide the communion wine, i.e. reasonably decent port. I sped off home to fetch the spare bottle I had in the larder. Unfortunately, it was sherry. There was a bottle of port, but it was extremely good 20-year-old vintage stuff. I hesitated, for several minutes. I looked again. No other option - and Weeza and Phil had borrowed my car, and there was no time to bike into town.
I decided. The good port would be used as the symbol of Christ's blood (no belief in transubstantiation in this blog, thank you). It was a waste, frankly, but in a good cause and it would be given willingly. I went out and locked the door.
Al was just going across the drive, and he came to greet me, grinning at the sight of the bottle in my hand. When I told him the tale, he produced his car key and said he'd drive me in to get another bottle. I genuinely had been going to give it though, so I think I've earned the points in St Peter's big book.
Dave* had to tell me his neighbour, David*, had died suddenly yesterday. He hadn't arrived to pick up a friend, so friend had called round and found him. I'd seen David on Friday afternoon - he grew salad and stuff for Al and he'd dropped in to the shop with a box of gooseberries. He'd promised to come back in the morning with half a dozen lettuces - but he didn't live to cut them. We're all shocked and sorry. The list of ill friends has continued to grow, too. There are so many people who have received awful shocks in the last few weeks.
I felt tense and depressed during the service. I've been losing it a bit - too much to do and too many people to worry about. However, I (unusually) had read a passage in the Bible this morning - St Paul's 1st epistle to the Corinthians, Chapter 13, which I'll put at the end. And then, the Gospel reading was Luke Chapter 10, Verses 25 - 37 - which I'll give in a modern translation this time.
Okay, I'm no believer in signs and symbols, but all the same, I decided to focus out rather than in. It helped.
*honestly, both of them. All the best ones are called David.
Don't feel obliged to read them, the point is that the subject of both is love
St Paul's 1st epistle to the Corinthians, Chapter 13
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, if I have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, if I have not love, I am nothing. And though I give all my goods to feed the poor, and deliver up my body to be burned, if I have not love, it profiteth me nothing. Love suffereth long and is kind; love envieth not; love acteth not rashly, is not puffed up: Doth not behave indecently, seeketh not her own, is not provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth: Covereth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. And when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall vanish away. When I was a child I talked as a child; I understood as a child, I reasoned as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. And now we see by means of a glass obscurely; but then face to face: now I know in part, but then I shall know, even as also I am known. And now abide these three, faith, hope, love; but the greatest of these is love.
Luke Chapter 10, Verses 25 - 37
25 One day an expert in religious law stood up to test Jesus by asking him this question: “Teacher, what should I do to inherit eternal life?”
26 Jesus replied, “What does the law of Moses say? How do you read it?"
27 The man answered, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind.’ And, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’”
28 “Right!” Jesus told him. “Do this and you will live!”
29 The man wanted to justify his actions, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbour?”
30 Jesus replied with a story: “A Jewish man was traveling on a trip from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he was attacked by bandits. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him up, and left him half dead beside the road.
31 “By chance a priest came along. But when he saw the man lying there, he crossed to the other side of the road and passed him by. 32 A Temple assistant[b] walked over and looked at him lying there, but he also passed by on the other side.
33 “Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. 34 Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds with olive oil and wine and bandaged them. Then he put the man on his own donkey and took him to an inn, where he took care of him. 35 The next day he handed the innkeeper two silver coins,[c] telling him, ‘Take care of this man. If his bill runs higher than this, I’ll pay you the next time I’m here.’
36 “Now which of these three would you say was a neighbour to the man who was attacked by bandits?” Jesus asked.
37 The man replied, “The one who showed him mercy.”
Then Jesus said, “Yes, now go and do the same.”
Saturday, 28 June 2008
Z receives her comeuppance
You may remember, a while ago, Al was quite embarrassed when a fellow-businessman in the town mentioned that he had read this blog and recognised who we were. Al denied knowing about the blog at all, which was not exactly strictly accurate and something equivalent to sticking your fingers in your ears and going 'lalala' to avoid hearing unwelcome news. He was a bit iffy about it, but I refused to give in and stop blogging.
As you know, if you've read back a bit, he has started his own blog now (hah!) about being a newbie beekeeper. I found yesterday, when I went in to man the shop so he could go to his daughter's sports day (poor kid's only 3, really, these schools, prompted by our control-freak government, don't half push the little children in their care), that he had a poster on his wall, with a splendid photo of massed bees, giving the web address of his bee blog. The one on which I've left comments. He has had his revenge and outed me in his turn.
