What ho!

"Pob says that honey production may not be my forte as a beekeeper, but I'm certainly good at expanding the bee population." "Well", I replied, "that's what you want, isn't it?"

It's true, he's always said that he is more interested in the honey bee than the honey. He and Dilly took classes for a year before getting a hive and still go to the local bee society talks and demonstrations (showing you how to do things, rather than protesting, darlings). He became interested because of all the news about the decline in the honey bee population. Pob also says that it takes at least five years to be able to say you know anything at all about beekeeping. He started at the age of 13, but only started to expand his apiary when he retired, and now has 150 hives. Al will be quite happy with 3 for now, so will sell his surplus colonies, which will help to recoup the money he's just laid out on several more nucs (only this afternoon, someone in Yagnub came into the shop to say there was a swarm in their garden - Al phoned Pob to get it, but he'd be quite happy to pick it up himself if he had somewhere to house it).

A swarm is not aggressive, by the way. There are a lot of bees, but they have gorged themselves on honey and are quite docile.

Today, at last, the weather has changed and was warm and sunny, as long as the sun was out. I took a lot of plants in to the shop for Al to sell and planted out more - there's a lot to do tomorrow as well. I think I'll get everything out except squashes, if I can - well, and except surplus aubergines and peppers, which I hope to plant against the wall. When the capping is put on it, that is. Although I suppose the ground will be extremely hard and need thorough digging - might put them in pots instead.

My back ached and I was tired out by the time I came in at half past six. The Sage had been looking after the children so hadn't made me a cup of tea (not that I expected him to, but he often does) and I suspected I was so exhausted partly because I was thirsty. "Will you have some tea now," enquired the Sage. "A bit late, I think I'll go straight on to wine." I had a big glass of water first though, being awfully good and sensible and everything. Then I poured the wine and took a sip. Honestly, I started to feel better at once. I remember that my mother, who had to stop drinking alcohol when it started to give her migraines, took a long time not to miss it. She would come in of an evening and say "I've had a hell of a day" and pour me a glass of wine. I had to drink for two for the rest of my teens.

That reminds me, I started preparations for my holiday today, taking the first and sensible precaution of getting used to daytime drinking again.

When I mentioned signing off emails yesterday, I should have started with the less thorny but equally quirky salutation at the top. So, how do you start? With the name, with Dear *name*, with Hi *name*, with Hello* name - or something else?

Ooh, and while I'm on the subject, how do you spell hello? I've got friends who write hallo, hello or hullo, and holloo is, if old-fashioned, not incorrect either. Come to that, I have known people, rather posher than I, who pronounce it "hillo", however they spell it.

Mwah

I think you have to be over forty - maybe even more - to be aware of the difference in our behaviour to each other over the last few years, in this country. We kiss. We never used to kiss. You had to be quite close friends even for a peck on the cheek when arriving for dinner, but now we do it all the time, quite often lip to lip. Indeed, today I kissed three colleagues whom, a few years ago, it would not have been appropriate to have more contact with than a handshake (two women and a man, since you ask). Two of them lunged forward first and the third was a mutual thing, by the way, I haven't been having a startlingly exuberant day at the office.

Then there's the signing off of emails - oh, how simple it was when the choice was between "yours faithfully" and "yours sincerely" - because there was a Rule. Nowadays, though they still cut it for a letter, it seems to have moved to "kind regards" giving way to "best regards" - and where exactly does "best wishes" come in to play?

Not that we should forget those who opt out with "take care" or "cheers", or simply "best".

Of course, and I go back to the kisses again, it doesn't take a much closer friendship to sign off with love ... but how many of those x's* to put? I've got x friends and xx friends, a couple of xxxers and a XXX. It always seems polite to reciprocate. While I was on a committee with one of the xxxers, it seemed slightly too close to do the same, so I generally restricted myself to Zxx, but now we're not on a committee together and see each other less often, I'm more relaxed and follow his lead (it's true, darlings, don't try too hard and I'll follow you anywhere).

I'm not terribly Continental by instinct - I go along with the multiple cheek to cheek kisses of course - oh, that question of whether to go for the third kiss - or worse, a fourth which always catches you out - but I'm actually more of a 'one kiss with hug' girl for someone I'm fond of, which I feel is more close and friendly than the impersonal double mwah. It isn't necessarily impersonal of course, but air-kissing someone you don't know very well or air-kissing a good friend feels much the same.

It has to be confessed, I do usually touch the cheek with my lips, which probably shows my general oikiness. And then, of course, there's the matter of lipstick. Is it polite to rub it off? And how intimate is that? It feels more personal than the peck on the cheek, but on the other hand, it surely isn't quite on to leave the imprint.

Lots of love, darlings

Zxx


* whilst not, strictly speaking, a place for an apostrophe, I tried xes and exes and xs and they didn't work.

A bale of hay

I'd just said to the Sage that I was going to get changed, ready to leave at 6 o'clock to meet my friends for dinner, when the phone rang.  It was Al.

He'd been out to check the bees and found that a swarm was clinging on to one of the hives.

He knew they were about to swarm so had split them already - an artificial swarm, that is, you bamboozle them into believing that they have swarmed and, among the ones left behind (the queen and half the bees take half the food with them to set up a new home, leaving queen larvae and enough workers and food to keep the colony going) the new queen will hatch, fly, mate and return to the hive to spend the rest of her life laying eggs. Evidently, they had not been deceived.

By the way, Blue Witch, I'm sure this is only vaguely connected to the actual process, but bear in mind I don't really know what I'm talking about. I'm not the beekeeper of the family.

He was wanting the Sage to babysit while he and Dilly went and dealt with the swarm, but he soon realised that it wasn't going to be easy. The bees were all over the back of the hive with the queen somewhere in the middle and they were going to have to be coaxed into a new home. So he got in the car and drove off to Pob in Boringland to ask his advice. Pob lent him another hive and some tools to help and back he came.

In the meantime, of course, I'd been out to have a look but then had to leave for my evening out.

The other thing is that Al didn't know which colony had swarmed. It was probably one of the established queens, but occasionally a left-behind colony will swarm - this is beyond even my vague understanding so I won't try to explain - anyway, it could have been any one of the five, three of which are presently hatching out new queens (or two of them, anyway) and mustn't be disturbed. And evening was drawing on and the swarm might take off at any time to find a refuge before the air chilled. If they flew before he returned, nothing could be done.

Anyway, I got back just before 10 o'clock and hurried indoors. "Did they catch the bees?" I demanded. They did, said the Sage, and have put them in the hive lent by Pob (who is a long established beekeeper with a hundred or a hundred and fifty - can't remember - hives and provides all the honey for Al's shop.

The title of the post is from the rhyme
A swarm of bees in May is worth a bale of hay.
A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon.
A swarm of bees in July isn't worth a fly.

Mind you, it's not that Al has gained any bees, just that he hopes not to have lost any. All he's gained are some grey hairs and some more worry lines.

Blocked

How odd.  My phone just quacked and I went to answer it, and the screen said "blocked caller."  I don't understand at all - I've not blocked anyone and I can't find anything on the phone that says how to block or unblock anyone anyway.  Can any of you suggest an explanation, please?

Things going bump

It's no wonder that nothing is growing much - some leaves of the french beans, which are in the greenhouse about 5 feet away from the side panes of glass, are scorched by last night's frost.  The aubergines are looking unhappy and so are some of the tomatoes.  The pepper and chilli plants are holding up well, as are the greenhouse cucumbers, although they have hardly grown since I planted them out.  The courgette plants are looking good and have almost outgrown the frost damage of a few weeks ago.  All these things are in the big Dutch light greenhouse of course - nothing tender is planted out at all.  I'm doubting now that they will be before I go away, which is a bit disappointing, but I think it's too risky unless the forecast is really much better by the weekend.

Dilly phoned this morning, asking me to go through and help to calm down Pugsley, who had got himself into a real state.  There was a hanger on a door which had stopped it from shutting (I'm not sure exactly about the details) and he had convinced himself that there was a monster or something in the house which was out to get him - he was genuinely terrified.  We were puzzled and a bit unnerved - he asked to come to my house as he was afraid of his.  He was having sandwiches for lunch before going to nursery, so he brought them and I sat him on my lap while he ate them and I did some careful explaining of what's real and what's not, and that there are stories and films that are just stories - he did listen sensibly and we talked it all though, and then discussed things that really are dangerous in the wrong places, such as fire and cars.  And then animals that are real, like lions, but are not exactly a threat to him, and snakes.  I said I'd look out the snake skin I found in the greenhouse, but luckily he didn't think of it when he came home, because I couldn't remember where I've put it - it's not where I thought it was.

Anyway, when he came home he said that he was all right and it had all been a game - it hadn't at the time, but he seems to have got over it and he didn't mind at all about going home again.

When sitting on my lap, every time he wanted to say something, he started with "Excuse me," which was sweet - I suppose he's picked that up at nursery school.

Zerlina has had two days at the childminders now and it's gone very well.  The first day, last Friday, apparently, she cried for nearly an hour and was very relieved when Weeza went to pick her up, but the Monday afterwards, although she cried when Weeza left, she stopped almost at once and was quite relaxed upon Weeza's return.  She was asleep when her mother left her with me yesterday and took a while to placate when she woke - though I think that was because she was hungry - anyway, when Squiffany arrived she cheered right up.  When Weeza got back she was pleased, but almost immediately left with Dilly to go to their house - we followed a few minutes later, and by then she was happily bouncing on the trampoline and laughing with Squiffany and Pugsley.  So that seems to be all right.  No separation anxiety there, unless it's on Weeza's part.

