I took Charlotte over to Beccles after lunch to meet a friend, with whom she will stay in Lowestoft for a few days and the Sage and I have had a quiet evening. I've been watching a DVD and he's been watching eBay. It's been a splendidly different week, I said to her that it was the ideal week for her to come as, rarely, I didn't have to work in the evenings. Since I also have had some days out and so on, it feels as if I've had a holiday.
And that's made me think about holidays, and I've a suspicion I probably won't have one this year because there will be more lovely things going on here. If I get to the stage of feeling impulsive, I might have a couple of days in London or somewhere, but no more.
And that reminds, me, I must book train tickets for a couple of visits to London. The first one will be to see my friend Lynn. She is having a book of poetry published and has invited me to the launch. I thought, how jolly. I haven't seen her for ages and would love to. Then we'll be going to an auction - that is, the Sage will. I shall go with him to view it a couple of days beforehand, but I shan't go to the sale itself.
I should get round to reading blogs again over the weekend. Sorry I've not been about much.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Z talks to monkeys
Another delightful day and the sun shone in the afternoon. Al and I drove over to the zoo and met our friends there and we spent the day together - their son is Pugsley's age and they go to the same nursery school and they have two daughters, the younger being the most placid baby I've come across in a long time. She smiled, she looked about, she fed or she slept, and never made a sound.
Nick and I were talking about otters, I think, and he mentioned the large grass snake in our garden ... "I know, because it was how I found your blog..." Some time ago, I found a three-foot long snakeskin in the greenhouse and put pictures here, and looking for information on local wildlife, he came across this blog. I was rather charmed - a couple of years ago, even, I'd have been a bit nerve-wracked, but now a lot of friends know I have a blog, whether or not they've ever looked for or read it, and it's quite interesting when someone finds me by way of it - it's pretty easy to identify me if you know me already.
The children were all really good and had fun together. We pottered around for several hours, letting them spend time in the playground, having a leisurely picnic lunch and so on - if you can relax into a child's perspective of time, it makes everything so much more enjoyable than trying to hurry them up.
On the way home, we discussed the animals and asked Squiffany what she'd enjoyed most. "The dinosaur," she said. Oh, okay. It wasn't actually a real one, as you might rather suspect. Al and I reckoned that the giraffes were the most beautiful animals and we'd loved watching the fur seals - in the morning they were enjoying the attentions of the zookeepers, the petting, feeding and swimming, but in the afternoon sunshine they were having a lovely bask. Their pleasure was infectious.
Nick and I were talking about otters, I think, and he mentioned the large grass snake in our garden ... "I know, because it was how I found your blog..." Some time ago, I found a three-foot long snakeskin in the greenhouse and put pictures here, and looking for information on local wildlife, he came across this blog. I was rather charmed - a couple of years ago, even, I'd have been a bit nerve-wracked, but now a lot of friends know I have a blog, whether or not they've ever looked for or read it, and it's quite interesting when someone finds me by way of it - it's pretty easy to identify me if you know me already.
The children were all really good and had fun together. We pottered around for several hours, letting them spend time in the playground, having a leisurely picnic lunch and so on - if you can relax into a child's perspective of time, it makes everything so much more enjoyable than trying to hurry them up.
On the way home, we discussed the animals and asked Squiffany what she'd enjoyed most. "The dinosaur," she said. Oh, okay. It wasn't actually a real one, as you might rather suspect. Al and I reckoned that the giraffes were the most beautiful animals and we'd loved watching the fur seals - in the morning they were enjoying the attentions of the zookeepers, the petting, feeding and swimming, but in the afternoon sunshine they were having a lovely bask. Their pleasure was infectious.
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
Granny's being taken to the zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow
... as Julie Felix didn't sing.
I abandoned Charlotte today, because I went to see a friend for lunch. I did make her a sandwich for her lunch though. I didn't mention, she badly hurt her hand a couple of months ago (forgot you're supposed to pick up a carving knife by its handle) and it still isn't better - that is, the skin has healed but she can't use it yet. Can you imagine, living alone and not having the use of your right hand? Obv, if you're right-handed...
Even to butter ready-sliced bread, you need to steady it with one hand while buttering it with the other. So anyway, I slapped on butter and smoked salmon. That was it. I cut it into quarters, covered the plate and put it back in the fridge. Full hostess mode, hey. I'm going out again tomorrow, and she plans to go into town and hit the charity shops and also to do a recce at the local takeaways, because she says that dinner is on her.
We've talked and talked. The Sage startled me by talking broad Norfolk to her - of course, I knew that he could, but that didn't mean I've ever heard him do so. I've told her of the few but, to her, precious memories I have of her beloved Granny, who died in January 1963 and that led on to more conversation about all sorts of people from our pasts.
And, as implied, I'm off with the family to the zoo tomorrow morning. If I were to sneak into the monkey cage, do you think anyone would notice?
Ooh, I almost forgot. I got the highest word score I probably ever will get at Scrabble, this evening. TRILOBAL on two triples, 140 points. If Rog beats me now, I shall be deeply impressed.
I abandoned Charlotte today, because I went to see a friend for lunch. I did make her a sandwich for her lunch though. I didn't mention, she badly hurt her hand a couple of months ago (forgot you're supposed to pick up a carving knife by its handle) and it still isn't better - that is, the skin has healed but she can't use it yet. Can you imagine, living alone and not having the use of your right hand? Obv, if you're right-handed...
Even to butter ready-sliced bread, you need to steady it with one hand while buttering it with the other. So anyway, I slapped on butter and smoked salmon. That was it. I cut it into quarters, covered the plate and put it back in the fridge. Full hostess mode, hey. I'm going out again tomorrow, and she plans to go into town and hit the charity shops and also to do a recce at the local takeaways, because she says that dinner is on her.
We've talked and talked. The Sage startled me by talking broad Norfolk to her - of course, I knew that he could, but that didn't mean I've ever heard him do so. I've told her of the few but, to her, precious memories I have of her beloved Granny, who died in January 1963 and that led on to more conversation about all sorts of people from our pasts.
And, as implied, I'm off with the family to the zoo tomorrow morning. If I were to sneak into the monkey cage, do you think anyone would notice?
Ooh, I almost forgot. I got the highest word score I probably ever will get at Scrabble, this evening. TRILOBAL on two triples, 140 points. If Rog beats me now, I shall be deeply impressed.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Z becomes excZited and is Zhocked
It's been quite a day, one way or another. It started with an invitation to the zoo, went on to a reunion with an old friend and finished with a startling experience on Facebook Scrabble (look on Rog's Facebook page if you want to know more, I'm not saying another word on the subject).
Charlotte and I have known each other forever, she's a bit younger than I am, and our families have been friends forever - that is, for generations. She lives in Holland, where she grew up, although she often used to visit her English grandparents as a child, and has lived both in England and the Netherlands. The last time I saw her was at her mother's funeral several years ago, and when my mother was desperately ill in hospital I had phoned her to come over to visit her one last time - my mum wrong-footed us there by rallying and living with cheerful vigour for another six months.
She phoned this morning, she's travelling around the country for a few weeks and catching up with friends, so she's staying with us for a couple of days. The Sage had a meeting this evening, so she and I spent the whole time talking, and at one point she mentioned having corresponded with Benjamin Zander, the conductor, and meeting him when he invited her to a seminar as his guest. I became extremely excited - well, darlings, you know what I'm like - and described a concert I'd been to several years ago at Snape. You may remember that I wrote about it? That is, two or three of you might: anyway, I looked it up for her, and here it is. My usual laid-back blasé attitude, as you see.
Charlotte was keen for me to send it to him on Facebook; I demurred but I did let her email him the link. We've spent quite a long time this evening watching him on YouTube this evening. We meant to phone Wink, but never got around to it. Tomorrow.
Charlotte and I have known each other forever, she's a bit younger than I am, and our families have been friends forever - that is, for generations. She lives in Holland, where she grew up, although she often used to visit her English grandparents as a child, and has lived both in England and the Netherlands. The last time I saw her was at her mother's funeral several years ago, and when my mother was desperately ill in hospital I had phoned her to come over to visit her one last time - my mum wrong-footed us there by rallying and living with cheerful vigour for another six months.
She phoned this morning, she's travelling around the country for a few weeks and catching up with friends, so she's staying with us for a couple of days. The Sage had a meeting this evening, so she and I spent the whole time talking, and at one point she mentioned having corresponded with Benjamin Zander, the conductor, and meeting him when he invited her to a seminar as his guest. I became extremely excited - well, darlings, you know what I'm like - and described a concert I'd been to several years ago at Snape. You may remember that I wrote about it? That is, two or three of you might: anyway, I looked it up for her, and here it is. My usual laid-back blasé attitude, as you see.