Oh well. Hello, folks. You're more than welcome to tell me who you are.
As you know, if you've read back a bit, he has started his own blog now (hah!) about being a newbie beekeeper. I found yesterday, when I went in to man the shop so he could go to his daughter's sports day (poor kid's only 3, really, these schools, prompted by our control-freak government, don't half push the little children in their care), that he had a poster on his wall, with a splendid photo of massed bees, giving the web address of his bee blog. The one on which I've left comments. He has had his revenge and outed me in his turn.
Oh well. Hello, folks. You're more than welcome to tell me who you are.
Z is to visit the Dark Metropolis!!(!)
I've booked the train ticket and Ronan is coming with me. We'll get into London at 4.30 on Monday 4th August and leave on Tuesday at 2.30 - not long, but they were dirt cheap tickets. We'll be occupied for a couple of hours in the evening, but footloose otherwise - that is, with or without each other as circumstances call us.
If the baby is born a few days early then hey, more important matters will take my time and Dave might be able to use the ticket.
Weeza and Phil are here for the weekend - that is, they are here Right Now, taking my car in the morning and I will see little of it, or them, for the next couple of days. The good news is that Phil has been offered the job he was interviewed for on Wednesday, and he has accepted it. It'll mean a 5 mile bike ride to the station every day though, and the return journey is uphill. I couldn't do it - but he is young and strong. He'll be fine, after the first agonising month.
If the baby is born a few days early then hey, more important matters will take my time and Dave might be able to use the ticket.
Weeza and Phil are here for the weekend - that is, they are here Right Now, taking my car in the morning and I will see little of it, or them, for the next couple of days. The good news is that Phil has been offered the job he was interviewed for on Wednesday, and he has accepted it. It'll mean a 5 mile bike ride to the station every day though, and the return journey is uphill. I couldn't do it - but he is young and strong. He'll be fine, after the first agonising month.
Friday, 27 June 2008
Z wonders what to do
Hm. I've been invited to go with a member to an evening at the British Museum in early August. Very tempting, but it's the week that Weeza's baby is due, so should I be on hand here? Mind you, I'm hardly going to be useful exactly unless, possibly, the baby comes a week or two early and I'm on cookin' & shoppin' duty - but then she has a more than capable husband to help there too.
I could make my mind up later, but by then the price of the railway ticket will have shot up. Furthermore, I'd be available (being footloose and all that) to meet any of you lovely people who might have time to spare, and that would be jolly for me.
Thing is too, it might be the last opportunity for me to use their London flat to stay in. It'll have to be either let or sold before long and either way it won't be available any more, and it has been lovely to have a pied à terre in Town.
Anyone interested in buying one or two very small, but splendidly-situated flats in Islington, by the way? - well, it worked with the bricklaying.
I could make my mind up later, but by then the price of the railway ticket will have shot up. Furthermore, I'd be available (being footloose and all that) to meet any of you lovely people who might have time to spare, and that would be jolly for me.
Thing is too, it might be the last opportunity for me to use their London flat to stay in. It'll have to be either let or sold before long and either way it won't be available any more, and it has been lovely to have a pied à terre in Town.
Anyone interested in buying one or two very small, but splendidly-situated flats in Islington, by the way? - well, it worked with the bricklaying.
Beating time, but time is beating me
It was Kenny's birthday yesterday, and today he came round to visit the children. I arrived as he was settling back into his nim cart to go home again and I went to say hello and say happy birthday. "Eighty-nine" he remarked. He looks the same as ever, you know, and if it weren't for his irretrievably damaged spine - he spent too many years working too hard - he'd be feeling well too. However, he told me that there's blood coming from somewhere, the doctors aren't sure where but it doesn't look too good. "Can't go on forever," he said matter-of-factly.
I had been into school for a Year 9 music lesson. West African drums today - asked for countries in that part of the continent, one boy did impressively well. I joined in and it needs a good degree of concentration, especially when different groups are playing in different rhythms. A few shrunk back from trying too hard and a couple of boys, who take private lessons, were particularly good and I noticed them watching the others and deliberately giving them a strong lead. I mentioned it to the teacher afterwards.
It rained last night, sunny again this morning. I should be working or outside. I'm neither.