Bitty bits

A thirteen hour spread of governor stuff.  Hmm.  Still, I arrived home after 9 pm to find that the Sage had cooked my dinner and that there was still half a bottle of wine in the fridge, so I've cheered up nicely again.  I'm passing over details of today, if that's okay with you.

Wink and the Bod were due to leave for a holiday yesterday - the plane must have flown or I'd have heard, but I trust they get back again on time.  The Bod's bro is looking after their mum for a week, and Wink's office can manage similarly without her, but they're both vital after that.

It's still jolly cold.  When the sun is out, you can be forgiven for the delusion that it's warm, but it's not true.  My tomato plants are looking unhappy and haven't grown in a week.  There was a heavy frost last night.

Ooh, Yagnub is on television Right Now.  The Lady - the figure of Justice from the Buttercross - has just been put back in place after restoration, and there was a ceremony to unveil her this morning.  The Sage and Al watched - the Mayor and the Town Crier and everyone were there.  She does look beautiful.

Someone engaged me in conversation yesterday on the subject of addiction.  I gave it some thought and decided that it's not something that has ever happened to me.  Maybe I've just got a short attention span?

Z drips

The day didn't start marvellously, as I woke early, read for some time and then spent some time sorting things out and tidying upstairs (I know darlings, the knicker drawer is a thing of beauty right now) and finally dressed,  and washed my hair - and then heard a car downstairs.  It was my neighbour, so I scuttled downstairs with dripping hair in a towel that kept falling off - the towel, most of the hair stayed where it was supposed to be.

I can't quite actually remember why he came - oh yes, now I can, it doesn't matter - but he mentioned that the Fellow was at his house (the Rectory) doing some work, so I said I'd hot-bike round there to say hello.  I was about to dry my hair when the Sage said that people were arriving for the 9.30 meeting.  Which had slipped my mind in the excitement of hearing about the Fellow.  So I phoned Dilly, said I'd be 5 minutes, slapped on my face, ignored my hair (vanity goes only so far) and scurried next door (the other next door to the Rectory) with the papers that I had remembered to print off yesterday.

It was so good to see the Fellow - my ex-fellow-churchwarden, that is, who moved to Norwich nearly a year ago.  We've got some unfinished quinquennial business so I promised to give a ring and go and sit down with him for an hour or so to sort it out - once we've both found the relevant papers.  "I know which room they're in," I said hopefully.  He laughed, but noticeably didn't say as much for himself.  I know what it's like - in fact, my copy of the papers is the same as his, but not annotated, but he'll remember what he wrote on them.

Anyway, I'm spending the evening watching Top of the Pops 2 with keen enjoyment.  The 80s.  What a decade for music.  Especially Bucks Fizz.  Gosh, the hair.  Oh gosh, Kylie and Jason have just come on.  If that's the right thing to say.

Today, we mostly ate...

...leftovers.

There wasn't much left - all the pork went and most of the chicken, and the only reason there was a fair bit of the veggie dish was because the recipe said "serves four as a main dish" and I knew there were at least three vegetarians, so I thought I'd double up to be sure - it filled my biggest 10 pint casserole.  It was a jolly good recipe though, quick and easy, not at all solemn or stodgy, colourful and tasty, and vegan to boot.  I had been told that one of the guests is coeliac, so made sure that the whole meal (that I was responsible for- I didn't do all the puddings) was gluten free.

I'm pretty careful to bear in mind food intolerences and allergies - especially the latter.  I'd never put nut oil in a dressing, for example, unless I was sure it was safe to do so and I use no hidden ingredients that are likely to cause a problem.  One person can't eat onions, and I find it almost impossible to cook without onions, but the chicken dish doesn't have any.  Two of the dishes were low fat and there was a fruit salad for dieters and diabetics.  I can't bear to think of someone who already has difficulty with finding suitable things to eat being fobbed off with something boring and dashed off at the last minute.

I'd been able to put out of my mind the awfulness of Friday's meeting yesterday, but it (or rather, the result of it) has been weighing on me all day.  Tuesday morning will be not nice, when the person concerned will be told by me and the Head.  I feel pretty dreadful about it, in fact - it involves someone losing their job, not because of anything wrong they have done but because a department has become overstaffed.  One of the four had to go, and I chaired the committee which decided.  I know, lots of people have to do this sort of thing all the time, but I never have and nor has the Head (who took no part in the decision).  He feels bad too.

We'd had it in mind to start bricklaying again this week, but it isn't going to happen.  The Sage is busy with the day job on Tuesday and Thursday, the sand is being delivered on Monday, Dave's busy on Wednesday and I am on Friday.  Since each of us has two or three free mornings, you'd think that we'd be able to find one or two when we're all free, but no.  I hope the wind drops and it doesn't rain because then it will be a pleasure to plant out all the things that have been ready for quite some time, but which haven't gone in the ground as chickens etc still were free to roam in the vegetable garden.  It's been  fenced off now - the unwalled side and, temporarily, the side where the wall isn't completed.  The rest is wall or greenhouses.

The Bees' Knees

I spent a while cooking for this evening's supper and quiz - I made a goulash, my favourite chicken, tomato and pesto dish, a chilli bean and vegetable casserole, salad and baked potatoes, fruit salad and syllabub.  It was all kept simple - other people brought puddings too so I didn't have much to do.  It all went well and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.  The quizmaster was good, keeping it lighthearted and not too competitive, and he had a fine turn of North Suffolk speech, which is always appreciated.

The final three rounds were quite tight, when one team caught up with the front runners, then gained one more point and finally another to win by two marks.  The Bees' Knees won over the Train Set.

Hanging together or being hanged separately?

Well, interesting that the polls were correct.  And interesting times ahead, I daresay.  I wonder how long it'll all last, and whether we'll have another election within a year. 

We didn't get much sleep last night - in fact, the Sage couldn't sleep so came down to watch the results come in and finally dozed off on the sofa.  I left the house at 7.30 and pedalled dismally off in the direction of Yagnub.  My legs ached.  I looked at the little upward inclination over the bridge towards the post office and thought I couldn't do it.  I was too lazy to get off and walk however, so kept going.  

I came away from my meeting, several hours later, dispirited.  I wish I could talk about it, because it would make me feel better and you'd have interesting insights into the matter, but I may not.  I came home and cooked bacon sandwiches for lunch.  I offered the Sage a glass of wine "I'm having one, will you join me?"  "I'll fall asleep," he confessed.  "Good idea,"  I said.  He accepted the wine.

I leap capriciously between frivolity, formality and severity.  "I think we should do this very formally, dear," I said to a member of staff.  And then did.  There were chuckles all round at the 'dear', but I like to summarise at the end, it helps me to marshall my thoughts and, I think, is helpful for the person taking minutes.  And I know when not to do it - the dear and darling, that is.  I wonder if there's a deliberate quirkiness? I don't think so, but I don't mind the thought of being slightly unpredictable.  But, even there, does that make me easy to read for someone perceptive? 

I suspect so.  I'm an open book and if you find one of the pages sticks, I'll help you to turn it.  I'm no woman of mystery.

This is published twice because Blogger was on the blink the first time round.  I saved it, put it on a Word document, saved it again from that (cautious, me) and put it in a new post.  That's all I did.  And it's neither the usual font or the peculiar one.  Sorry, but at least words aren't cut apart whimsically at the end of each line, and there isn't a huge gap between paragraphs.  I'll hope for better things tomorrow.  As will everyone in the country, in a less *Z* related way.

Hanging together or being hanged separately? First try

Well, interesting that the polls were correct. And interesting times ahead, I daresay. I wonder how long it'll all last, and whether we'll have another election within a year.


We didn't get much sleep last night - in fact, the Sage couldn't sleep so came down to watch the results come in and finally dozed off on the sofa. I left the house at 7.30 and pedalled dismally off in the direction of Yagnub. My legs ached. I looked at the little upward inclination over the bridge towards the post office and thought I couldn't do it. I was too lazy to get off and walk however, so kept going.  


I came away from my meeting, several hours later, dispirited. I wish I could talk about it, because it would make me feel better and you'd have interesting insights into the matter, but I may not. I came home and cooked bacon sandwiches for lunch. I offered the Sage a glass of wine "I'm having one, will you join me?" "I'll fall asleep," he confessed. "Good idea," I said. He accepted the wine.


I leap capriciously between frivolity, formality and severity. "I think we should do this very formally, dear," I said to a member of staff. And then did. There were chuckles all round at the 'dear', but I like to summarise at the end, it helps me to marshall my thoughts and, I think, is helpful for the person taking minutes. And I know when not to do it - the dear and darling, that is. I wonder if there's a deliberate quirkiness? I don't think so, but I don't mind the thought of being slightly unpredictable. But, even there, does that make me easy to read for someone perceptive?


I suspect so. I'm an open book and if you find one of the pages sticks, I'll help you to turn it. I'm no woman of mystery.