Charlotte was keen for me to send it to him on Facebook; I demurred but I did let her email him the link. We've spent quite a long time this evening watching him on YouTube this evening. We meant to phone Wink, but never got around to it. Tomorrow.
Monday, 21 February 2011
PretentiouZ
I embarrassed myself. The Sage and I were emptying the dishwasher and he was putting the cutlery away. As he put a tablespoon into the drawer, he remarked on how pleased he was with his eBay purchase. "Yes," I said, "the difference between Georgian and Victorian silver is quite apparent to the touch, isn't it?" He agreed, stroking the spoon, and I heard myself and quietly curled up.
I was, in addition, hit by the guilt of many years when I read the Peanuts cartoon in today's local paper. A little blonde-haired girl whose name I can't remember was saying to Charlie Brown "what are the words you hate most to hear?" Snoopy, sitting the other side of him said in a thought-bubble"You stay home now and be a good dog." Oh, the times I've said that to a dog with hopeful eyes and pricked ears and watched the whole-body droop or, worse, the desperate hope that I might change my mind and pick up the lead after all.
Bedtime, darlings. For me, that is. You party on, do. Put the guard in front of the fire when you leave, won't you.
I was, in addition, hit by the guilt of many years when I read the Peanuts cartoon in today's local paper. A little blonde-haired girl whose name I can't remember was saying to Charlie Brown "what are the words you hate most to hear?" Snoopy, sitting the other side of him said in a thought-bubble"You stay home now and be a good dog." Oh, the times I've said that to a dog with hopeful eyes and pricked ears and watched the whole-body droop or, worse, the desperate hope that I might change my mind and pick up the lead after all.
Bedtime, darlings. For me, that is. You party on, do. Put the guard in front of the fire when you leave, won't you.
Sunday, 20 February 2011
One computer, two computer, three...
I'm sitting here typing at my computer, with the Sage's laptop on my lap, my iPhone to hand for emailing and the printer churbling away behind me. It feels a bit extreme, although I could easily get used to it - when I watch a DVD it's always on the computer and I've always read or played cards or sewed or used the computer or something while watching television, and I like to have the full range of options all the time. They say that this is a fault of children and young people now, that they never give their whole attention to anything - I could always get engrossed in a book but otherwise I found doing just one thing a bit of a bore.
The reason for this appliance overload is simply that Weeza brought the draft catalogue over on a memory stick, but it hadn't loaded up properly, so she emailed it instead. Because of its size, she couldn't do it simply as a PDF (not on a free programme, that is) so did it on Publisher and I don't have that on my Mac. And I was exchanging emails with her and others, and didn't want to have to fiddle around so did it on my phone, and then I thought I'd write here while the document was printing - gosh, won't it be fun when we've got an iPad to play with too? Like having an armful of very well-behaved babies.
No one is interested in taking on a small Jack Russell, 6 years old, which has never been very well trained and so has behaviour issues, I suppose? Ro has been asked by a friend to ask around. I'm not sure where the friend lives, I don't think he's local to here. Ro said, he didn't think I'd be able to take it on, and I'm afraid not. We haven't got any way of keeping a dog in the garden - that is, the garden has no solid boundaries and there are fields all around and it could get onto the road
Dinner went very well and Zerlina was extremely well behaved and ate lots. She climbed on her chair, sat still, remarked "Oh, here's my napkin," and put it on her lap and ate neatly. It all went very well, I cut the potatoes into 1 inch dice and roasted them, also roasted peppers and garlic, sautéed courgettes (I never let water near a courgette in the cooking), cauliflower and spinach. I marinated the beef, browned it on all sides and then roasted it in a very hot oven for ten minutes, then let it rest while I dished up the veg. The Sage, who likes meat on the browner side of cooked, cut off a chunk to be roasted a couple of minutes longer and it was ready by the time he'd served everyone else. There's some cauli left (I suspect tomorrow's dinner will feature cauliflower cheese) and we didn't quite finish the pudding, but all other plates were emptied. Phil and Ro even made inroads into the cheeseboard. We didn't drink much, by the way, not even a bottle between us.
Tomorrow, I'll retake a photo for the catalogue which, now we look again, realise we didn't get at quite the right angle, and take a few more pictures. The catalogue has 22 pages, and needs either two more or two less, but there are no illustrations that the Sage wishes to lose. So I hope it doesn't rain. We've got until Friday, but Weeza works Monday to Wednesday and doesn't really want to spend more time than she can help on the computer on those evenings. We'll proof-read too. And I'll do the Nadfas stuff I've been neglecting.
Housework and gardening? Probably not. I'm hoping to go and visit a friend towards the end of the week, though. And Ro has given me some films he's finished with, so I may spend an evening or two gaining square eyes.
The reason for this appliance overload is simply that Weeza brought the draft catalogue over on a memory stick, but it hadn't loaded up properly, so she emailed it instead. Because of its size, she couldn't do it simply as a PDF (not on a free programme, that is) so did it on Publisher and I don't have that on my Mac. And I was exchanging emails with her and others, and didn't want to have to fiddle around so did it on my phone, and then I thought I'd write here while the document was printing - gosh, won't it be fun when we've got an iPad to play with too? Like having an armful of very well-behaved babies.
No one is interested in taking on a small Jack Russell, 6 years old, which has never been very well trained and so has behaviour issues, I suppose? Ro has been asked by a friend to ask around. I'm not sure where the friend lives, I don't think he's local to here. Ro said, he didn't think I'd be able to take it on, and I'm afraid not. We haven't got any way of keeping a dog in the garden - that is, the garden has no solid boundaries and there are fields all around and it could get onto the road
Dinner went very well and Zerlina was extremely well behaved and ate lots. She climbed on her chair, sat still, remarked "Oh, here's my napkin," and put it on her lap and ate neatly. It all went very well, I cut the potatoes into 1 inch dice and roasted them, also roasted peppers and garlic, sautéed courgettes (I never let water near a courgette in the cooking), cauliflower and spinach. I marinated the beef, browned it on all sides and then roasted it in a very hot oven for ten minutes, then let it rest while I dished up the veg. The Sage, who likes meat on the browner side of cooked, cut off a chunk to be roasted a couple of minutes longer and it was ready by the time he'd served everyone else. There's some cauli left (I suspect tomorrow's dinner will feature cauliflower cheese) and we didn't quite finish the pudding, but all other plates were emptied. Phil and Ro even made inroads into the cheeseboard. We didn't drink much, by the way, not even a bottle between us.
Tomorrow, I'll retake a photo for the catalogue which, now we look again, realise we didn't get at quite the right angle, and take a few more pictures. The catalogue has 22 pages, and needs either two more or two less, but there are no illustrations that the Sage wishes to lose. So I hope it doesn't rain. We've got until Friday, but Weeza works Monday to Wednesday and doesn't really want to spend more time than she can help on the computer on those evenings. We'll proof-read too. And I'll do the Nadfas stuff I've been neglecting.
Housework and gardening? Probably not. I'm hoping to go and visit a friend towards the end of the week, though. And Ro has given me some films he's finished with, so I may spend an evening or two gaining square eyes.
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Z takes the weekend off
I took the day off, mostly. I did have one letter to write, which was to the members of my dining club (yes, I dine as well as lunch) giving them the dates of this year's meetings, which start next month, and I'm up to page 16 (of 36) of a legal document relating to the school becoming an academy, but that was it. I've read and relaxed, and went to visit John in hospital this afternoon. He is doing really well and is coming home on Tuesday. He can go up and down stairs and has good movement in his arm. The reason for the walking problem, in case I didn't explain before, is that his broken upper arm is the side he normally uses his stick, without which he can't walk. Using a stick in the other hand doesn't give so much support. However, he's determined and receiving really good care, and a carer will come in night and morning to help him, which will support his wife too.
Weeza angled for a dinner invitation when she found out about the fillet steak. Fortunately, I have enough for them too. Then Al and Dilly asked us to look after Squiffany and Pugsley tomorrow evening, because they're going to Dilly's mum's birthday party. So I'll suggest they come and eat with us too, so that they can play with Zerlina. The fillet won't stretch to them*, so I'll go and buy something for the children in the morning. Since everyone enjoyed the Queen of Puddings at Christmas, I'll do that again. We eat in the kitchen in the winter, usually, and the table won't quite take all of us - it seats six comfortably, eight at a pinch but it won't take nine so we'll put another table on the end. It'll be fine.
I've just noticed that I was down to do the church flowers this weekend. Whoops. I'll buy some in the Co-op and do them quickly in the morning. Andy has volunteered to play the music, which is brilliant. He's getting on really well, but it has to be said that Gill is getting exhausted. Not only is she looking after him, she's getting ready to move house and she's not had a break since mid-November when he first became ill.
A spot more relaxing with the papers before bedtime I think, darlings. Goodnight.