I had been into school for a Year 9 music lesson. West African drums today - asked for countries in that part of the continent, one boy did impressively well. I joined in and it needs a good degree of concentration, especially when different groups are playing in different rhythms. A few shrunk back from trying too hard and a couple of boys, who take private lessons, were particularly good and I noticed them watching the others and deliberately giving them a strong lead. I mentioned it to the teacher afterwards.
It rained last night, sunny again this morning. I should be working or outside. I'm neither.
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Like steam giving way to sail
I suppose it was because I became so physically tired that I found it so annoying. It became harder to deal with as the day went through. Dilly and I each pushed a pushchair (although the children walked some of the time) and no one seemed aware of it at all.
I'm not one of those who finds people discourteous on the whole. Of course, it does happen, but the reasonable behaviour of the majority and the helpfulness when it's needed more than make up for it. But at the Norfolk show, the usual awareness of people's surroundings seemed to disappear. When you are wheeling a pushchair with a toddler in, it's not that easy to stop and change direction unexpectedly, yet everyone was so dozy at best; downright obstructive most of the time, that I became awfully tempted to just keep going right into their ankles and just trip them up. I didn't of course, and I kept smiling, but it was with the insincere rictus of a Miss Mapp.
In all other regards, all went well and we had a very enjoyable day. The weather was fine and the suggested rain did not fall and Squiffany, in particular, was adorable all day. Pugsley drifted a bit, but he's a bit in that in-between age. He was very taken with a large African tortoise (though only half grown, I suspect) and cried when we left, so we had to return to say goodbye. Squiffany liked the pink pigs best; I have a weakness for the Berkshire and the Gloucester Old Spot. I was also drawn to the goats. The Sage was tempted, at one time, to keep goats but I reminded him of all that goat milk and he was, thank goodness, put off.
And Squiffany thinks I have pretty knickers. So I have, of course. Why buy them, if not?
I'm not one of those who finds people discourteous on the whole. Of course, it does happen, but the reasonable behaviour of the majority and the helpfulness when it's needed more than make up for it. But at the Norfolk show, the usual awareness of people's surroundings seemed to disappear. When you are wheeling a pushchair with a toddler in, it's not that easy to stop and change direction unexpectedly, yet everyone was so dozy at best; downright obstructive most of the time, that I became awfully tempted to just keep going right into their ankles and just trip them up. I didn't of course, and I kept smiling, but it was with the insincere rictus of a Miss Mapp.
In all other regards, all went well and we had a very enjoyable day. The weather was fine and the suggested rain did not fall and Squiffany, in particular, was adorable all day. Pugsley drifted a bit, but he's a bit in that in-between age. He was very taken with a large African tortoise (though only half grown, I suspect) and cried when we left, so we had to return to say goodbye. Squiffany liked the pink pigs best; I have a weakness for the Berkshire and the Gloucester Old Spot. I was also drawn to the goats. The Sage was tempted, at one time, to keep goats but I reminded him of all that goat milk and he was, thank goodness, put off.
And Squiffany thinks I have pretty knickers. So I have, of course. Why buy them, if not?
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
Z looks at the garden and worries
The Sage and I went out into the garden and solemnly discussed what needs to be done. It's depressing. I mean, it was quite positive in that we agreed on the first things to do -some of those 5' tall weeds that Al mentioned on the bee blog must be cut down and cleared, then we can finish (or nearly finish, there's another section that has Jerusalem artichokes over it at present) making the concrete paths. We will also decide on the size and position of the shed that Al and I want to make. It will be a lean-to against the wall, and we'll be able to keep pots and tools in it.
We also agreed that we need to clear the bit between the soft fruit and the stream, so that we can put up rabbit-proof netting.
There's some problem regarding the wall. It was meant to be a 4-year project, but this is the 4th year and the Sage kept vetoing bricks until last autumn, when he finally found some he would accept. I just can't face another 4 years while we build it slowly, but the alternative seems to be getting a brickie in to do it in a great hurry - as taking his slow time while I *help*would also waste it and that's too expensive - and I'm reluctant to let go of this project. I'm not at all happy about it, but I'll let it mull.
The area around the lawn which we cleared last autumn was not entirely completed - there's some stuff I can't shift, and the Sage is a keen starter but not, I'm afraid, a completer of tasks; he thinks that 90% is enough, whereas sometimes it's the last bit that makes it all pull together. I am a completer (though not too good at getting started) and this has always been hard for me to cope with. Anyway, we've agreed on the way forward there, and also to get a new smaller lawnmower; either electric or at least with a key start, so that I can mow the grass as I want it regularly. I think that there's nothing more counter-productive than nagging and husbands, like children, have a hair-trigger 'off' switch when they're reminded of something too often. Better to work out another way to solve the problem.