Z will see the early hours, one way or another

I had to write an official sort of letter to someone last week, which I hope is about the last thing I'll have to deal with as churchwarden - which I'm not any more, the official swearing-in of the new one having happened this evening.  It's when the Archdeacon, during his Visitation, does his Charge.  Which is less exciting than it sounds, being an instructive talk.

Anyway, I deliberately didn't put my phone number on the letter because I wanted a written reply.  So I was decidedly miffed when, having just arrived home from a meeting soon after 6 o'clock, I got a phone call from the chap who wanted to argue his case.  It took 15 minutes of my time, and during the call he reproached me for not giving my number, which he'd had to look up.  I explained, more politely than he deserved (and I've got to meet him next week so actually I'll put it more forcefully then) that, if I'd wanted a phone call I'd have given my number.  As it was, I told him that I need written confirmation of anything said as I'll be passing the job on.  But anyway, having just got in and not even having had a chance to put the kettle on yet, answering the telephone to a business call was not what I wanted to do right then.

This morning, I was doing computer stuff for several different things when the Sage asked me for an address.  I looked it up from our mailing list and was just reading it out when the damn phone rang.  There were three calls in ten minutes, two business ones for the Sage and one for me, they needed to be answered.  It always happens.  We never have a conversation or do any work without being distracted by the phone.  I so prefer email, which doesn't impose and gives a record of what took place.

A very good governors' meeting today, where lots of people had things to say - sometimes it turns out to be only about three of us.  And the two new governors volunteered for things, which they are obviously more than capable of doing well and, indeed, there were helpful offers all round.

At last, the only interesting bit about an election - the results.  For once, I can forgive the pundits for speculating.  I'm really quite tempted to stay up, but I've got to be out of the house by 7.30 in the morning.  So I'll probably get up early instead.

Z is not alone

I thought you'd all like to be the first* to know (if, collectively, you can be "first") that the Sage has arrived safely home, after a long round trip.  He is very pleased with the vesta case he bought at an auction *somewhere in Gloucestershire*.  "How much did it cost you?" I asked pleasantly.  "Worth every penny of *£ quite a lot*, he declared.  "I daresay," I replied, "but that wasn't exactly what I asked."

It took some asking of the specific questions, but he finally did tell me (*£ quite a lot* had been the hammer price, with the auctioneer's premium on top) but it's up to him, I'd only asked, he's welcome to buy whatever he likes.   Not that he does, mostly, he has simple tastes, except in women.

I woke up this morning at 6 o'clock and lay very still, so as not to disturb him - and then, of course, when a discreetly extended foot found an empty bed, remembered that he wasn't here.  I've never lived alone, you know.  In the old-fashioned way, I left home to get married and have been there ever since.

*At the time of writing, you were the first.  However, since then, I've had a long chat with Weeza so now she knows too.  Mind you, she didn't know he'd gone away in the first place.

Not a pretty poll

They keep saying that there are millions of people who haven't made up their minds how to vote yet.  I've not heard even one person say that and I'm not so sure that it's true at all.  In fact, at least three of our family have already voted, as they opt for postal votes.  I would only do that if I were actually going to be on holiday (as Ro is this week, as it happens).  I like to mark my cross and put my paper in the ballot box in person.

We've not seen any candidates here.  We had Lib Dem fliers in the post yesterday, and the Conservative candidate was in Yagnub a couple of weeks ago (that's the other side of the county border, so not the same constituency here).  Few people in the village have posters up in their windows or gardens.

South Norfolk has always been Conservative, with Lib Dem in second place.  Labour trails in the rear.  There have been boundary changes since the last election which could disadvantage the Tory candidate.  Waveney, where Yagnub is, used to be Conservative but changed to Labour in the election when Blair got in.  The MP there is an energetic and dedicated constituency MP, but may lose this time - if so, I'm sorry for him as it isn't his fault, but then nor was it the fault of the man before him whom he beat.  It's just the way things go.

I haven't been talking about the election or politics much - a few people have raised the subject, otherwise I wouldn't have at all - and I didn't watch any of the leaders' debates, largely because I didn't care for the format.  Pre-arranged questions and no follow-up points made from the floor, and standing there like idiots - nah, didn't appeal.  It would just have made me cross.  A friend, having watched the first one, agreed that he'd shouted at the screen rather a lot.

I've met a few MPs over the years and rather enjoyed talking to them.  Engaging, articulate and interested in having a conversation rather than just imposing their views.  One of the more flattering occasions was, when our MP was the Education Secretary, being asked my opinion on a matter of the day (it was relevant, as he had come to open an extension to the village school, being a friend of the then chairman of governors) and then hearing him say exactly what I'd said in the House of Commons the next week.

So it's not individuals I'm meaning when I say I'm completely fed up with the lot of them and I've heard more than enough, even though I avoid most news broadcasts, to see me through the next four or five years.  I hope there's not a minority government, come to think of it, because odds are it wouldn't last long and we'd have to go through it all again in a year or two.

Both grain and grape

The Sage is in Wiltshire and I am at home.  It's is very quiet.  Tilly is snoozing on the sofa and I - oh, it isn't quiet at all, I'm listening to quite loud music.  But there's an emptiness that sound can't fill.

There was a brief meeting this evening to make sure arrangements are all in place for the church supper on Saturday.  It was here at half past seven and I reckoned it would be done in twenty minutes and I'd be eating supper by half past eight.  We did sort out the practicalities quickly but no one was in a hurry to move and they didn't go until nearly 9.30.  I was very hungry and also somewhat embarrassed that I hadn't made coffee and offered wine - I didn't think anyone would want it and by the time it seemed appropriate it was also too late.

I'm so suggestible.  Rog mentioned his favourite iPhone apps, which led me to go straight to download two of them.  And then, because of the sight of a virtual pint of lager, I was drawn inevitably to a bottle of beer for myself.  I planned to have a second with dinner, but by the time I came to eat and drink, the moment had passed and I had wine instead.

"I've left plenty of corn and water for the chickens" said the Sage as he was getting ready to leave.  "They will go to roost by themselves, just do their bread in the morning."  They have half a loaf, soaked in warm water, in the mornings.  "Wouldn't they like a little something at lunchtime?" I asked.  "Only if you've time.  Otherwise, I've left a couple of bunches of grapes in the porch.  You can give them one this teatime and one tomorrow.  If you give them a call, they'll follow you."

He just likes being followed about by adoring females, of course.

Z respects Asparagus

I've just eaten dinner which, when I went to cook it, was still just a twinkle in my eye as I'd overlooked there being a bank holiday when the shops were shut.  That is, I don't suppose the Co-op was, but I hadn't got on my bike and shopped, as it was jolly cold and windy.  In fact, I've been out to the Dutch light greenhouse and covered over vulnerable things, as they were talking darkly about frost tonight, earlier on.

Anyway, I had a head of celery (is that the right word?  I think so but it looks strangely impolite) and a couple of parsnips and some onions and not a lot else.  But I did have some chicken stock.  So I decided to see what parsnip'n'celery risotto tasted like.  And to serve it with a nice Norfolk Little Gem lettuce that I remembered was in the fridge.

This was nearly cooked when the Sage came in and I remembered that he had, earlier, mentioned asparagus.  So I asked him to pick it.  The asparagus, that is.  Darlings, there was lots.  I also remembered a small amount of fillet of pork in random sauce (basically shallot and red pepper, can't remember what else) that a small amount of was in a bowl in the fridge.

It all got served up together and, having chattered away to the Sage's complete entertainment, I explained that I was going to observe a respectful silence for the first home-grown asparagus of the season.  Silence didn't last for long, as my groans of delight soon pierced the air.  I have, of course, saved the cooking water and trimmings as the basis for another stock.  Frugal, me.  And greedy.

The Sage has suddenly decided to waft himself off westwards tomorrow.  He will stay overnight with Wink (having saluted Stonehenge with an uplifted heart on the way) and then head for Gloucestershire, to three destinations and then other places on his way home.  I have a meeting here at 7.30 tomorrow night, but after that I can watch episodes of Deadwood (I'm really slow, I'm only just on Series 3, after months and months) without having to put on headphones, because the language is too strong for the Sage's tender ears.

Ooh, I can hear the coffee grinder.  The Sage is looking after me again.

Z settles for Tea

I have caught up with the business paperwork, which is v good, but I've been neglecting other stuff - that is, voluntary business, which is v bad.  Still, as tomorrow is a Bank Holiday, there won't be any post to deal with so I should be able to get on.

I've realised that we're going to have to crack on pdq with the next catalogue - the auction is mid-July and the printers want it before the end of May and I'm going to be away for a week.  So the Sage has a week to get the china together (he's only got three-quarters of a sale-worth so far) and then we'll have a week to do the work, then Weeza can prepare the catalogue while I'm away.

Hm.  I may have to relinquish my lazy ways for a day or two.

I had a lovely time in the shop yesterday, Al's customers are wonderful.  One lady came in with an adorable spaniel puppy, 12 weeks old.  She was very friendly and affectionate (I mean the puppy, Dave*, although the lady was charming too).  A little girl came in with her mother and cuddled the puppy too.  "We may be getting a labradoodle puppy," she said hopefully, "If Daddy says we can.  He's away cycling across Australia just now."  I advised getting it as a welcome home present, but apparently Daddy doesn't really like dogs and is arriving home this week.  So maybe they'll be able to get him to say yes when in the first enthusiasm of homecoming.  "Remember," advised Al, "He can say 'no' any number of times, but he only has to say 'yes' once and he's committed."