*I have more in the freezer, I bought a whole fillet last week, so when a host of hungry blog-readers turn up, I'll be able to feed you all
Weeza angled for a dinner invitation when she found out about the fillet steak. Fortunately, I have enough for them too. Then Al and Dilly asked us to look after Squiffany and Pugsley tomorrow evening, because they're going to Dilly's mum's birthday party. So I'll suggest they come and eat with us too, so that they can play with Zerlina. The fillet won't stretch to them*, so I'll go and buy something for the children in the morning. Since everyone enjoyed the Queen of Puddings at Christmas, I'll do that again. We eat in the kitchen in the winter, usually, and the table won't quite take all of us - it seats six comfortably, eight at a pinch but it won't take nine so we'll put another table on the end. It'll be fine.
I've just noticed that I was down to do the church flowers this weekend. Whoops. I'll buy some in the Co-op and do them quickly in the morning. Andy has volunteered to play the music, which is brilliant. He's getting on really well, but it has to be said that Gill is getting exhausted. Not only is she looking after him, she's getting ready to move house and she's not had a break since mid-November when he first became ill.
A spot more relaxing with the papers before bedtime I think, darlings. Goodnight.
*I have more in the freezer, I bought a whole fillet last week, so when a host of hungry blog-readers turn up, I'll be able to feed you all
Friday, 18 February 2011
The village plans ahead
It's only half past ten, but I'm feeling ready for bed. I always feel that an early night is giving in, though, so I'll hang on a bit longer.
I've always been an evening person, even as a child When I used to share a bedroom with my sister, we both read for a while and then put the light out and I chatted away long after she was desperate to go to sleep. I then slept heavily and found getting up in the morning really difficult. I'm not a lot different now, although better at getting up if I need to.
We've started planning for this year's village festival in the middle of July. It's called a festival rather than just a fête because of the beer festival which starts in the village hall about midday and goes on until late at night. John at the pub, who runs it, always gets in some good guest beers and I sip gently away at the less alcoholic ones. Well, it's middle of the afternoon when I go there and I wouldn't want to raise eyebrows.
I'm only on the committee because they needed someone to take notes. I don't offer to do much more - I help at the time, of course. We've always been remarkably lucky with the weather, I'm not sure what we'd do if it rained, as the beer is in the village hall - not that it takes all of it up, but there's not room for all the stalls. I did the notes straight away and have emailed them out - it wasn't really important enough to take priority, considering the other things I have to do, but it was simpler than anything else, so I reckoned I might as well.
Ro rang this evening, wondering if it would be all right to come over on Sunday instead of Saturday. Makes no difference to us. They've been invited out on Saturday evening for dinner. He knows I won't take it as a slight. I've told him, there's been a change of menu and will fillet steak be all right? He thought it would. Oh good, what a relief.
I've always been an evening person, even as a child When I used to share a bedroom with my sister, we both read for a while and then put the light out and I chatted away long after she was desperate to go to sleep. I then slept heavily and found getting up in the morning really difficult. I'm not a lot different now, although better at getting up if I need to.
We've started planning for this year's village festival in the middle of July. It's called a festival rather than just a fête because of the beer festival which starts in the village hall about midday and goes on until late at night. John at the pub, who runs it, always gets in some good guest beers and I sip gently away at the less alcoholic ones. Well, it's middle of the afternoon when I go there and I wouldn't want to raise eyebrows.
I'm only on the committee because they needed someone to take notes. I don't offer to do much more - I help at the time, of course. We've always been remarkably lucky with the weather, I'm not sure what we'd do if it rained, as the beer is in the village hall - not that it takes all of it up, but there's not room for all the stalls. I did the notes straight away and have emailed them out - it wasn't really important enough to take priority, considering the other things I have to do, but it was simpler than anything else, so I reckoned I might as well.
Ro rang this evening, wondering if it would be all right to come over on Sunday instead of Saturday. Makes no difference to us. They've been invited out on Saturday evening for dinner. He knows I won't take it as a slight. I've told him, there's been a change of menu and will fillet steak be all right? He thought it would. Oh good, what a relief.
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Z, absurdly enough, gives beauty advice
The Sage decided to have a last-minute switch around of china. I've altered the numbers on the photos and changed around the descriptions in the list, but I'm quite anxious in case I've made a mistake, so we'll have to proof-read carefully and check everything against the china itself. I've sent 30 photos and the list to Weeza and she'll do a draft of the catalogue over the weekend.
I've been asked to judge the home produce classes at the Garden Club show again, in September. It's in my diary now. Call me attention-seeking, but I've taken it as a compliment that they asked me again.
Ro and Dora are coming over for dinner on Saturday, won't have seen them for three weeks and we're looking forward to it. I'm doing a pot-roast. Don't know yet what the pudding will be.
I've received two compliments on my complexion in the last few days, which I mention because I've been using a new (to me) product. I went to a friend's Bodyshop evening and among the stuff we were shown was something called "Vitamin C Skin Reviver" I put some on and said "gosh, that's so smooth, when my husband kisses me he'll fall right off" and duly bought some. It isn't instead of moisturiser, but goes on top, and I assumed that the smoothness was a temporary feel rather than an actual benefit but there we are, my face has been noticed. I can't remember what it cost, but Bodyshop isn't big bucks after all. While I'm on the subject, the face cleanser I've been using for several years is Liz Earle's Cleanse and Polish, which is so good that if ever I use anything else, my skin goes all dry and blotchy after a few days. It's brilliant. It's the only face wash I've ever used that isn't drying, and because it's washed off, you don't need cotton wool.
I'm hardly one from whom skin care advice flows naturally, but there we go. First time for everything.
Which reminds me, on the way home from lunch, one of the friends I give a lift to (two sisters, both in their early 80s) told us a distinctly risqué story that another 80-something friend had been regaling their table with. I thought there were some chuckles from the other side of the room. What rascals.
I've just been looking in the mirror. I don't seem to look quite my usual raddled self. But then, I have taken out my contact lens, so it could be a kind short-sighted blur.
I've been asked to judge the home produce classes at the Garden Club show again, in September. It's in my diary now. Call me attention-seeking, but I've taken it as a compliment that they asked me again.
Ro and Dora are coming over for dinner on Saturday, won't have seen them for three weeks and we're looking forward to it. I'm doing a pot-roast. Don't know yet what the pudding will be.
I've received two compliments on my complexion in the last few days, which I mention because I've been using a new (to me) product. I went to a friend's Bodyshop evening and among the stuff we were shown was something called "Vitamin C Skin Reviver" I put some on and said "gosh, that's so smooth, when my husband kisses me he'll fall right off" and duly bought some. It isn't instead of moisturiser, but goes on top, and I assumed that the smoothness was a temporary feel rather than an actual benefit but there we are, my face has been noticed. I can't remember what it cost, but Bodyshop isn't big bucks after all. While I'm on the subject, the face cleanser I've been using for several years is Liz Earle's Cleanse and Polish, which is so good that if ever I use anything else, my skin goes all dry and blotchy after a few days. It's brilliant. It's the only face wash I've ever used that isn't drying, and because it's washed off, you don't need cotton wool.
I'm hardly one from whom skin care advice flows naturally, but there we go. First time for everything.
Which reminds me, on the way home from lunch, one of the friends I give a lift to (two sisters, both in their early 80s) told us a distinctly risqué story that another 80-something friend had been regaling their table with. I thought there were some chuckles from the other side of the room. What rascals.
I've just been looking in the mirror. I don't seem to look quite my usual raddled self. But then, I have taken out my contact lens, so it could be a kind short-sighted blur.
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
Z felt a bit emotional
I wrote to all the staff at the school. They were probably quite startled to receive a 1750-word letter, but I didn't waste words. Meetings to come after half term. I'm afraid that those who are reluctant to make changes aren't aware of what's going on. I addressed and signed all the letters by hand - so glad I've got a short first name. Although not quite as short as Z in real life.
Anyway, I went, this evening, to a little get-together for former and present governors to say goodbye to the Head at the village school. She's been a teacher there for 15 years, the last 8 as Head, and now she's moving to North Yorkshire. She is a lovely woman and a brilliant teacher and guide to her staff, and she will be hugely missed. They didn't appoint from last week's interviews, but her second in command will take over until the right person is found.
This afternoon, I took all the photos, edited (straightened!) and labelled them, and will email the ones for the catalogue to Weeza tomorrow, once the Sage has told me which ones they are. They will all go in the online catalogue, of course. Someone in Belgium asked for a catalogue - we charge £5 for the first one, just so we know people who ask really want one, and then send them out free of charge. He hasn't got an English bank so offered a Euro bank transfer. We checked, and it would cost us £7 to receive it, never mind the charge to him. We've said we'll waive the charge and just send the catalogue. By tomorrow at 11, I hope to have got everything off to Weeza and have finished work. I'm out to lunch, then have classroom visit reports to type up (I have the handwritten notes) and send out, a final - heavy - meeting on Friday morning and then that's it for this half term. Next week off, thank goodness. I've got all my Nadfas stuff to do and the church rota. I'm aiming to do them over the weekend, but it's pie in the sky, I know. Once I start relaxing, I'll throw myself into it and forget all the work.