The front field has been simply mowed for hay for some years, but we'd quite like to have it grazed. It needs to be fenced before this can be done, and water provided. He's busy sorting this out and that will be excellent. The grass was mowed yesterday and it looked an excellent crop. It's lovely quality hay, as it isn't fed and watered but grows naturally, so has very good flavour. Or so I'm told. I haven't tried eating it myself. We finally seem to have got rid of the ragwort, with several years hand-weeding (a tedious job in a 4 acre field) so it's safe for animals to eat.
Anyway, yes, it was positive in that we decided what needs to be done most urgently and we agreed on everything except the wall, which we have agreed to wait and see how I feel in a few more weeks about, but there's just so much to do and we're both very busy and one of us is a bit lacking in physical strength and neither of us (one more than the other) is as young as we used to be. But although I'm feeling a bit anxious about the amount to be done, what we are doing is going to make things better than they are now. So I suppose it's positive overall. In its way.
The other thing is that Phil and I, having worked very hard for the past few days, got used to a lunchtime (short) sit-down with a can of beer. I rather want a drink right now as a consequence. Also, it might get me wildly cheerful again and thus able to go and tackle some of the garden instead of worrying about it. I think that'd be a good idea, don't you?
We also agreed that we need to clear the bit between the soft fruit and the stream, so that we can put up rabbit-proof netting.
There's some problem regarding the wall. It was meant to be a 4-year project, but this is the 4th year and the Sage kept vetoing bricks until last autumn, when he finally found some he would accept. I just can't face another 4 years while we build it slowly, but the alternative seems to be getting a brickie in to do it in a great hurry - as taking his slow time while I *help*would also waste it and that's too expensive - and I'm reluctant to let go of this project. I'm not at all happy about it, but I'll let it mull.
The area around the lawn which we cleared last autumn was not entirely completed - there's some stuff I can't shift, and the Sage is a keen starter but not, I'm afraid, a completer of tasks; he thinks that 90% is enough, whereas sometimes it's the last bit that makes it all pull together. I am a completer (though not too good at getting started) and this has always been hard for me to cope with. Anyway, we've agreed on the way forward there, and also to get a new smaller lawnmower; either electric or at least with a key start, so that I can mow the grass as I want it regularly. I think that there's nothing more counter-productive than nagging and husbands, like children, have a hair-trigger 'off' switch when they're reminded of something too often. Better to work out another way to solve the problem.
The front field has been simply mowed for hay for some years, but we'd quite like to have it grazed. It needs to be fenced before this can be done, and water provided. He's busy sorting this out and that will be excellent. The grass was mowed yesterday and it looked an excellent crop. It's lovely quality hay, as it isn't fed and watered but grows naturally, so has very good flavour. Or so I'm told. I haven't tried eating it myself. We finally seem to have got rid of the ragwort, with several years hand-weeding (a tedious job in a 4 acre field) so it's safe for animals to eat.
Anyway, yes, it was positive in that we decided what needs to be done most urgently and we agreed on everything except the wall, which we have agreed to wait and see how I feel in a few more weeks about, but there's just so much to do and we're both very busy and one of us is a bit lacking in physical strength and neither of us (one more than the other) is as young as we used to be. But although I'm feeling a bit anxious about the amount to be done, what we are doing is going to make things better than they are now. So I suppose it's positive overall. In its way.
The other thing is that Phil and I, having worked very hard for the past few days, got used to a lunchtime (short) sit-down with a can of beer. I rather want a drink right now as a consequence. Also, it might get me wildly cheerful again and thus able to go and tackle some of the garden instead of worrying about it. I think that'd be a good idea, don't you?
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Radish munchers
Nothing happening but painting, so there's not a lot to write about. Every room is painted, although when I left at 6.45, the bathroom needed at least one more coat. Phil has an interview for a new job tomorrow, so one of us will give him a lift to that and then to the nearest station, as he's going back to London in the evening.
I haven't read the papers from last Friday onwards. I don't know if I'll ever have time to catch up. I suppose the world will be no better or worse for me reading about it.
I filled the car this evening (with petrol, that is). There was probably the better part of a gallon and a half still in it, and it cost £63.74. In April two years ago, it cost the low £40s to fill it; a year ago it was £50 and three months ago, £60. Shops are the sufferers, I'm afraid, as I no longer visit them except for essentials. I've been shopping twice in Norwich this year; once for Squiffany's birthday present and once for clothes for me in a smaller size.