That's my boy.  Teach a 6-year-old how to negotiate successfully and run rings round her parents.  It has always been my speciality to do the same thing.

Today, it's jolly cold again.  I haven't been down to the greenhouse at all and hope that cucumbers aren't suffering - everything else will be all right.  I'll go and have a look in the morning.  It's not been frosty, just a chilly wind, and I thought it would be better to leave what heat there is still in there and not open the door.  I've got lovely plants ready to go out, but the garden is still not rabbit- or bantam-proofed, so they will have to wait.  At least we've had some rain, but I may have to start watering before I can do anything else at all.  It's been a very dry month.

I've remembered that I've got half a packet of wine gums somewhere, but I can't remember where I've put them.  Now I've thought of them, I really want a wine gum.  I've got chocolate, but that Won't Do.

I shall have a cup of Rose Pouchong instead.

*The puppy is not called Dave, I was addressing Dave.

MayDay

Though it could be as well phrased by saying Aidez-Zoi.

The sale went well thanks, but it's all got too busy to write about.  I've reached my limit, I think, which doesn't often happen.  I've had to talk so much and write so many emails that I've run out of words.

Still, I'll make the effort.  It's for you, after all, and you're Worth It.

It wasn't until 8.30 that I found out that Al had kindly given his Saturday assistant the day off.  A sixteen-year-old boy, his parents are on holiday and his mates were coming over on Friday night and staying over - it would have been churlish, don't you think, to make the young man get up and come to work?  Well, so Al thought anyway.  I didn't know any prices so spent most of the morning lugging sacks of potatoes and bushels of apples about and stacking shelves rather than on the till.

I lost my iPhone.  Someone found it, tracked me down and returned it.  I am still the luckiest person I know - and he's one of the nicest - he's a fellow iPhone user himself, so understands.  And is a Yagnub person, so is lovely.

Oh, and Al had a parcel to post, something he'd sold on eBay, so I went along to the post office for him.  There was a queue and two people who knew each other were chatting - both had come along to pay their car road fund licence, both had tried to pay it online and had been refused - one didn't recognise the number on the log book, the other said she hadn't paid the insurance but she had the certificate.  The Sage tried to pay his online this year and it wouldn't take the 16-digit number either.  So they had to trail along, as both will be at work when the PO opens again on Tuesday.  Which was quite annoying for them.

On the other hand, the internet is very useful when finding out how much postage to charge when posting £1,000-worth of china to Australia.

A balanced diet

I have eaten little today except cake.  This is obviously Not Good Enough, so I shall eat some chocolate before going to bed.

Mmm, bed.  Sorry, darlings, it calls.  And I seem to remember that I kindly offered to go and help in the shop tomorrow, it being a Bank Holiday weekend and all.

It's a funny thing, shops - well, chains, that is - are all open over holiday weekends, but people still shop as if there will be a shortage of all fresh food for a week, just because of a bank holiday Monday.  Still, Al won't complain if he can sell out of greens on Saturday.

Oh, and Weeza has a job.  Interviewed yesterday, she's starting on Monday...

Zedverley Hilbillies

It's all going steadily downhill around here - although, it being Norfolk, the gradient is so gradual as to be almost imperceptible.

One of the bantams has decided that the house looks very inviting. Twice already, we've found Tilly standing resolutely in front of an open door, not confronting the chook, for this is not allowed, but obviously quite indignant at the thought of sharing her home with a chicken. But it's only a matter of time before a chicken is found living on the sofa. Tilly can't be on duty all the time.

This afternoon, we were digging over the Jerusalem artichoke bed. Yes darlings, I got going with a garden fork, the first time in at least two years. The cock blackbird was very pleased - he was thrown so many worms that he fed all his fledgelings and himself and then left, satisfied. And one of the bantams came and boldly ate as we dug.

It turned out very difficult to hand-feed her a worm while taking a photo with the other hand. I had several failed attempts. The vid is the best of them, but the other photos show her beauty better.

I have more bantam pics in fact, but they're on my camera rather than my phone and I can't quite bother to look for the lead tonight.

And it appears that there is nothing in Blogger Beta that allows for the uploading of a video from my desktop either.  How odd.  Anyone got the answer?  Otherwise, as I'll be too busy tomorrow, it'll have to wait until Saturday for me to show a movie of me not quite catching the chicken from taking a worm from my hand, and you hearing me speak in an extraordinarily low voice.  Christopher once said that he was looking for a mezzo soprano.  He might offer me something in the baritone range once he's heard it. If I can work out how to post it, that is.

Z is in Nephelococcygia and the Sage breaks an Egg

Sad to say, I'm slightly worse the wear - for drink, that is. It all started at 5.45 when I opened a bottle, not realising the sun was not quite over the 6 o'clock yardarm. When I found out, it was too late - one can't go back to tea from wine.

It's not been the easiest day, in one way or another. Nothing personal, and I'll lose no sleep - but there's one difficult letter that I haven't yet had the fortitude to start on. I'm actually quite inclined to cut my losses and do it tomorrow.

Anyway, let's look, as usual, to the positive - because that's always the best view.

I've moved more stuff to the big greenhouse which is brilliant, because I can use the sprinkler for watering rather than having to use watering cans. The Sage and I have had to move things about first though to make room, but he was most kind and uncomplaining about it, getting up and coming with me as soon as I asked. He is, as usual, lovely.

I've potted up a lot of herbs and some peas for Al to sell.

Now that I've moved so much, I've been able to clear a greenhouse completely (and temporarily) which will ease the watering some more.

The Sage and I have cleared a whole lot of nettles and other stuff from outside the further end of the big greenhouse (the greenery in front of the door was nettles from outside) and we're planning to concrete it over, ready to build a potting shed.

Yay! A potting shed!

Actually, I really want a combined tool shed and potting shed, with a connecting and securely lockable door, so that I can use the present tool shed for other stuff.

It's been a tricky day, in non-domestic terms, which is the reason I've kept pouring all evening. However, there have been two lighter moments. One was when the Sage came in disconsolate. "I picked up an old egg and it exploded all over my trousers" I laughed, darlings, like a drain. Then I read JonnyB. I missed yesterday's post, but it so happened that today's photo didn't load fast enough for the impatient Z, so I read yesterday's first anyway, and then scrolled up. I have been laughing ever since - and the Sage has not asked why - which makes me laugh all the more.

Well, you've got to, haven't you?

Z pots

The tomatoes have grown visibly in the last couple of days, since I put them in the Dutch light greenhouse (though it's probably not noticeable in the picture), so I've taken a chance on the weather and put most of the other tender stuff in there too. If it's frosty, I'll just cover everything over with polythene or newspaper - that is, the latter if there's a frost forecast at night, but if it turns really cold, I'll have to put a clear plastic over them. I've done a lot of potting on today - in fact, I worked on it all for a good five hours. I was doing a lot of bending and lifting (nothing too heavy, apart from a bag of compost) and I ache, rather. I've still as much to do again, but everything is coming on well, apart from the courgettes that caught the frost, which are still looking a bit sad.

Al brought home a lot of strawberry plants, well-rooted runners that a customer had brought in for him to sell. They had been put in bundles of 10, wrapped in newspaper and secured with a rubber band, but not many had sold like that - so Al wondered if I might feel like potting them up? "Only if you'd enjoy it," he said hopefully. Fortunately, there was nothing I'd like more to do, so I potted all 88 of them - there were actually 90, but a couple of roots hadn't quite been in the water and looked a little sad, so I put each of them in with a stronger plant. The customer must have a lovely old garden - he brings in bunches of grapes, figs and peaches too, in a good summer and they are delicious. The peaches are the rarer white-fleshed variety. Fruit is evidently his 'thing'.

It's been the warmest day of the year so far, I should think. Far too hot to stay and work in the greenhouse, so I set up a makeshift bench and potted outside. A pair of blackbirds has a newly-fledged clutch of youngsters and they are still providing food for them. At one point, I found a worm in the compost and threw it onto a newly-watered patch of earth, meaning it to burrow down, but the male bird appeared from nowhere and snatched it up. I was rather sorry. You won't be surprised (bearing in mind that I'm the woman who kisses frogs) that I'm fond of worms. But I'm fond of birds too. The Sage is the one with a particular affinity for birds, though. He said that the other day he picked up one of the baby blackbirds to show the children. They don't mind him and nor do their parents. He often helps adult birds feed their babies by finding small insects - if I tried that, they'd abandon the nest, but they seem to appreciate the Sage as a friend. He's a crack shot and used to compete at Bisley, but he only likes target shooting (1,000 yards is his favourite distance. I'm not sure that I can see 1.000 yards, unless I'm outside and looking straight up), or clay pigeon. He used to be invited to a local shoot by its owner on Boxing Day, but he didn't care for it. He doesn't have the same objection to disposing of squirrels, however, on the rare occasions when it occurs to one to try setting up home here. Nothing is allowed that might raid nests and hurt his beloved birds.