Anyway, I went, this evening, to a little get-together for former and present governors to say goodbye to the Head at the village school. She's been a teacher there for 15 years, the last 8 as Head, and now she's moving to North Yorkshire. She is a lovely woman and a brilliant teacher and guide to her staff, and she will be hugely missed. They didn't appoint from last week's interviews, but her second in command will take over until the right person is found.
This afternoon, I took all the photos, edited (straightened!) and labelled them, and will email the ones for the catalogue to Weeza tomorrow, once the Sage has told me which ones they are. They will all go in the online catalogue, of course. Someone in Belgium asked for a catalogue - we charge £5 for the first one, just so we know people who ask really want one, and then send them out free of charge. He hasn't got an English bank so offered a Euro bank transfer. We checked, and it would cost us £7 to receive it, never mind the charge to him. We've said we'll waive the charge and just send the catalogue. By tomorrow at 11, I hope to have got everything off to Weeza and have finished work. I'm out to lunch, then have classroom visit reports to type up (I have the handwritten notes) and send out, a final - heavy - meeting on Friday morning and then that's it for this half term. Next week off, thank goodness. I've got all my Nadfas stuff to do and the church rota. I'm aiming to do them over the weekend, but it's pie in the sky, I know. Once I start relaxing, I'll throw myself into it and forget all the work.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Music mixing
I'm finally getting to grips with the school music computer programmes. It's taken a long time. I was just getting used to Cubase, and this year we're using Musicmaker. So I listened to the teacher explaining it all - she starts by demonstrating how to use it on her laptop which is linked to an interactive whiteboard so that everyone can see it - and I took notes on my phone. Then, when all the pupils went off into small groups, I was able to help with problems. I unashamedly look it up, I don't pretend to know more than I do.
The afternoon group are quite different from the morning one, much more inclined to relate to me as a person than a teacher-figure. It's quite interesting in that respect, that the style of the class is so different. I've noticed that I'm more relaxed this year, I'm finally feeling as confident as I pretend to be.
I was in a GCSE class last week, with a governor hat on (on helping days, I'm a friend of the school and unpaid assistant). Part of the lesson involved analysis of a Moby song. Homework had been listening to it and making notes and the lesson was writing down the analysis under various headings, without using any notes. It was quite hard, I'd have found it very difficult. They all dutifully set to and I went around speaking to some of them, asking questions and so on. One lad, obviously very able, had a nice turn of phrase. He admitted that he finds actually playing musical instruments the most enjoyable, not surprisingly. The on-paper analysis, he said drily, is 'not the most interesting part"of the syllabus. I asked if it has a knock-on effect - when he listens to music for pleasure, does he tend to analyse it? 'Annoyingly, yes," he replied. He also asked me what instruments I play - good job I had an answer for him!
I haven't typed up my notes yet. Must this week, it's half term next week. And I haven't got a thing in my diary, except Meals on Wheels on the Thursday. I might haul the hoover out. I don't remember using it this month yet, although I have washed the kitchen floor.
The afternoon group are quite different from the morning one, much more inclined to relate to me as a person than a teacher-figure. It's quite interesting in that respect, that the style of the class is so different. I've noticed that I'm more relaxed this year, I'm finally feeling as confident as I pretend to be.
I was in a GCSE class last week, with a governor hat on (on helping days, I'm a friend of the school and unpaid assistant). Part of the lesson involved analysis of a Moby song. Homework had been listening to it and making notes and the lesson was writing down the analysis under various headings, without using any notes. It was quite hard, I'd have found it very difficult. They all dutifully set to and I went around speaking to some of them, asking questions and so on. One lad, obviously very able, had a nice turn of phrase. He admitted that he finds actually playing musical instruments the most enjoyable, not surprisingly. The on-paper analysis, he said drily, is 'not the most interesting part"of the syllabus. I asked if it has a knock-on effect - when he listens to music for pleasure, does he tend to analyse it? 'Annoyingly, yes," he replied. He also asked me what instruments I play - good job I had an answer for him!
I haven't typed up my notes yet. Must this week, it's half term next week. And I haven't got a thing in my diary, except Meals on Wheels on the Thursday. I might haul the hoover out. I don't remember using it this month yet, although I have washed the kitchen floor.
Monday, 14 February 2011
Snow on snow on snow
I'm not feeling very capable of describing how I feel. There's too much that I'm not at liberty to say. Suffice it to say that the Head and I evidently haven't handled things too well, because our wonderful and dedicated teachers are feeling really anxious, the Sage hasn't altogether behaved like one, and my car wouldn't start this morning. That's without the rest of the stuff patiently waiting.
Do you know, cooking dinner this evening, I suddenly thought, thank goodness I'm a Christian boozer and I have something to fall back and land on? What does a teetotal atheist do? Shit still happens, for goodness sake. Resilience can only go so far. Crunchy raw carrots are delicious, but don't cut the mustard. Seriously, I'm interested. If you have an answer, please tell me. Because I may give up the booze one day, you never know, and who knows with faith? I don't think I'm the sort to lose it because I'm the tenacious sort, but shit happens.
I'm sorry my loves, I know that this is a positive, forward thinking and cheerful blog, but it's also an honest one, and I'm having a day when I'm not feeling negative, not unhappy, but it's all too much. I don't have to cope every day.
Okay, the good things. The Sage was great, I called him when he was asleep to say the car wouldn't start, and he uncomplainingly was ready to drive me in within five minutes. I said what I needed to, and I feel able to cope with it. I've had a kind discussion over the Sage's screw-up and the result is his decision. The car is back now, it's nothing major. I've not let anyone down. I slept last night for more than six hours. My friend Mike came to my rescue over the car, and I had a good chat with his wife Ann (not you, Mike and Ann, darlings) and cuddled their dogs (they've got an adorable spaniel cross that I'd bring home right now) and admired photos of their cute granddaughter. I received my quote for my car insurance today, and it's not much more than last year, which means I'm comfortable to just accept it and not go through the shopping around hell (I'll check the small print first). I've got money in the bank and had a really helpful, though unsolicited, phone call to advise me on where to put it (ooer missus).
So, good way outweighs bad. That it doesn't feel that way is just one of those things. I'll be back tomorrow being frivolous.
Oh, and thanks, Dave. Your remark on Facebook today had me laughing for quite some time. I L'edOL.
Do you know, cooking dinner this evening, I suddenly thought, thank goodness I'm a Christian boozer and I have something to fall back and land on? What does a teetotal atheist do? Shit still happens, for goodness sake. Resilience can only go so far. Crunchy raw carrots are delicious, but don't cut the mustard. Seriously, I'm interested. If you have an answer, please tell me. Because I may give up the booze one day, you never know, and who knows with faith? I don't think I'm the sort to lose it because I'm the tenacious sort, but shit happens.
I'm sorry my loves, I know that this is a positive, forward thinking and cheerful blog, but it's also an honest one, and I'm having a day when I'm not feeling negative, not unhappy, but it's all too much. I don't have to cope every day.
Okay, the good things. The Sage was great, I called him when he was asleep to say the car wouldn't start, and he uncomplainingly was ready to drive me in within five minutes. I said what I needed to, and I feel able to cope with it. I've had a kind discussion over the Sage's screw-up and the result is his decision. The car is back now, it's nothing major. I've not let anyone down. I slept last night for more than six hours. My friend Mike came to my rescue over the car, and I had a good chat with his wife Ann (not you, Mike and Ann, darlings) and cuddled their dogs (they've got an adorable spaniel cross that I'd bring home right now) and admired photos of their cute granddaughter. I received my quote for my car insurance today, and it's not much more than last year, which means I'm comfortable to just accept it and not go through the shopping around hell (I'll check the small print first). I've got money in the bank and had a really helpful, though unsolicited, phone call to advise me on where to put it (ooer missus).
So, good way outweighs bad. That it doesn't feel that way is just one of those things. I'll be back tomorrow being frivolous.
Oh, and thanks, Dave. Your remark on Facebook today had me laughing for quite some time. I L'edOL.
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Taking turns
I'm not sorry to find that the weather has turned too windy, I think, to do the photographs today. A lot of those Nadfas returns have come in, and I haven't had time to do anything with them.
Al and Dilly went out for dinner last night, and had a delicious meal, they said, at a local restaurant. They chatted to the proprietress and heard that, apparently, the satisfaction of a fully-booked dining room had been marred by two last-minute cancellations and a no-show. Around here, people wouldn't expect to give their card details in advance and have a charge made for not turning up, but you can hardly blame a restaurant. Al said there were 28 diners, so losing 6 is a big deal on the Saturday nearest Valentine's, when they'd probably turned away people and there was little chance of any last-minute hopefuls.