Have I mentioned our rabbit problem this year? They have eaten two lots of runner bean plants, but almost ignored the french beans. When we first moved here, there were a huge number of rabbits, but they got myxomatosis, twice, and then some foxes got most of the survivors, so the rabbit-proof netting around the veggie garden gradually got done away with as it was enlarged. We plan to get the wall built this year, which will sort out one and a half sides of the patch and greenhouses deal with all but one side. The Sage, who is a crack shot (he used to shoot at Bisley), got one, but hasn't time to sit in wait. Actually, he only enjoys target shooting; he is no hunter at all and prefers to see wildlife going about its business, but some things are classed as vermin, including squirrels. He loves birds and is upset to see them taking eggs and babies from their nests. We don't mind rabbits at all, as long as they restrict themselves to eating grass and flowers. They're welcome. But not when they take the radishes and beans...we didn't even bother to try lettuces this year.
I haven't read the papers from last Friday onwards. I don't know if I'll ever have time to catch up. I suppose the world will be no better or worse for me reading about it.
I filled the car this evening (with petrol, that is). There was probably the better part of a gallon and a half still in it, and it cost £63.74. In April two years ago, it cost the low £40s to fill it; a year ago it was £50 and three months ago, £60. Shops are the sufferers, I'm afraid, as I no longer visit them except for essentials. I've been shopping twice in Norwich this year; once for Squiffany's birthday present and once for clothes for me in a smaller size.
Have I mentioned our rabbit problem this year? They have eaten two lots of runner bean plants, but almost ignored the french beans. When we first moved here, there were a huge number of rabbits, but they got myxomatosis, twice, and then some foxes got most of the survivors, so the rabbit-proof netting around the veggie garden gradually got done away with as it was enlarged. We plan to get the wall built this year, which will sort out one and a half sides of the patch and greenhouses deal with all but one side. The Sage, who is a crack shot (he used to shoot at Bisley), got one, but hasn't time to sit in wait. Actually, he only enjoys target shooting; he is no hunter at all and prefers to see wildlife going about its business, but some things are classed as vermin, including squirrels. He loves birds and is upset to see them taking eggs and babies from their nests. We don't mind rabbits at all, as long as they restrict themselves to eating grass and flowers. They're welcome. But not when they take the radishes and beans...we didn't even bother to try lettuces this year.
Monday, 23 June 2008
Bee is for blog
I asked if I might link, but I haven't had a reply yet, so I'll put the link in and take it out again if they say no. The bee blog is Al's final descent into the baleful influence of his mother. He may kick, he may scream, but he has become a blogger. Heh heh heh.
Buzz if you like but don't sting me
All went smoothly with the bees.
I'm off to start painting again now. See you later.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
If a picture paints a thousand words, then it's no wonder this house has a lot of bookcases, because Z can write and read, but is no artist
I should be working. I've been reading blogs. I'm sorry if I haven't visited you recently, or if it's been a flying visit with no comment, but I've not got much time at the moment - I've still got three days' newspapers to catch up on, apart from the work (did I mention that I've got to finish some tonight?)
Having said that, as priorities go, all is fine. I spent the day with Phil and his dad Dave (have you noticed that almost everyone is called Dave?) painting the house. It would have gone easier if the room designated for the baby had not been painted a quite intrusive shade of blue, rather dominating a small room. So far, it's had 5 coats of white paint and is down to ice-blue. Two or three more coats and it may lose the bluety. Ironically, Weeza and Phil's room has been painted en elegant grey-blue.
Dave had to leave at 6 pm for the 4-hour drive home, ready to be up at 6 for work the next morning. I carried on an extra hour and recommended to Phil that he call it a day too. One has to pace oneself. I'll go back tomorrow morning and we'll see how much more we can get done. 3 bedrooms, bathroom, landing stairs and hall, sitting room, dining room, kitchen. Doable in 4 days, if not for this wretched blue bedroom. I hope we'll get the second coat of the hall etc, plus the living and dining rooms done tomorrow, then (apart from at least 2 more goes at baby's room), only the bathroom and kitchen to do. Phil also wants to mow the grass with his new lawnmower. I expect he'll have done that this evening.