Z has nothing to say, but says it at length

A funeral today, of a man of 93. I didn't know him, but I sat on the organ stool feeling most awfully sorry for his poor widow, left alone after 60 years of marriage. Their daughters flanked her in the pew. I couldn't see one of them as the pulpit was in the way, but the other one was in tears for most of the service. It made me cry too - I'm getting too much of a wimp to play for funerals. I admit that it pays well though - Weeza was here when I got back and she was impressed.

Everything is either confidential or dull. Not private, you understand - I'd probably tell you all about it if it were merely private - but it leaves me with little to write about, concerning what's going on now, at any rate.

We've got a social event on at the church at the end of next week - I'm doing the cooking - and four of us decided that we'd better meet to make final arrangements. There was a slight hesitation when I asked where the meeting was to be, so I suggested we might meet here. "I love coming to your house, it's so welcoming. And comfortable" said one. I was a little surprised. Scruffy and chaotic, I'd say. I suppose not many people would like to live here, but maybe it is quite relaxing, knowing that I really wouldn't mind if you came in with mud on your shoes or put your feet up on the sofa. Tilly might give you a look as it's her sofa, of course.

Al says that one of the beehives is nearly ready to swarm. He's got a third beehive ready and will split the colony soon - last year, he lost half his bees when his single hive swarmed. He was able to rescue the situation by dividing the remainder, and they both survived the winter. In fact, it was a blessing in disguise, as his original queen was decidedly edgy and the colony was quite aggressive. These two are sweet-natured and don't mind people at all. The bees don't make so much honey though, he says. There's a cherry tree near the house and they have been enjoying the nectar for the past week or so. Lots of trees are in bloom at this time of year, so there's plenty for the bees to harvest. Apple blossom next. There's hardly anything prettier.

Z Pants

I just came into the room - some time ago, I left the Sage watching snooker, and I expect he couldn't find the remote control (it was so simple when you just used the buttons on the tv) and so left it - and the report of the London marathon is on. I left it and sat down with a glass of wine, but now, ten minutes later, my hip is actually aching. Since it doesn't normally (this is my own hip, not the one that the Sage paid for), I can only assume that hips have ears.

My main other feeling is relief that I shall never go for a run. Sorry, I do appreciate the pleasure and satisfaction that people get from running, but I've never felt it and I'm not unhappy that now I never can.

Another christening this morning, at our informal monthly service, which starts off with bacon sandwiches and newspapers and ends up with me and Andy playing, respectively, clarinet and keyboard. He set a rattling pace and I was breathless by the end. Shine Jesus Shine, indeed. And Pant Z Pant. Five sharps, 'n'all. One of the lads in one of the music classes I go to was in the congregation. We succeeded in not catching eyes.

Later, I labelled and moved the rest of the tomatoes, and here they are. They don't really look like three hundred and something, but they're all here, except the unidentified one. Actually, it looks like a Gardener's Delight, but we'll see. I'll give it a good home, anyway.

I'm anxious to start planting things out, and the Sage has promised that he'll finish the netting soon. I'm busy all day tomorrow (meeting, organist at funeral, working lunch, meeting), but I've still got potting up to do. It will be done in the evening, I hope. Weeza and Zerlina are coming over, but I won't see them much. I even had to ask Dilly to do lunch for them as Mary and I keep on meeting and getting sociable and not getting our work done - we must catch up. I wouldn't normally put anything before family, but Mary's under a whole lot more pressure than I am, and I will spend time with Weeza and make up for it another day. Anyway, Zerlina and Pugsley will enjoy some time together - Squiffany and z are so close that Pugsley can be sidelined. Likewise, Weeza and Dilly are great friends and I must be glad they can spend time together and not mind that I can't join in.

In case any of you notice the time on this post, I started writing it and then went to cook dinner before finishing. So the marathon was on television ages ago. At least an hour.

Zedcounter

I spent quite some time this afternoon moving plants around. Mostly, tomato plants from one greenhouse to the other. As a result, I can report that I have grown 39 Maskotka, 55 Red Cherry, 34 Black Russian, 22 Green Zebra, 40 Cuor di Bue, 37 Principe Borghese, 27 Gardeners Delight, 38 San Marzano and 42 Tigerella and an unidentified tomato without a label that became separated from its colleagues.

I thought I'd got over my habit of counting everything, but it seems that it's still lurking somewhere in the warm dark recesses of my comfort zone.

Funny, isn't it, the things you do as a child as a more-or-less compulsive habit? Like stepping on the lines in the pavement, or not, depending. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to share, actually. It's not that I did anything particularly weird, but I don't know if they were the sort of thing that anyone might have done or if they were peculiar to me. And I'd not care for you to think I'm odd.

The sight of Gordon Brown busy pressing the flesh while being serenaded by an Elvis must be one of the more bemusing events of this election campaign. I went out for dinner with some elderly friends two days into the campaign and we all gloomily agreed that we were already sick of it. It's not the election or even the politicians - repellent though so many of them are, at least their jobs are on the line. It's the ghastly journalists, who yabber on endlessly, speculating and hypothesising.

Cows in the meadow

Jonathan brought four cows over this morning - one of them, Benson (no. 191) has visited us before. The other three are 64, 65 and 196. I am particularly pleased that there are two square numbers, but I shall aim to name them too, just as soon as I can reliably recognise them. I have had a lifetime of finding it really hard to put names to faces, because I'm really bad at face recognition - I've put a lot of effort into improving this over the years, but it's still something I have to give conscious thought to. And I haven't mastered it with cows.

It's odd, really. Black and white cows have vast differences in pattern of their coats, but I don't remember them apart from each other. Yet dogs, I recognise with no difficulty, usually even within the same breed. With people, the fact that I can do it if I try hard enough shows that it's more a matter of lack of actual observation than lack of ability to observe. I'm surprisingly good at telling identical twins apart, for example. However, a few weeks ago when my friend Mary and I went to the school performance of Little Shop of Horrors and, both being governors, went backstage at the end, I found it quite hard to pick out the faces of the performers (unless I'd recognised them already because I knew them) whilst she had no difficulty.

On the other hand, because I do meet a lot of people and I do try really hard, I've actually got a reputation for recognising people very well. It's helped by my being good at remembering facts about someone - so, even if there's an initial hesitation, once I've placed someone I will remind them of what we talked about at our last meeting (possibly years ago) - which comes so easily to me that it always slightly surprises me that the person is startled and flattered by it.

Another thing I can't recognise is birdsong. It's all pleasant twittering to me*. I could learn it, but I'd have to do so bird by bird, specifically. I think that the difficulty there is my short sight and poor bird-spotting ability. So, when young, I never put a song to a particular bird and even now, though I think I know a blackbird, for instance, when I hear it, unless I see the blackbird sing, how do I know if I'm right?

*There are obvious exceptions to this - owl, cuckoo, pheasant, chicken, pigeon etc.

We've had six members of staff caught abroad when the planes stopped flying - five teachers and a member of the office staff. The reaction has been typical of the school - everyone immediately offered to help and to be as flexible in the classroom arrangements as possible. The Head and Deputy Head cancelled meetings so that they could teach; two science teachers were away, so the Head taught non-exam year classes so that science specialists could transfer to Years 11, 12 and 13. Meanwhile the stranded teachers were doing all that they could by email to share lesson plans etc. One teacher flew back yesterday and is back in class today, and another landed in the early hours, left Heathrow at 5.30 and was in school at 8.30 this morning, ready to teach. The others are coming back over the weekend and will be back at work on Monday. We were lucky only to have a few people absent, but I think it was a brilliant reaction all round. Thank goodness it only affected one week, however - especially with exams coming up. I'm not sure how many pupils were away.

It's a fabulous sunny day and here I am in a room that's colder than outside. I think I shall take the papers out and sit for a while in the sunshine. I'll forget about work and do it tonight instead.

Frostbite

There has been a frost for the last few nights, but the mornings have started out cloudy, so no harm has been done. However, this morning it was bright and sunny early, with the result that several of the courgette plants in pots in the greenhouse have been damaged. Just a couple of leaves, but it'll weaken the plants and hold them back. It's a nuisance. In fact, the cold wind is a bother as well, as the bright sunlight makes the greenhouse too hot, but having the windows open lets in a cold draught.

This afternoon, I was potting up some more seedlings (I've been a bit busy so I'm a bit behind), one of the bantams looked in, with an inquisitive expression on her face. When she saw me, she moved on. Just as well that we're spending this week putting up netting, to keep the girls and the bunnies out. I've got various things ready to plant out and don't want them all eaten straight away. Mind you, I'll still have to net everything against birds (songbirds and pigeons) which love freshly-planted or sprouted seedlings.

Having said this, it's been lovely weather to go out and about, as long as you keep moving. I went into town first thing to have my hair cut and then went and bought fish at the market. Cheerful because of the sunlight, I bought asparagus from Al - it's still very expensive but it is local (Norfolk, that is) - I don't buy it out of season. This is the second week he's had it in. In view of the frosts, I think it must have some protection from the weather. When my asparagus bed was younger, it usually started in April but was easily damaged by frost. Now, like me, it stays in bed a little later until the year warms up.

Z is superseded

Hello Osci. I thought you should have the last word (see comments on previous post).

Last Post sort of gives the wrong message, don't you think?