I remember, years ago, my mother telling me about a friend of hers, who'd had people come and stay for the weekend. She lived in Beccles, where there were several nice places to eat. Apparently, she blithely said that she had booked a table at three different places. When the friends arrived, she asked them where they'd like to eat that night, and phoned and cancelled the other two. My mother was shocked, and asked if she realised the implications for a business if people did that? Friend didn't get it. She was the customer, the consumer ho ho, and it was her choice. Well yes, said my mother, but you expect a booking to be binding on the restaurant, and they buy their food, turn away other bookings if full, employ their staff for the night, on the basis of the expected number of diners. Cancelling with a couple of hours notice doesn't give them a chance to repair the damage. Friend still didn't get it.
Dave had a crack at my grammar in the last post (if I didn't know much about grammar, he'd not do it - don't think he's being pernickety, he's teasing and knows I'll tease right back) but it reminded me of a summer back over twenty years ago. I think it was the summer holidays when Ro turned five, which meant that Weeza was fifteen and Al was thirteen, though it could have been a year later. I don't think that the Sage's and my age are relevant, suffice it to say that we were young and lovely. Anyway. I had the bright idea that it would be a jolly good thing if everyone took it in turns to do the cooking that summer.
This was the proposal ... well, this was what I told them was going to happen. Each of us would take it in turns to decide on the menu for the main meal and cook it. I'd help and advise if necessary and, if told in advance, would do the shopping.
It worked really well, actually. I can't remember much of what was cooked, but they didn't rely on convenience food. We went through a fair few things on toast on Ro's days, I think - he did brilliantly well, especially when you consider it was a permanently hot Aga he was working on. I did supervise him for safety's sake, but he did fine. I remember him cooking scrambled eggs, and I remember watching anxiously as he chopped carrots. They all took the task of preparing balanced meals in a sensible manner - but then, we've always eaten well and enjoy good food, so it wasn't surprising.
From my point of view, it wasn't much less work. I gave a lot of advice and found up quite a few recipes, and had to take on the responsibility of making sure that the fridge and larder were well stocked - especially for the Sage, who didn't plan ahead - but letting go of the decision-making was a treat and it meant that I took care over choosing and cooking on my own days. We didn't repeat the experiment, not because it wasn't successful but because it was a bit too regimented for our taste, really. This rota stuff wasn't really our way.
Al and Dilly went out for dinner last night, and had a delicious meal, they said, at a local restaurant. They chatted to the proprietress and heard that, apparently, the satisfaction of a fully-booked dining room had been marred by two last-minute cancellations and a no-show. Around here, people wouldn't expect to give their card details in advance and have a charge made for not turning up, but you can hardly blame a restaurant. Al said there were 28 diners, so losing 6 is a big deal on the Saturday nearest Valentine's, when they'd probably turned away people and there was little chance of any last-minute hopefuls.
I remember, years ago, my mother telling me about a friend of hers, who'd had people come and stay for the weekend. She lived in Beccles, where there were several nice places to eat. Apparently, she blithely said that she had booked a table at three different places. When the friends arrived, she asked them where they'd like to eat that night, and phoned and cancelled the other two. My mother was shocked, and asked if she realised the implications for a business if people did that? Friend didn't get it. She was the customer, the consumer ho ho, and it was her choice. Well yes, said my mother, but you expect a booking to be binding on the restaurant, and they buy their food, turn away other bookings if full, employ their staff for the night, on the basis of the expected number of diners. Cancelling with a couple of hours notice doesn't give them a chance to repair the damage. Friend still didn't get it.
Dave had a crack at my grammar in the last post (if I didn't know much about grammar, he'd not do it - don't think he's being pernickety, he's teasing and knows I'll tease right back) but it reminded me of a summer back over twenty years ago. I think it was the summer holidays when Ro turned five, which meant that Weeza was fifteen and Al was thirteen, though it could have been a year later. I don't think that the Sage's and my age are relevant, suffice it to say that we were young and lovely. Anyway. I had the bright idea that it would be a jolly good thing if everyone took it in turns to do the cooking that summer.
This was the proposal ... well, this was what I told them was going to happen. Each of us would take it in turns to decide on the menu for the main meal and cook it. I'd help and advise if necessary and, if told in advance, would do the shopping.
It worked really well, actually. I can't remember much of what was cooked, but they didn't rely on convenience food. We went through a fair few things on toast on Ro's days, I think - he did brilliantly well, especially when you consider it was a permanently hot Aga he was working on. I did supervise him for safety's sake, but he did fine. I remember him cooking scrambled eggs, and I remember watching anxiously as he chopped carrots. They all took the task of preparing balanced meals in a sensible manner - but then, we've always eaten well and enjoy good food, so it wasn't surprising.
From my point of view, it wasn't much less work. I gave a lot of advice and found up quite a few recipes, and had to take on the responsibility of making sure that the fridge and larder were well stocked - especially for the Sage, who didn't plan ahead - but letting go of the decision-making was a treat and it meant that I took care over choosing and cooking on my own days. We didn't repeat the experiment, not because it wasn't successful but because it was a bit too regimented for our taste, really. This rota stuff wasn't really our way.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Omnomnomelettes
We're well on the way with our next auction catalogue. With one thing and another, we weren't ready to start typing it up until 5 o'clock yesterday evening, and it took three hours. I always get an energy dip in the early evening, and although I'd had lunch, that was quite early and I'd eaten nothing since, so I was very tired and so was the Sage by the time we'd done. We had given ourselves five minutes break for a glass of wine to perk us up and I was extremely careful after that with the china, I was at the clumsy stage of tiredness already. I wanted brackets at some point - to type them, that is - and I couldn't remember where they were on the keyboard. I learned to touch type more than forty years ago, it's usually second nature which is a measure of how befuddled I was by tiredness and half a glass of wine.
It so happened that Roses has mentioned making a cheese omelette - or, as they are now known to her friends, omnomnomelettes (thanks, Rog) and so I took her inspiration and we were eating dinner by 8.15.
Today, Weeza, Phil and Zerlina came over and I've spent half the day cooking and the rest typing. But now the condition report (that is, the record of any damage on the china) is completed and we've just got the photos to take. If the weather is okay, we'll do that tomorrow. Having tried all sorts of ways, I like natural light and a lightbox so that there's no shadow, best. I'll send everything to Weeza, who will prepare the catalogue and send it to the printers. She's good at layouts and stuff, and I don't want to have to learn.
They stayed for dinner, which I hadn't really expected as Weeza doesn't like Zerlina to stay up late and roast chicken, roast potatoes, cabbage and courgette were cooked and on the table in not much over an hour from when the suggestion was made, which was a bit of a rush, with rhubarb crumble and custard for pudding. I say all this to make Ro jealous if he reads it, of course (I don't know how regularly he drops in, but he does sometimes) although he and Dora might be coming over for a meal next weekend.
I've just remembered it's the early service tomorrow morning and I'm sidesman. Oh bother. I don't think I've been sent hymns for the later service either, which means I'll have to choose them.
Ah. I've just looked at the rota. I wrote it last November when Andy became ill - we check around to see who isn't going to be available each week, and evidently tomorrow is a bad day. I'm down as sidesman at 8 o'clock, and to read both lessons. At 11 o'clock, I'm playing the music, reading both lessons and making coffee afterwards. That'll be fun then. It's not as bad as it sounds actually, we're using the church meeting rooms to save heating the church for the winter, so it's not as if I'm trotting up and down the aisle. And if a good-natured person turns up, I'll ask if he or she will read one of the lessons.
It so happened that Roses has mentioned making a cheese omelette - or, as they are now known to her friends, omnomnomelettes (thanks, Rog) and so I took her inspiration and we were eating dinner by 8.15.
Today, Weeza, Phil and Zerlina came over and I've spent half the day cooking and the rest typing. But now the condition report (that is, the record of any damage on the china) is completed and we've just got the photos to take. If the weather is okay, we'll do that tomorrow. Having tried all sorts of ways, I like natural light and a lightbox so that there's no shadow, best. I'll send everything to Weeza, who will prepare the catalogue and send it to the printers. She's good at layouts and stuff, and I don't want to have to learn.
They stayed for dinner, which I hadn't really expected as Weeza doesn't like Zerlina to stay up late and roast chicken, roast potatoes, cabbage and courgette were cooked and on the table in not much over an hour from when the suggestion was made, which was a bit of a rush, with rhubarb crumble and custard for pudding. I say all this to make Ro jealous if he reads it, of course (I don't know how regularly he drops in, but he does sometimes) although he and Dora might be coming over for a meal next weekend.