Having said that, as priorities go, all is fine. I spent the day with Phil and his dad Dave (have you noticed that almost everyone is called Dave?) painting the house. It would have gone easier if the room designated for the baby had not been painted a quite intrusive shade of blue, rather dominating a small room. So far, it's had 5 coats of white paint and is down to ice-blue. Two or three more coats and it may lose the bluety. Ironically, Weeza and Phil's room has been painted en elegant grey-blue.
Dave had to leave at 6 pm for the 4-hour drive home, ready to be up at 6 for work the next morning. I carried on an extra hour and recommended to Phil that he call it a day too. One has to pace oneself. I'll go back tomorrow morning and we'll see how much more we can get done. 3 bedrooms, bathroom, landing stairs and hall, sitting room, dining room, kitchen. Doable in 4 days, if not for this wretched blue bedroom. I hope we'll get the second coat of the hall etc, plus the living and dining rooms done tomorrow, then (apart from at least 2 more goes at baby's room), only the bathroom and kitchen to do. Phil also wants to mow the grass with his new lawnmower. I expect he'll have done that this evening.
Saturday, 21 June 2008
Z went on the Motorway!!(!)
113 miles, door to door, in 2 1/2 hours. All went well and on our return we bought the paint and I left Phil and his dad ready for an evening of painting ceilings. I hadn't taken suitable clothes to be bespattered so came home, promising to return promptly the following morning.
The bees have had a cheerfully busy day exploring their new territory. I only looked at them briefly, as I'd been with the children for a couple of hours. I went in at 8 o'clock, bearing breakfast, make-up and contact lens. Dilly asked if I could pop into the shop quickly, as Al had gone off with her car keys in his pocket. I stuck the lens in the general direction of my eye, it lodged in an appropriate place and a few minutes I returned - as I drove slowly past the shop, Al chucked the keys through the window; couldn't have been quicker.
Children were adorable of course. Pugsley is just starting to string words together on the way to sentences; a new thing in the last two or three weeks. It had been one word sentences, even if connected. "Elephant. Huge. Huge. Enormous. Elephant." has given way to "Where Squiffany gone? Daddy? Not bed. Where?" - he had woken up to find that his sister had absconded to their parents' bed, but Al's head was under the bedclothes so he was not visible.
Off again early, more suitably dressed, to help with painting.
The bees have had a cheerfully busy day exploring their new territory. I only looked at them briefly, as I'd been with the children for a couple of hours. I went in at 8 o'clock, bearing breakfast, make-up and contact lens. Dilly asked if I could pop into the shop quickly, as Al had gone off with her car keys in his pocket. I stuck the lens in the general direction of my eye, it lodged in an appropriate place and a few minutes I returned - as I drove slowly past the shop, Al chucked the keys through the window; couldn't have been quicker.
Children were adorable of course. Pugsley is just starting to string words together on the way to sentences; a new thing in the last two or three weeks. It had been one word sentences, even if connected. "Elephant. Huge. Huge. Enormous. Elephant." has given way to "Where Squiffany gone? Daddy? Not bed. Where?" - he had woken up to find that his sister had absconded to their parents' bed, but Al's head was under the bedclothes so he was not visible.
Off again early, more suitably dressed, to help with painting.
Best beehiviour
I went into town to fill the car up for my journey to London tomorrow and called in at the shop for empty boxes, to be filled at Weeza and Phil's flat. The phone rang; it was Dilly, saying that the bee man had rung to say he'd bring the nucleus of Al's hive during the evening. Al looked harassed. "I haven't started shutting up, I haven't done the order list; I won't be home until at least 7 o'clock" he protested. They were all ready. They were coming, ready or not.
I offered to shut up shop, but after some discussion we agreed that I'd do Al's deliveries and then go home and start scything the long grass. Al arrived home by 6.30, leaving much of the clearing up to be done later. He was quite surprised at the inroads I'd made into the sea of nettles and docks. I'd said grass, but there was little of that. It was a large area that had been occupied by chickens for several years and only the inedible weeds were left. Blue Witch had given me advice last year on a good area to put the beehive (her first choice, which I rejected, was the tennis court) so I knew roughly where to cut. Nettles over 4 feet high are placed just right to catch you as they fall. Both arms and, through my teeshirt, much of my front were tingling within moments and I was itching from the clouds of gnats that rose from the greenery. The Sage got stung by a horse-fly in the same area the other day; his arm is still swollen.