I was disarmed yet again to receive Presents on leaving the PCC and the churchwardenship. I had to come home and send a rather gushing text to a friend - which means it's done now, so I don't need to gush at you. I did notes today for the new churchwarden - I"m afraid it ran to three pages. She was a bit shell-shocked - but I explained that if she wrote down everything she takes for granted in running her home, it would be pages long too. I also said I wished I'd had such a thing done for me, as I spent the first year getting nasty shocks (Find someone to read the Roll of Honour at the Remembrance Sunday service. Decorate the Advent Ring. Procure a Christmas tree. Who knew?)

Anyway, all done now - and I found myself chairing the meeting as well as taking the minutes and giving my report. When it came to the election of officers, I suggested that I just put down names for proposers and seconders, as we were all in complete agreement anyway - and this went down very well and saved a good ten minutes. Job well done I think, don't you?

Oh, and then I was asked to play for a funeral on Monday, Getting a verger and organist slipped through the organisational net a bit, but fortunately we're both free. Only just, I'd quietly checked my emails during a dull bit of the meeting (not the bit I chaired which was as sparky as you might expect, hem hem) and someone wants to meet up with me before the afternoon meeting. There's still time, but now it'll be a specific time instead of "I've got all morning, darling."

Tomorrow, up at larkfart because I've got a hair appointment, early.

I think I deserve a glass of wine and a cup of tea, don't you?

That's twice. Never suggest that I don't consult. Well, unless you think I'm talking nonsense, of course.

Later - it was very funny. I fancied a spot of music, so went to iTunes, where I was halfway through listening to Tom Waits' Alice. I clicked play and got, instead of We're All Mad Here, exuberant banjo music - I have no idea how, but instead of iTunes, Spotify played Mule Skinner Blues by the Blackwater Boys (Best of Bluegrass). It was so incongruous I nearly fell over laughing. Well, I leaned on the arm of the chair and chuckled.

Actually, I'm not typing very well. I've been celebrating. I'm a bit wary of trying italics in case I'm leaning over already.

Actually, I've just remembered. I wasn't aiming at iTunes at all. I was intending to reply to that email about Monday's meeting. D'oh, darlings. I'm such a fool.

Z's ready to switch off. Nearly.

It's slightly depressing that, after 10 o'clock at night, not only am I still working, but I've just had emails from the Headmaster and the clerk to the governors - she having just had an email from the chairman of a committee. We should all have switched off by now - although I did take the afternoon off, or a couple of hours of it anyway, to look after Pugsley, which is always a pleasure. He is a dear little boy. He was tired after a full day at nursery school, so we didn't do much - he watched a Spiderman DVD and played with Lego and we read several books. I read a book of my own while he was watching the DVD.

I went to a lecture this morning on the history of the London underground, which was brilliant. Much of it was about its design, under the management of Frank Pick, in the years between the two World Wars. Terribly interesting. Afterwards, in the car park, I didn't recognise my car for a minute - if I hadn't remembered where it was parked I'd have been in trouble - because it was all so gleaming from its wash the other day. There is a fine layer of slightly grey dust on top, but the sides are very clean. It's dark blue, so this is noticeable, and rather different from its usual grubbiness.

I've nearly finished the church annual report. Dave would have done it on January 1st, but I'm quite satisfied at having it done the night before the AGM. At least I've remembered it this year - it's been a last-minute scramble a couple of times. It's terribly boring, and mainly done so formally for the record - everyone at the meeting will know what its content is. The best thing is that this is the last AGM at which I'll have a formal duty. At least two, actually. I'm bowing out as churchwarden and also taking the minutes. Oh, and I'm doing the refreshments, which means I'm going to go and buy cheese and biscuits and wine tomorrow, pick up glasses and set them all out. I will get help with that though - it's simpler to do all the buying myself and then I'll know what's what, they would have helped there too if I'd asked.

I'm sorry, yet again I'm falling behind in my blog-reading. I should catch up by the end of the week, but it may mean that I won't leave many comments. I do still love you all. Even if I take you for granted.

I'm just like one of the family really, aren't I? The one who occasionally rushes in and tires you all out before dashing off again.

Z feels a fool (no, not the Sage, whatever are you thinking? Stop it!)

I do feel a fool. I wrote two long paragraphs, and then noticed that my internet connection was down. It wouldn't come back, so I restarted the home hub and booster, and then, as that didn't work, I saved what I'd written (how sensible, how provident) and restarted the computer.

That worked. Pity that I just saved and didn't copy onto a Word or similar document.

It's gone forever, can't be arsed to write it twice. One more reason (apart from no talent and nothing to say) why I'll never write a book. I would never bother with the honing and fine-tuning, let alone the proof reading.

Anyway, Tilly enjoyed her roast lamb today. I couldn't manage all my dinner, so I suggested to the Sage that she might like salmon tomorrow. He quietly polished it off for me. There's still some lamb, though. He did wonder, this morning, if we should buy chickens and cook them specially for her? I explained that I can cook for ourselves and save her bits, and also reassured him that I'll leave enough for her next month when I'm away for a week.

Don't worry, darlings, I'll take my phone and blog from Scotland.

Z didn't take photos

Sorry - I was too busy this morning and differently busy this afternoon and now I've stopped for a break, I'm having a break instead.

There was a truly adorable baby being christened this morning. She looked with great interest and enjoyment and gave every impression of cheerful concentration when anyone was talking about her. She did take the opportunity for some bottled refreshment at the preparations for Communion, which was a good idea as the rest of us all intended to have a swig of port ourselves and meant that she would be all ready to smile again happily during the lunch that her grandparents were to host afterwards. The family party all were stunningly good-looking and very generous, as we found when we came to count the collection afterwards, hem hem. One of the godparents is stuck in Berlin as the planes aren't flying. At least one of our High School teachers is stranded somewhere in America and having an enforced extra week of holiday. Many of the people at the Annual Convention that the Sage went to on Friday in London are from the US as well, and may be spending longer here than they'd expected.

I've said to Al that he can take a dozen trays of broad (fava) bean plants to sell if he wants to. They are very healthy and well grown without being pot bound. We need to get on and fence in the unwalled side of the kitchen garden, as I've got beans and peas to put in, and will soon have other things too.

Tilly is quite over her upset stomach and is very pleased with the eventual outcome of the episode. We've decided that she's a bit old and delicate for tinned dog food and, since dry food alone is a bit disappointing, that she'd better share our food. She's been having chicken casserole (not our bantams, which live a natural lifespan and are not eaten) and very much enjoying it. In addition, we've stopped feeding her hide chews (the strips were banned a while ago, but now the chopped and reconstituted sticks are a bit much too) and are giving her, as little treats, Allsorts - not the liquorice sort - if you can be bothered to click on the link, hold your mouse over the bottom left picture and it'll leap out at you, it's the middle one. Anyway, she thinks that they are totally delicious and does her "time for a little something?" routine to me several times a day.

This is the life - live blogging

At present, I'm sitting on Phil and Weeza's front lawn relaxing while they clean my car. It's scorching hot in the sunshine here and I'm very comfortable.

I've not been entirely idle. I potted on some basil seedlings and sowed some more, but now my job is done.

What happened, we noticed how dusty the car has suddenly become, as have others, and I said that I wonder if that's dust/ash from the Icelandic volcano. I added that it needs a wash anyway as there are cat pawmarks all over the bonnet and roof from being parked in their drive for the last couple of weeks. And Weeza said their car is dusty too and maybe Phil would wash them both while she hoovered them.

And then, noticing me tapping away on the phone, she said to Phil, "I think we're being live-blogged."

Well, they weren't, until then. They are now.

It is a beautiful day though. And the hedgerows and trees in blossom are beautiful. The countryside is at it's very prettiest at this time of the year, I think. I love it when the blackthorn and then the hawthorn are in flower and the fresh, pale green leaves are new.

Z finds people Lovely

I spent the morning thinking how jolly lovely people are.  Because I cheerily said to someone whose granddaughter is getting christened here on Sunday that we'd decorate the church, that meant I landed four other people with the job of doing nine flower arrangements.  And they are all really busy but no one complained a bit.

And then afterwards, I helped carry out three dozen cups and saucers and a hot-water urn to one of their cars so that she could take it to someone else's house (she came and did her flower arrangement this afternoon) as I'd offered them for her coffee morning tomorrow, which I said I'd go to before I realised it clashed with something else.

And after that, I walked home, and there was the dustcart and the dustmen just emptying the wheely bins into it.  The chap didn't see me coming, but I saw him, bending to pick up a few bits that had fallen on the ground and tossing them in the dustcart.  Then he carefully and neatly lined the bins against the wall.  "I'm just in time to take them home, thank you," I said jovially.  "And, thank you for picking up the odds and ends," I added.  It's not what dustmen are reputed to do - but actually, there's never anything left lying around.  And the bins were rather overfull as we forgot them last time, but they didn't mind.