I've just remembered it's the early service tomorrow morning and I'm sidesman. Oh bother. I don't think I've been sent hymns for the later service either, which means I'll have to choose them.
Ah. I've just looked at the rota. I wrote it last November when Andy became ill - we check around to see who isn't going to be available each week, and evidently tomorrow is a bad day. I'm down as sidesman at 8 o'clock, and to read both lessons. At 11 o'clock, I'm playing the music, reading both lessons and making coffee afterwards. That'll be fun then. It's not as bad as it sounds actually, we're using the church meeting rooms to save heating the church for the winter, so it's not as if I'm trotting up and down the aisle. And if a good-natured person turns up, I'll ask if he or she will read one of the lessons.
Friday, 11 February 2011
Yester day
Sir B's comment about yesterday's post reminded me of a conversation I had with my son Ro when he was a small child. I was talking of something that had happened the day before, and he said "but that wasn't today." "No, it was yesterday." "No, it wasn't today." "I didn't say it was today, it was yesterday."
It was some time before I caught on, and took him a few minutes more to take in the difference between 'yes-today' and "yester-day." And at least they did sound the same, very nearly (cf the extremely funny link that Rog put up the other day, on a newspaper article correction that hinged on mishearing "20 sows and pigs as 20,000 pigs).
I can remember many occasions, as a child, when something completely mystified me and it wasn't until years later that I worked out that I'd misheard or misunderstood an expression. And children try to turn something that they don't understand into something that they do - lots of well-known examples of that, such as Pontius the Pilot: mind you, one only had to think of Mondegreens to realise that we all do that. Even in everyday speech, that so many people say "could of" instead of "could have" is simply a mishearing of "could've" - and so, it's becoming an acceptable alternative, even if people who know it's wrong don't like that. I've become a great deal more tolerant of this sort of thing in the past couple of years. Language does and should evolve, and it's part of the complexity and fun of English.
What I don't like is simplifying things on the assumption that people won't understand the original and so it's best avoided. It's by having to learn more complex things that one becomes able to - for example, back when I was a child, we all learned the 12 times table pretty quickly. We had to. There were 12 pennies in a shilling and 20 shillings in a pound, and everyone knew what tables were for, and so had an incentive to learn the 2, 3, 4, 6 and 12 times tables, at any rate. 7 was entirely useless so children had to be forced into learning that. It's 40 years ago next week that decimalised currency hit this country, and the purposefulness of everyday multiplication was lost instantly as well as the value and cost of everyday items, something that has never been caught up with since. I'm not for a moment suggesting a return, it would be too damn difficult for everyone, including me, and even the extraordinary Secretary of State for Education, who probably regrets the passing of the slide rule and the introduction of the pocket calculator, hasn't come up with that. But Dilly, who is doing one-to-one tutoring in schools at present, was telling me the other week that the biggest problem is that reasonably able teenagers have missed out on learning some basics, and so can't keep up. The biggest difference is in knowing times tables. It so happens (and I didn't raise the subject) that a Learning Support teacher at the high school told me exactly the same thing about tables the next week.
Same with writing and spelling. Back in the day when, as a parent, I used to go in to help at the village school, I was listening to a child read her book. Neither her first nor surname was spelled phonetically, but she was a bright child, probably 5 or 6 at the time. We talked about the spelling of the word "laugh" and I said, you can't sound it out, it's one of those words that you just have to learn. And, I pointed out, her own name of Laughton contains laugh. She could spell her name, and was quite tickled by the idea. And I bet she had no difficulty with the different 'augh' and 'ough' pronunciations that language-simplifiers complain about, because the peculiarity of such a thing was an everyday matter for her.
It was some time before I caught on, and took him a few minutes more to take in the difference between 'yes-today' and "yester-day." And at least they did sound the same, very nearly (cf the extremely funny link that Rog put up the other day, on a newspaper article correction that hinged on mishearing "20 sows and pigs as 20,000 pigs).
I can remember many occasions, as a child, when something completely mystified me and it wasn't until years later that I worked out that I'd misheard or misunderstood an expression. And children try to turn something that they don't understand into something that they do - lots of well-known examples of that, such as Pontius the Pilot: mind you, one only had to think of Mondegreens to realise that we all do that. Even in everyday speech, that so many people say "could of" instead of "could have" is simply a mishearing of "could've" - and so, it's becoming an acceptable alternative, even if people who know it's wrong don't like that. I've become a great deal more tolerant of this sort of thing in the past couple of years. Language does and should evolve, and it's part of the complexity and fun of English.
What I don't like is simplifying things on the assumption that people won't understand the original and so it's best avoided. It's by having to learn more complex things that one becomes able to - for example, back when I was a child, we all learned the 12 times table pretty quickly. We had to. There were 12 pennies in a shilling and 20 shillings in a pound, and everyone knew what tables were for, and so had an incentive to learn the 2, 3, 4, 6 and 12 times tables, at any rate. 7 was entirely useless so children had to be forced into learning that. It's 40 years ago next week that decimalised currency hit this country, and the purposefulness of everyday multiplication was lost instantly as well as the value and cost of everyday items, something that has never been caught up with since. I'm not for a moment suggesting a return, it would be too damn difficult for everyone, including me, and even the extraordinary Secretary of State for Education, who probably regrets the passing of the slide rule and the introduction of the pocket calculator, hasn't come up with that. But Dilly, who is doing one-to-one tutoring in schools at present, was telling me the other week that the biggest problem is that reasonably able teenagers have missed out on learning some basics, and so can't keep up. The biggest difference is in knowing times tables. It so happens (and I didn't raise the subject) that a Learning Support teacher at the high school told me exactly the same thing about tables the next week.
Same with writing and spelling. Back in the day when, as a parent, I used to go in to help at the village school, I was listening to a child read her book. Neither her first nor surname was spelled phonetically, but she was a bright child, probably 5 or 6 at the time. We talked about the spelling of the word "laugh" and I said, you can't sound it out, it's one of those words that you just have to learn. And, I pointed out, her own name of Laughton contains laugh. She could spell her name, and was quite tickled by the idea. And I bet she had no difficulty with the different 'augh' and 'ough' pronunciations that language-simplifiers complain about, because the peculiarity of such a thing was an everyday matter for her.
Thursday, 10 February 2011
Happy Barryday
Weeza and Zerlina came over today. Zerlina came bustling through to the kitchen, wearing an apron and declaring an intention to make cakes. I settled her at the table and asked what we need. "A sandwich" she said. We worked out the ingredients and utensils and set to. Handed an egg, she tapped it twice on the edge of a bowl and they started to pull it apart, I hastily put the bowl underneath her hands, and the contents successfully landed. We made a Victoria sponge and flapjacks, then went to buy sprinkles (hundreds and thousands and mini lemon and orange slices) and icing sugar, which I'd forgotten to get.
All in all, we ate rather a lot of cake and flapjacks today.
It was decided that Barry was about due for a birthday, so we lit a candle and sang to him. Waiting for her slice, Zerlina actually drooled, fortunately on the table.
Later, when Zerlina was having her nap (she still sleeps for at least an hour after lunch every day), we were talking about the children. All three of them are delightful at present, very happy, eating and sleeping well, a real pleasure - "odd how you're all going to make your lives difficult again with a new baby each," I remarked. We pondered a bit.
All in all, we ate rather a lot of cake and flapjacks today.
Later, when Zerlina was having her nap (she still sleeps for at least an hour after lunch every day), we were talking about the children. All three of them are delightful at present, very happy, eating and sleeping well, a real pleasure - "odd how you're all going to make your lives difficult again with a new baby each," I remarked. We pondered a bit.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
Iacta alea est, occupet extremum scabies
That is - al being well and unless a major problem turns up - we're going independent and becoming an academy. Goodbye, local authority that used to be good and now isn't. Hello, £290,000 that we have paid them each year to provide various services. We reckon we can get those we need, in some cases from the LA, for half that.
But that's not the reason. It's independence. The next government initiative, we won't have to follow it unless we want to. We'll still answer to Ofsted but, as long as we teach key subjects (no plans to drop English and Maths I promise), we'll be free. I see it as protecting our marvellous staff. Some of them are anxious, they see the LA as protective. Hardly any more, less in the future. We've made the right decision for the right reasons and it was a draining, but inspiring, meeting yesterday. I didn't really sleep last night, but not because of anxiety.
I take it to heart. So do many of the staff and governors. We don't leave it behind at the end of the day, but how could we? We're, you know, passionate and stuff. Idealistic, once in a while. Not me of course, I'm practical, pragmatic and hard-headed. I want those kids to earn whole lots so that there's enough money about to keep me in my dribbling dotage.
Please excuse the Latin, both are googeable quotations, or Chris, Dave, Dandelion or Mago will provide translations. Or maybe Gledwood. He's a dark horse.