The Sage was sent off for fish and chips, as I no longer felt like cooking. We all trooped out to see the bees being put into place later. They are in a box - about 2,000 of them with their queen - and as soon as the plug was taken out, they started to come out to investigate their new surroundings. If the weather is good, Al will transfer them into the hive, which he will put in the same place as the box is now. It's all very exciting. I will not be here, I'll have to get someone to take photos. If I can find the lead for the camera, that is. I've got the part that plugs into the computer, but the one that recharges it wasn't where I expected it to be.
I offered to shut up shop, but after some discussion we agreed that I'd do Al's deliveries and then go home and start scything the long grass. Al arrived home by 6.30, leaving much of the clearing up to be done later. He was quite surprised at the inroads I'd made into the sea of nettles and docks. I'd said grass, but there was little of that. It was a large area that had been occupied by chickens for several years and only the inedible weeds were left. Blue Witch had given me advice last year on a good area to put the beehive (her first choice, which I rejected, was the tennis court) so I knew roughly where to cut. Nettles over 4 feet high are placed just right to catch you as they fall. Both arms and, through my teeshirt, much of my front were tingling within moments and I was itching from the clouds of gnats that rose from the greenery. The Sage got stung by a horse-fly in the same area the other day; his arm is still swollen.
The Sage was sent off for fish and chips, as I no longer felt like cooking. We all trooped out to see the bees being put into place later. They are in a box - about 2,000 of them with their queen - and as soon as the plug was taken out, they started to come out to investigate their new surroundings. If the weather is good, Al will transfer them into the hive, which he will put in the same place as the box is now. It's all very exciting. I will not be here, I'll have to get someone to take photos. If I can find the lead for the camera, that is. I've got the part that plugs into the computer, but the one that recharges it wasn't where I expected it to be.
Friday, 20 June 2008
How Ronan strangled Bobby
Did I ever tell you about Great-Uncle Ronan? He was my paternal grandfather's elder brother and he was the District Commissioner for Nairobi about 100 years ago. He's our family hero and we have the leopard to prove it.
Like many people in the Colonial service, he became devoted to the country he was sent to. He lived as one of the ruling classes of course, as was normal at that time. I'm not making any judgment, comment or anything else on British or any other colonialism - that was then, this is now, it would not be appropriate now for an Englishman to rule an area with a load of African servants and I'm not justifying it. But he did care about the people under his care and felt them to be his responsibility, personally as well as professionally.
One evening, he was going out to dinner so had given all his staff the evening off. He was putting on his evening clothes when he heard screams coming from the kitchen. He ran down and found a leopard attacking his house boy, the only other person in the house. Ronan had a revolver in his room, but if he fetched it, the man would be dead by the time he returned. He grabbed the leopard by the throat.
It was a fight to the death.
Once he was better, he carried on with the programme of getting wells dug, to bring fresh and clean water to outlying areas. Unfortunately, he had to drink the local water in the meantime, he caught cholera and he died. In the attic, we've got the series of telegrams telling his mother of his illness, finishing with the black-bordered envelope. There is also a scrapbook of press cuttings, including the ones of his funeral. A colleague of my stepfather went to the cemetery in Nairobi and found his memorial some years ago, don't know if it still exists.
I don't know a lot else about him. His name is Gaelic, chosen by his Scottish mother. He was married, but divorced his wife on the grounds of her adultery. It was a bit startling, browsing through the Times archives, to find the court case of their divorce. He had no children and died in 1913. We named our second son after him - sorry, Ro, it's never been easy, having a name everyone gets wrong.
Bobby, the leopard, is in the rafters in one of the garages. I've been meaning for a long time to get him hauled down. If he's rotted away, he'll be burnt. If not, he'll be fumigated and brought indoors. I've known him all my life, he lived on the landing in my family home and I used to say goodnight to him when I went to bed.
Like many people in the Colonial service, he became devoted to the country he was sent to. He lived as one of the ruling classes of course, as was normal at that time. I'm not making any judgment, comment or anything else on British or any other colonialism - that was then, this is now, it would not be appropriate now for an Englishman to rule an area with a load of African servants and I'm not justifying it. But he did care about the people under his care and felt them to be his responsibility, personally as well as professionally.
One evening, he was going out to dinner so had given all his staff the evening off. He was putting on his evening clothes when he heard screams coming from the kitchen. He ran down and found a leopard attacking his house boy, the only other person in the house. Ronan had a revolver in his room, but if he fetched it, the man would be dead by the time he returned. He grabbed the leopard by the throat.
It was a fight to the death.