Later, I went to have lunch with a friend and we chatted so much that I rather overstayed and had to phone Al to ask him to let Tilly out.  When I got home, I had a lot to do in the three-quarters of an hour before I was going out again, so I slammed a chicken leg into the oven, did Tilly's dinner, chopped an onion and put it in a pan with some stock, let it cook for a bit, added some some vegetable soup I'd made a couple of days ago and a couple of tomatoes from a tin, put some new potatoes and a carrot on to cook separately (real cheat's cookery here), belted down to the greenhouse to put the heater on and do the watering and close up - there was an air frost last night - took Tilly for a walk, came back and put the nearly-cooked chicken and the carrot in the sauce and back in the oven, phoned the Sage to check he had caught the train back from London, got a slice of bread and a chunk of cheese, ate some of them, emptied and refilled the dishwasher, put the potatoes in the casserole, prepared sprouting broccoli, ate the rest of the bread and cheese, put on lipstick, took the casserole out of the oven, put a plate to warm and wrote a couple of emails.

Then it was time to leave.  On time.

The Sage had a lovely time in London.  But he'd accidentally locked his phone and didn't realise it, so didn't know how to ring me.  Isn't he sweet?  Lucky I checked, I was going to go to the Vodaphone place in Norwich tomorrow and say it didn't work.  I'd have felt such a fool.

Holiday over

I've been resolutely ignoring emails about school until yesterday, but then I really had to get going and do things.  And then I noticed that I was supposed to phone someone last Friday, so I procrastinated - with literal intention, of course.  So I've done that, and received two more long calls - I don't really talk on the phone much, usually.  I was quite glad of a glass of wine by the time all was done, and then I turned round to find that the Sage had finished the cooking of the dinner.

I have my car back for a few days - that is, the likelihood is that Weeza and Phil will get their own back within a few days, but if not I'll keep mine over the weekend, as I need it tomorrow, Saturday and Tuesday.  So do they, so if the need arises I'll go over there on Monday night and Weeza and I can share it on Tuesday.  She and I went to a wool shop, because she wants to knit her grandma-in-law a shawl for her 90th birthday - she and Phil's parents are planning to go on a cruise in celebration and Weeza thought that a light and elegant shawl for the evenings might be rather well received.  Grandma used to do a lot of knitting and sewing and will appreciate the effort.  She really doesn't want to be given stuff that she'll have to find somewhere to put.  It was a lovely shop, and the lady in charge knew what she was talking about.  There were also bags of washed fleece to buy if you wanted to do your own spinning, which vastly appealed to me.  Not that there's any real likelihood of my taking up spinning as a hobby.  With all the brambles around here, the place is enough like Sleeping Beauty's palace already.  If the palace was a 16th century cottage, that is.

Zerlina was very good.  There were all these open compartments with different wools and she just wandered around looking at them - I kept an eye on her in case she started pulling them on the floor, but she does know it's not allowed.  I never removed things from shelves when my children were small either - I expected them not to wreck the house, although I was pretty relaxed about untidiness.  When I did housework, I used to clean a part of the room and then dump the babies there with toys and they could mess it up again, except cleanly, leaving me to finish the rest of the room.

The Sage is going to London tomorrow on an early train.  I've set the alarm for 5.30.  I've got to be out by half past 8 myself.  Several of us are going to the church, to spend the morning arranging flowers.  I expect to do very little of that, but to do more menial tasks.  I'm glad to say that the others involved are all much better at flower arranging than I am - I mean, I'll always have a go, but that doesn't mean I know what I'm doing.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Still sliding, but remaining uncut for now

It was cold this morning.  I took the optimistic route, with lightweight trousers and sandals and went out to try the air.  When the Sage came in, merrily saying that he'd already put my bike in his van (two hours early, anyone would think he was looking forward to seeing me leave), I said that I wasn't sure, it was jolly chilly for a nearly six-mile bike ride in quite such a fresh wind.  He said, with carefully disguised reluctance, that he'd run the quirks of driving his van past me and I could borrow it.

Later, I felt guilty about my laziness, so I went and changed into warmer trousers and boots, and fished out a woolly hat, scarf and gloves, and said that I'd bike after all.  Just then, the sun came out (honestly, I'm not making this up).

Of course, downhill all the way turned out to be anything but - for a flat-loving person, Suffolk undulates more than it needs to, but it's notably easier for me to manage now that I've got some strength on my right side.  It was quite pleasant in fact, if you like cycling.  The road was very quiet - I only saw half a dozen cars and a tractor in four miles.  It was still windy, but the sun was warm enough to disregard that.

I stopped at a few shops in town for this and that.  After waiting to be served, I then found that, walking out of the shop, my left leg had a tendency to give way.  I've had that happen before, whenever I take much exercise, either cycling or walking, I'm fine as long as I keep going or if I sit down, but I can't stand still for long.  I can stand, if I haven't been taking exercise, and then walk with no problem.  I don't know why this happens.  It's the very top of my leg, not the knee or the hip.  I assume it'll get better.  The operated side is absolutely fine.  It soon goes and isn't worth fussing about, just noting.

My friend, whom I had lunch with, had her operation a month after mine - her second hip.  She's also doing very well, though still using a stick because her surgeon advises it, but is hoping to be allowed to discard it after tomorrow, when she's got her follow-up appointment.  Tomorrow,  I've got lunch in Norwich.  It's all such a mad social whirl around here, darlings.

It's also Wink's birthday.  Happy birthday, sis!

The Z garden

Today, mostly gardening, all of us.  The ground in the further greenhouse has been getting too built up with the annual addition of ferrrrrtiliser, so when it's watered the water runs off onto and under the paths, so we've taken a few inches off the top.  I'm going to go back to growing tomatoes etc in bottomless pots, so as to channel the watering better again and see how that goes.  The cucumbers will still be planted in heaps of cow manure as the roots need plenty of room to spread out.  Back in the days when I had limited greenhouse space, I used to use growbags, and it was not hugely successful.  The plants would grow apace and need loads of watering, and then one day they would suddenly stop and sulk, and I'd not notice and within a couple more days they would fall over because the roots had got waterlogged.  I didn't ever get to the bottom of it, but I never had more than a month or so of cucumbers before the plants collapsed.  Now, they go on the whole summer.  Though I only sowed the seeds last week, they're only just showing their first leaves.

Some of the removed topsoil has been put on the lawn to replace what's been scratched out by the chickens.  It's still a disaster zone, but at least we're starting to do something about it.  The Sage is enclosing a fresh piece of grass for them to go on while other things recover - it won't be enough for them for long, but they're so ... well, I don't want to say "destructive" as it's so negative, but it's hard to find a better word, frankly.  If only they'd concentrate on the front field for a while it'd be all right - there's nearly 4 bloomin' acres there - 1 1/2 hectares, if that's the way you think - to keep them happy, but they like the garden and the other field.  Still, if push comes to shove I'd rather have happy bantams than a lawn.  I suppose.

Tonight, the Festival Committee, of whose doings I am the scribe, had the splendid idea of holding a meeting at the village pub.  Dilly and I trotted merrily home afterwards, although she'd been on the wagon. She is far more grown-up, in a good way, than I am.

Z's thoughts have legs

You know how it is when you spend ages writing a post and then decide it isn't right and delete it, and then have nothing to write?  Yup.  Me too.  That is, I just have.  I'm still lazing about not doing much - pottering in the greenhouse, doing a bit of cooking, reading, letting the work build up - actually, can't do that much longer.  I'll be sorry if I do.  I've promised two things in the last two days and haven't started on either of them yet, let alone anything else.

Weeza still has my car, as the part that's needed for her car is expensive, and the excellent garage chappie suggests getting one from a breaker's yard instead - which makes sense as her car is as old as mine is.  But it takes longer.  A week or two back, I made an arrangement to visit a friend as I'm taking over from her on a committee and she wants to do a hand-over, and invited me to lunch at the same time.  I gave her a list of dates, and she suggested this Wednesday.  Having accepted, I've belatedly realised that I don't have any way of getting there - it's only 5 or 6 miles away, but there's a hill I'm not prepared to cycle up.  I'll have to borrow the Sage's van after all if Weeza doesn't bring my car back in time.

On the other hand, he could give me and the bike a lift and I could cycle back.  That's a thought, actually.  It might have legs, as they say.

Z is having an Early Night

I haven't managed to identify my handsome spider yet - the one it looked most like in one picture was the false widow, but when I went to the description it said it had cream markings, which this didn't, being smooth and brown all over with a rounded body and red-brown legs.  And it was completely unaggressive, so if it is a false widow, it's probably a male one, females being the stroppy ones who might nip.  British spiders are not dangerous and should never be killed under any circumstances, as it upsets me.  A spider bite doesn't hurt, I've had lots - it's the hunting spiders that might nip and they live outdoors, an indoor spider isn't like that at all and knows its manners.

The first stage of my being defrocked as churchwarden has taken place, with the vestry meeting - the nominated churchwardens have been voted for by the (tiny) congregation.  I put up two hands.  Oh, and I chose the hymns today so I made sure they were very cheery ones with good tunes, one of which was Hyfrydol, which I mention only because it is also a good name.

I am struck, yet again, by how kind people are.  I cheerfully committed us to having lots of flowers in the church next Sunday for a christening, and then had to ask those who actually can arrange flowers to help with them - actually, to do nearly everything.  They are all far busier than I am, but instantly agreed and are really putting themselves out to help.  I'm terribly grateful, and also secretly quite gratified that I have, at last, learned to ask for help, accept offers of help and not feel guilty about receiving kindness that I don't deserve.  If they hadn't been able to, I'd have done it myself of course - but I'm very relieved that it will be done better than I could.  Because the family concerned are lovely - it's the baby's mother's parents who live here, in the nicest house in the village - well, the most beautiful in the loveliest setting.