But that's not the reason. It's independence. The next government initiative, we won't have to follow it unless we want to. We'll still answer to Ofsted but, as long as we teach key subjects (no plans to drop English and Maths I promise), we'll be free. I see it as protecting our marvellous staff. Some of them are anxious, they see the LA as protective. Hardly any more, less in the future. We've made the right decision for the right reasons and it was a draining, but inspiring, meeting yesterday. I didn't really sleep last night, but not because of anxiety.
I take it to heart. So do many of the staff and governors. We don't leave it behind at the end of the day, but how could we? We're, you know, passionate and stuff. Idealistic, once in a while. Not me of course, I'm practical, pragmatic and hard-headed. I want those kids to earn whole lots so that there's enough money about to keep me in my dribbling dotage.
Please excuse the Latin, both are googeable quotations, or Chris, Dave, Dandelion or Mago will provide translations. Or maybe Gledwood. He's a dark horse.
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Cheers, darlings
I arrived home and checked the situation. Champagne, unchilled, in the larder, Cava in the fridge.
Cava it is, then.
The Devil's Advocate is in the detail
You know, if I were in a position of national authority, I'd want a pessimist with an analytical mind on my team - not just to say "it won't work, you know," but to be able to explain why. Then, you've got an opportunity to pre-empt problems and work out how to get around them. I'm quite sure that the reason for so much of our inept and botched legislation over the past years is because of a "can-do" attitude, where anyone who raises an objection is seen as undermining the team, or the leader. As a result, unexpected obstacles occur. There seems to be a fairly relaxed attitude about this - extra legislation can always be brought in later to deal with the loopholes. I think this is dreadful - for one thing, it looks incompetent and lazy, for another it unnecessarily complicates the matter and for a third, some of the problems may not be identified for quite a long time.
There's also the habit, nowadays, of announcing something to see how it goes down with the public, and if there's a big outcry, a rapid turnabout and a cancelling of the plan. The last government did that and, sad to say, the present one seems to be no less guilty of the same tedious thing. I'm not being political, certainly not party political.
Another thing that has come in over the last fifteen or twenty years is measuring - standards, efficiency, whatever. This may be to save money, spend it more wisely, get better results - and the result has been target setting. This isn't always terribly helpful - for one thing, people can sometimes spend as long working out how to circumvent the targets as in meeting them, especially if it's not a realistic target in the first place and, for another, if one is missed then it doesn't necessarily matter by how much. And there has to be a point at which efficiency reaches its peak, after which trying to save more just becomes either not cost-effective, or actually reduces efficacy.
I've got to get ready for my meeting this afternoon. Dice haven't been rolled, but they're being shaken right now.
There's also the habit, nowadays, of announcing something to see how it goes down with the public, and if there's a big outcry, a rapid turnabout and a cancelling of the plan. The last government did that and, sad to say, the present one seems to be no less guilty of the same tedious thing. I'm not being political, certainly not party political.
Another thing that has come in over the last fifteen or twenty years is measuring - standards, efficiency, whatever. This may be to save money, spend it more wisely, get better results - and the result has been target setting. This isn't always terribly helpful - for one thing, people can sometimes spend as long working out how to circumvent the targets as in meeting them, especially if it's not a realistic target in the first place and, for another, if one is missed then it doesn't necessarily matter by how much. And there has to be a point at which efficiency reaches its peak, after which trying to save more just becomes either not cost-effective, or actually reduces efficacy.
I've got to get ready for my meeting this afternoon. Dice haven't been rolled, but they're being shaken right now.
Monday, 7 February 2011
Z's Big Mouth
I'm feeling a trifle drained, it's been quite a day and tomorrow is likely to be more so. Al is also expecting a couple of very busy days, as the governors at the village school are interviewing prospective headteachers.
There's too much in my mind, and a lot of it can't be said at present. Besides, I'd ramble. And you'd be astonished if I were to ramble, wouldn't you?
I called on John and Andy today. Both look very well. John is walking a lot better and was able to stand up without putting his good hand on the arm of his chair (he was probably showing off, and good for him if so). However, he still has to hold a stick on the wrong side, so it doesn't give him much support. Andy is going home tomorrow. His wife and family have cleared the dining room and put a bed in there for him (we're looking after some stuff for them, because there's no room for it). He's still very positive and cheerful, and looking forward to being home.
I have a bar of chocolate and I can't remember where I put it. Frustratingly, I know it's in this room somewhere. I had to open the chocolate chip cookies - mind you, they've been about since Christmas, so it was probably about time *checks use by date* - well, 31st March would be, anyway. I'm in some doubt as to whether it's better to turn to chocolate or alcohol in moments of pressure. I think that chocolate biscuits are the worst option of all - although they were FairTrade chocolate chip cookies. I've given the rest of the packet to the Sage, anyway.
Regarding emails and keeping information - I was just asked for something dating from 2001, and had to say that I hadn't still got it. Having changed computers a couple of times since then, some data got corrupted in the transfer and had to be deleted. It happens two or three times a year that I'm asked about things that no one else remembers. For instance, I've been asked about the details of the rewriting of the Articles of Memorandum of the village school from 1999 (I was able to answer), the facts about the leasing of a playing field (I knew about that) and the details needed in the information pack for job applicants (from eight and a half years ago, that was easy, I went straight to the file). I am vague about a lot of things, but I remember a chain of events or something I've been closely involved in - for instance, I wrote those Articles.
I seem to have offered to try to track down the missing information. Me and my big mouth.
There's too much in my mind, and a lot of it can't be said at present. Besides, I'd ramble. And you'd be astonished if I were to ramble, wouldn't you?
I called on John and Andy today. Both look very well. John is walking a lot better and was able to stand up without putting his good hand on the arm of his chair (he was probably showing off, and good for him if so). However, he still has to hold a stick on the wrong side, so it doesn't give him much support. Andy is going home tomorrow. His wife and family have cleared the dining room and put a bed in there for him (we're looking after some stuff for them, because there's no room for it). He's still very positive and cheerful, and looking forward to being home.
I have a bar of chocolate and I can't remember where I put it. Frustratingly, I know it's in this room somewhere. I had to open the chocolate chip cookies - mind you, they've been about since Christmas, so it was probably about time *checks use by date* - well, 31st March would be, anyway. I'm in some doubt as to whether it's better to turn to chocolate or alcohol in moments of pressure. I think that chocolate biscuits are the worst option of all - although they were FairTrade chocolate chip cookies. I've given the rest of the packet to the Sage, anyway.
Regarding emails and keeping information - I was just asked for something dating from 2001, and had to say that I hadn't still got it. Having changed computers a couple of times since then, some data got corrupted in the transfer and had to be deleted. It happens two or three times a year that I'm asked about things that no one else remembers. For instance, I've been asked about the details of the rewriting of the Articles of Memorandum of the village school from 1999 (I was able to answer), the facts about the leasing of a playing field (I knew about that) and the details needed in the information pack for job applicants (from eight and a half years ago, that was easy, I went straight to the file). I am vague about a lot of things, but I remember a chain of events or something I've been closely involved in - for instance, I wrote those Articles.
I seem to have offered to try to track down the missing information. Me and my big mouth.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Z sets out to make a silk purse
I made a total pig's ear of this job last autumn, I'd underestimated how much cross-referencing I'd have to do. I got it all done in the end, but it was something of a nightmare to sort out. So this time, I've spent the last hour getting prepared for all the information I'm going to get back - if all goes well, this will be four different items from each of 25 people, plus one or two each from another dozen. Some of the information has to be entered in more than place, and I'll also receive 25 cheques to record and keep carefully to give to the treasurer. And I know that the forms they send back will just be filled in, resaved and returned so won't have a specific society heading. I didn't twig this back in the autumn and found myself with a lot of documents, all labelled the same. A few people didn't send theirs back at all until I'd reminded them several times.
That was most of the problem, actually. I've deliberately sent out the request for information a fortnight later than last time to bring it all into a more reasonable period of time. In the autumn, I merrily filed everything until I wanted to correlate it all, then couldn't find everything because I'd received it so long ago and dozens of emails in the meantime - this was in a folder, not the inbox, where I'd had hundreds. And some sent everything back in a single mailing and others in four.
I know that a lot of people, in the course of their work, receive hundreds of emails a day. How do they cope? I find it quite daunting enough dealing with fifty or so.
That was most of the problem, actually. I've deliberately sent out the request for information a fortnight later than last time to bring it all into a more reasonable period of time. In the autumn, I merrily filed everything until I wanted to correlate it all, then couldn't find everything because I'd received it so long ago and dozens of emails in the meantime - this was in a folder, not the inbox, where I'd had hundreds. And some sent everything back in a single mailing and others in four.
I know that a lot of people, in the course of their work, receive hundreds of emails a day. How do they cope? I find it quite daunting enough dealing with fifty or so.