Once he was better, he carried on with the programme of getting wells dug, to bring fresh and clean water to outlying areas. Unfortunately, he had to drink the local water in the meantime, he caught cholera and he died. In the attic, we've got the series of telegrams telling his mother of his illness, finishing with the black-bordered envelope. There is also a scrapbook of press cuttings, including the ones of his funeral. A colleague of my stepfather went to the cemetery in Nairobi and found his memorial some years ago, don't know if it still exists.
I don't know a lot else about him. His name is Gaelic, chosen by his Scottish mother. He was married, but divorced his wife on the grounds of her adultery. It was a bit startling, browsing through the Times archives, to find the court case of their divorce. He had no children and died in 1913. We named our second son after him - sorry, Ro, it's never been easy, having a name everyone gets wrong.
Bobby, the leopard, is in the rafters in one of the garages. I've been meaning for a long time to get him hauled down. If he's rotted away, he'll be burnt. If not, he'll be fumigated and brought indoors. I've known him all my life, he lived on the landing in my family home and I used to say goodnight to him when I went to bed.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Z is a touch euphoric.
The happiest discovery of the day, thanks to Dave, was how to do an apple. - like this. It has, sad little woman that I am, become my signature du jour.
I'm feeling pretty good today, in fact. All those things that have been hanging over my head for weeks - they're done. Not that I've not got a lot still on, but there are no more deadlines. No more speeches. No more performances. No more meetings to chair until September. They've all happened. It feels wonderful. I don't care whether they were done well or badly; they were done. When I arrived home today, there was a message asking me to play the organ at a funeral next Thursday. I will say 'no'. Unless the weather is nasty, I shall go to the Norfolk (and good) Show. This Saturday, I will go to London to fetch boxes of Stuff as well as Phil, who will be delivered to Norwich as he will spend the next four days painting. I'll go and help (though I've been forbidden to go up ladders; I'm sturdy and sensible on ladders, but I obey my daughter and am glad she cares) and have said I won't be available for church. I've done it, I don't have to do it.
Family promises, babysitting and the like are a joy. Paperwork has been building up and must be completed, but will be. The garden is a disaster because we are plagued with rabbits at present, but never mind. It's nature. We may swear but we can't completely control and that's not at all a bad thing.
What a lovely evening. I must go and close the doors to the greenhouses. The green wheelie bins must be wheeled down to the gate (they are chocker; no one did it a fortnight ago). Then, a delicious ripe peach. And a pear. Then coffee. Yes. It's good. The Sage will be happy later; I'll be charming to him. The darling man went to a funeral today, in Northamptonshire, which is a long way (anywhere out of Norfolk and Suffolk takes half a day to drive to). It was someone whom he had known for over 60 years and her husband was so pleased to see him. He had been a schoolteacher at the Sage's prep school and she had been Matron. They were both lovely people and I'd have gone too, if it hadn't been for the last of my obligations.
Have a good evening, darlings.
I'm feeling pretty good today, in fact. All those things that have been hanging over my head for weeks - they're done. Not that I've not got a lot still on, but there are no more deadlines. No more speeches. No more performances. No more meetings to chair until September. They've all happened. It feels wonderful. I don't care whether they were done well or badly; they were done. When I arrived home today, there was a message asking me to play the organ at a funeral next Thursday. I will say 'no'. Unless the weather is nasty, I shall go to the Norfolk (and good) Show. This Saturday, I will go to London to fetch boxes of Stuff as well as Phil, who will be delivered to Norwich as he will spend the next four days painting. I'll go and help (though I've been forbidden to go up ladders; I'm sturdy and sensible on ladders, but I obey my daughter and am glad she cares) and have said I won't be available for church. I've done it, I don't have to do it.
Family promises, babysitting and the like are a joy. Paperwork has been building up and must be completed, but will be. The garden is a disaster because we are plagued with rabbits at present, but never mind. It's nature. We may swear but we can't completely control and that's not at all a bad thing.
What a lovely evening. I must go and close the doors to the greenhouses. The green wheelie bins must be wheeled down to the gate (they are chocker; no one did it a fortnight ago). Then, a delicious ripe peach. And a pear. Then coffee. Yes. It's good. The Sage will be happy later; I'll be charming to him. The darling man went to a funeral today, in Northamptonshire, which is a long way (anywhere out of Norfolk and Suffolk takes half a day to drive to). It was someone whom he had known for over 60 years and her husband was so pleased to see him. He had been a schoolteacher at the Sage's prep school and she had been Matron. They were both lovely people and I'd have gone too, if it hadn't been for the last of my obligations.
Have a good evening, darlings.
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