I've been lazy about cycling - largely because I still don't enjoy it one bit.  But I do need the exercise, largely because I'm getting most awfully chubby.  I really had to be quite resolute in fastening my newly-washed jeans the other day, which was quite dismaying.  Back to the dry toast and plain yoghurt regime.  I made lots of vegetable soup tonight too, which I will eat with an air of complete virtue.   I have glumly cycled into town every day since, as well.  The wind is surprisingly chill when you're out in the open going across the dam (a dam, around here, is a road built across marshland or water meadow) even when the sun is shining.

And now I'm off to bed.  Must be all this fresh air, but I'm frightfully sleepy.

Z doesn't see any spiders, all day, and posts no pictures

Ro called in today, which was a good surprise - that is, he did text first to be sure we were in.  He stayed for dinner; I having luckily bought a pound of mince, which stretched to lasagne for all of us plus a portion for him to take home.  Not that he doesn't cook for himself, and does it very well at that.

He is thinking of buying a smartphone - not an iPhone, probably, although he did rather like mine.  At one point, he was checking out a website that he uses and started to type in its name  - "you're not on the internet, you know" - "eh?" - "go on to Safari first" - "Oh, what was I doing?" - I'm afraid I did a little air-punch and a yes! for a moment there, as it's the first time ever that I've corrected him with anything technology-minded for years.  Twenty years, probably.

"Tell me that you don't want an iPad", he begged.  I admitted that I want one, most passionately.  But, I added, not until it's some use - that is, the second or third issue.  I confessed to being a complete convert to all things trendy, even faux-trendy, since buying my phone.  I have gone over to the dark side.  Worse, I don't care.  Worst, I enjoy it.

I went down to the church to check the flowers.  They are all fine, even the daffodils.  I was watering them when a friend and her daughter arrived.  Daughter is getting married here, where she grew up, in the summer.  We chatted and, when saying goodbye, she mentioned a run her husband is doing tomorrow, which reminded me - "I was excited to hear that one of Rosie Swale-Pope's marathons will be here" - I bought her book telling of her "little" run around the world, last year - it was when I was in Glastonbury, where there was a lovely independent bookshop so I bought a couple of books there.  One, I have already mentioned over at ILTV's place - it's Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which I was hooked by, and Rosie's was a complete winner too - as is she - in a different way.  Anyway, apparently she will be staying in her camper van overnight at the Staithe* and will be running the Yagnub marathon route - it's half-marathon distance so she will, like those who will be running it the previous weekend, be doing it twice.  I won't join her, but I hope to cheer her on at some point.

*These details for Badgerdaddy, as she is one of his heroes.

Family ties

Thanks for all your help yesterday - you are kind, and far cleverer than I am.

It's been lovely today, Weeza and co came over in the morning and Phil set of on a 50+ cycle ride home (yes, I know, he did it entirely for fun by a circuitous route) and Weeza and Zerlina stayed.  Phil has had a week off work, so little z has turned entirely into Daddy's Girl and, when invited to kiss Granny hello, said "No!" with a dismissive wave of her hand.  "She's doing it to me too, this week," said Weeza with resigned consolation.  z did kiss me later, when I'd curried favour with a Mini Egg.

In the afternoon, Squiffany and Pugsley came here too, as their mother had an appointment with the hairdresser, so everyone had a lovely time.  I'd bought some coloured pencils and writing pads and Squiffany drew lovely pictures for Zerlina and wrote affectionate messages underneath.  Her writing and spelling are very good - she spells things out phonetically, but also understands that not all words are written phonetically, so says "l - o -v - e 'love'" and "y - o - u 'you'" and has very clear handwriting too.  Pugsley is better with numbers than letters so far, and has never been interested in drawing or painting.  Squiff likes numbers too - having a linguist father and mathematician/scientist mother is showing itself.

The death watch beetle is clicking away in a companionable manner.  It's not a big problem, but we do squirt some Rentokill into the walls where we hear noises.  The house has been here more than 450 years, it'll see us out *shrugs*.

I've been happily watching Fred and Ginger on BBC4.  They sang the song that I associate with the Sage - not that he knows that, of course.  We're far too buttoned-up to mention that sort of sloppy nonsense, my word we are (caught him using the 'a' word not so long ago, however - hah!).  Anyway, given that it's not "A Fine Romance", if anyone can work it out, a small prize will wing their way.

Ooh, the other thing I was going to tell you is how lovely it is to sleep for hours and hours until I wake up naturally.  I had no idea how many times I woke up, but now I don't, and if I do I just read on the iPhone and that makes me sleepy again in no time.  I do get backache, as my left-right balance still has not adjusted - I still don't know if my legs aren't quite the same length or if my pelvis hasn't quite straightened yet, but I'm quite prepared to give it six months to right itself - but I wore heels last night and I had no pain or awkwardness at all.  I really wondered if I'd be confined to ground level for the future, but it seems not.

The benefit of being a close family showed itself last night.  I was due to go out to dinner - not only do I belong to a lunch club, but a dining club too - I know, darlings, I am all you think of me! - but Weeza and co still have my car.  So I just asked Dilly if I could borrow hers, as the Sage was going to one of his clubs too and besides, I've never tackled his clapped-out old van.  It's even older than my elderly and rheumatic Mercedes.

I found a spider of a sort I've never seen before in the greenhouse this afternoon.  A big fat brown body, it had, like a well-filled tick, only brown.  I had it amble all over my hand while I took its photo, but some of you are sensitive, so I won't put the pictures up here.  I'll get a spider book from the library to find out its name.  I saw a black and white wolf spider, but this one isn't the same type - it spins webs.

A chance to prove you're cleverer than Z

You're all inventive and intelligent types out there in Blogland.  Can you please put your ingenuity to work for a few minutes to help me?

I grow a lot of vegetable plants, both for Al to sell and for us to grow.  Apart from trays of beans etc, most of them end up in individual pots and, in some cases, there are several varieties that can't reliably be told apart until they fruit.  So I have hundreds of pots to mark.  I can either buy the labels or cut up yoghurt pots, that's not a problem - but it's awfully tedious to write down each variety numerous times.  We all know how lazy I am and, besides, it's the repetitivenous that really gets to me, as I've a short attention span to boot.  I don't mind how many hours I work potting things up, as that's a pleasure, and I don't get bored doing nothing as that is too - it's a boring repetitive task that I can't stand.

The printer ink isn't waterproof, so it's no good typing onto sticky labels.  I have, by the way, written on sticky labels and cut them up to stick straight onto the pots, covering with sticky tape and this did work to a point, but the tape tended to peel off and let water in, so wasn't entirely reliable.  Last year, I tried typing the labels, laminating the sheets and then cutting them up (this is much cheaper than buying plastic labels as you get dozens per sheet), but the moisture in the compost seeped into the paper and washed off the writing.  Cutting up the sheets first and putting them in between the plastic  sheets and then laminating them really isn't an option - impossible to keep them in place and far too fiddly to attempt.

So far, I've still got pots in trays and can just mark one or a few per tray.  But I have to mark them individually before the end of this month.  Buying T-shaped labels and putting the printed label on them isn't an option - for one thing, the ink would still wash off when watered and for another, the labels are too expensive.

Later - Some extra clarification - each pot has to be marked with the name of the variety, or the customers don't like it.  That's fair enough, actually nor would I - if I went and bought some plants, I wouldn't think "but I couldn't be bothered to write labels individually" was an excuse not to have them marked.  I know this, because I tried marking the pots with the initials of the varieties and printing out information sheets, and they liked the sheets but wanted the full variety name written too.

Ro has a laser printer with waterproof ink but he won't waste it on this use.  I'm not buying a printer just for this.   That would be silly.

I have 9 varieties of tomato and 5 varieties of pepper (sweet or chilli) and 3 of courgettes.  I also have different squashes, but I can deal with them, as I plant nearly all that I grow and Al sells the crop later.  So I can keep the varieties apart - but it doesn't actually matter if they do get mixed up.

*Waits hopefully*

Bedblogging

I only remembered that I hadn't written anything as I climbed out of the bath, and now I can't recall the awfully interesting thing that I had, earlier, meant to tell you. What a pity.

Looking at the state of the lawn today rather dismayed me. The chickens have scratched up most of the grass, managing to leave only moss behind. It has acquired humps and dips, I'm not quite sure how. It really needs a lot of work to be done on it, and frankly imnot I'm not the woman to do it. In any case, there's no point while the chooks are roaming free to scratch it up again. I'm trying quite hard to put their interests first - after all, it's only a patch of grass and it doesn't matter that much. And at least there won't be any need to get the mower out.

They are certainly earning their keep at present, anyway. The Sage is very adept at watching them to find out the latest hiding places for eggs. When he spots a hen sneaking off after breakfast, he watches to see where she goes, and later checks out the place. He always leaves a marked egg so that she doesn't become suspicious. Surpluss surplus eggs are sold in the shop - there are tight controls on selling eggs not stamped now, but you're still allowed to sell your owneggs own eggs, as it were. They are very popular at 80p per half dozen.

Excuse poor typing. Can't be bothered to go back and change all mistakes. I'll do it in the morning. Goodnight, darlings.