Zinbox
Inboxes, hey - of the email persuasion, that is. I expect most of you keep them really well sorted. Delete what you don't need, file the rest. I used to, once. But then they started to build up and, although there are some things that always get filed (mostly receipts, guarantees and so on), it's all got way beyond me. I do have a go once in a while, but it's too far out of hand and I lose heart.
The idea is, I leave it in the inbox, labelled, until it's dealt with and then I file it. And I could just start doing that and at least have a cut-off, from which point onwards all will be organised. What stops me? I'd be so pleased. Maybe this should be a belated New Year Resolution.
The reason it's on my mind, however, is that I've just been sorting out the inbox of another email address, to such good effect that it's now empty. Everything dealt with and either filed or deleted (I tend to keep almost everything, which is part of my problem). So, since I'm expecting a lot of emails to that inbox in the next couple of months, at least I'll know that what's there is relevant to now.
Those of you who are, either by nature or self-discipline, efficient in your filing must look at the rest of us and wonder why on earth we don't just get it right at the start and keep it right. It's very little more bother to just file everything at once and keep it in order, and then it saves a lot of time and trouble in looking for things that are out of place or lost in the pile. I've no answer for you. You're right. It doesn't seem to suit me, that's all.
The idea is, I leave it in the inbox, labelled, until it's dealt with and then I file it. And I could just start doing that and at least have a cut-off, from which point onwards all will be organised. What stops me? I'd be so pleased. Maybe this should be a belated New Year Resolution.
The reason it's on my mind, however, is that I've just been sorting out the inbox of another email address, to such good effect that it's now empty. Everything dealt with and either filed or deleted (I tend to keep almost everything, which is part of my problem). So, since I'm expecting a lot of emails to that inbox in the next couple of months, at least I'll know that what's there is relevant to now.
Those of you who are, either by nature or self-discipline, efficient in your filing must look at the rest of us and wonder why on earth we don't just get it right at the start and keep it right. It's very little more bother to just file everything at once and keep it in order, and then it saves a lot of time and trouble in looking for things that are out of place or lost in the pile. I've no answer for you. You're right. It doesn't seem to suit me, that's all.
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Zouted
Sorry about yesterday's lack of post. I wrote on in the afternoon, but it was one of those that rambled on until it even bored me, so I deleted it. Then I remembered on my way to bed, but fell asleep before I could write one on the phone.
What I had been going to write about, since nothing of particular interest happened yesterday, was that I'm finally starting to get into Facebook rather more warmly. It's taken a while, but then so did blogging. It was a long time before I stopped feeling quite artificial, pretentious even, and longer again before I felt part of a community here.
I'd been reading blogs for a while, but not venturing to comment because it didn't seem quite polite to barge in when people all seemed to know each other. Then I discovered that most bloggers welcome comments and like to know they've got new readers, so I started to leave some comments and from there it wasn't long before I started blogging myself (five years ago last month, I'm not big on anniversaries so I didn't mention it at the time). I really thought I was going to be completely anonymous, but that didn't last long.
I had the same idea on Facebook, very briefly, and put in a false surname but soon changed my mind. It seemed pointless and indeed, I have now got quite a number of real-life friends there. I've still kept the blog and FB separate however - some folks publish their posts there too (or rather, links to them), but I don't. Quite a few of my friends do know I have a blog, but only three of them have asked for its name and one looked for me, that I know of. However, Dave mentioned the blog on my wall this morning. And I know that my name, Googled, leads here (a mishap when a box auto-filled and I didn't notice, years ago). So, if anyone I actually know arrives by that route - yep, this is my little, not very well-kept secret.
What I had been going to write about, since nothing of particular interest happened yesterday, was that I'm finally starting to get into Facebook rather more warmly. It's taken a while, but then so did blogging. It was a long time before I stopped feeling quite artificial, pretentious even, and longer again before I felt part of a community here.
I'd been reading blogs for a while, but not venturing to comment because it didn't seem quite polite to barge in when people all seemed to know each other. Then I discovered that most bloggers welcome comments and like to know they've got new readers, so I started to leave some comments and from there it wasn't long before I started blogging myself (five years ago last month, I'm not big on anniversaries so I didn't mention it at the time). I really thought I was going to be completely anonymous, but that didn't last long.
I had the same idea on Facebook, very briefly, and put in a false surname but soon changed my mind. It seemed pointless and indeed, I have now got quite a number of real-life friends there. I've still kept the blog and FB separate however - some folks publish their posts there too (or rather, links to them), but I don't. Quite a few of my friends do know I have a blog, but only three of them have asked for its name and one looked for me, that I know of. However, Dave mentioned the blog on my wall this morning. And I know that my name, Googled, leads here (a mishap when a box auto-filled and I didn't notice, years ago). So, if anyone I actually know arrives by that route - yep, this is my little, not very well-kept secret.
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Double whammy granny
I slept jolly well last night, good job I didn't have anything on first thing. This afternoon, as I said yesterday, I went to look after Zerlina because her parents had an appointment. She was lovely and we played for the afternoon - I reminded her a couple of times about the loo, and she headed for the stairs when she felt the need. Good girlie.
As you know, Dilly and Al are expecting a baby in late May. Now Weeza has had a scan and is over the first more precarious weeks, I can tell you that she and Phil are expecting their second child in mid-August. I'm feeling quite the matriarch, I can tell you, and it's a jolly good feeling. One of these days, someone in the family might take me seriously and I may receive the respect I deserve.
Or maybe I do already. Oh dear.
As you know, Dilly and Al are expecting a baby in late May. Now Weeza has had a scan and is over the first more precarious weeks, I can tell you that she and Phil are expecting their second child in mid-August. I'm feeling quite the matriarch, I can tell you, and it's a jolly good feeling. One of these days, someone in the family might take me seriously and I may receive the respect I deserve.
Or maybe I do already. Oh dear.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Big Girl's Pants
Blimey, I've been working hard. This must be what it's like to be other people. I did take a couple of hours off this morning to take in a lecture on Faberge, but as I kept going until 11.30 last night and started again at 6 this morning, I felt entitled. I woke up at 4.20, by the way, and would be feeling a bit twitchy by now if not for the calming and restorative effect of half a bottle of Rioja.
I did avow my intent for a nap this afternoon, but I didn't get around to it. I was planning an early night, but I see that Mad Men is on at 11.20 or something. Is that a new series or a repeat? I watch television so irregularly that I don't know at all what's going on. I'm trying to watch Episodes, however because it is, rarely, a comedy that is funny (I don't mind sweary, though I have to apologise to the Sage a bit).
There's a lot happening, in regard to family, my business, the Sage's business and school. I am keeping up together, except for the Nadfas stuff, for which the deadline is Friday. That's all right, I've been keeping tomorrow morning. Housework and gardening aren't happening, of course, but I don't care much about that.
I'm a bit hyper. Sorry.
No, come on, what shall we talk about? I looked at my phone for inspiration and discovered an email I haven't replied to. Oh damn. Sorry.
Tomorrow afternoon, I'm babysitting Zerlina. I haven't seen her for ten days, so it will be lovely. She has finally left behind nappies and is wearing Big Girl's Pants. As am I, so we'll have something in common.
I did avow my intent for a nap this afternoon, but I didn't get around to it. I was planning an early night, but I see that Mad Men is on at 11.20 or something. Is that a new series or a repeat? I watch television so irregularly that I don't know at all what's going on. I'm trying to watch Episodes, however because it is, rarely, a comedy that is funny (I don't mind sweary, though I have to apologise to the Sage a bit).
There's a lot happening, in regard to family, my business, the Sage's business and school. I am keeping up together, except for the Nadfas stuff, for which the deadline is Friday. That's all right, I've been keeping tomorrow morning. Housework and gardening aren't happening, of course, but I don't care much about that.
I'm a bit hyper. Sorry.
No, come on, what shall we talk about? I looked at my phone for inspiration and discovered an email I haven't replied to. Oh damn. Sorry.
Tomorrow afternoon, I'm babysitting Zerlina. I haven't seen her for ten days, so it will be lovely. She has finally left behind nappies and is wearing Big Girl's Pants. As am I, so we'll have something in common.
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
School Daze
Don't have a lot to say about today, except that I've come home with a whole lot of work to do. I had said I'd go to WI, but I've emailed with my apologies.
I used to be a member for about 20 years, but haven't been for the past three. This is nothing to do with the society I went to, but I was busy and missing more meetings than I attended. And then, HQ decided that they were going to relaunch their magazine, send it to everyone, and charge a higher fee accordingly.
How it works, the subscription is decided at Head Office, with the capitation fee they take off. The rest of the money is the society's to use as necessary and desired - on the meeting place, speakers, etc, and more fundraising can be done if required. The thing is, though, I didn't want the magazine and there wasn't an option not to pay for it. You could opt out of receiving it, but you still had to pay. I gave it a chance to grow on me, but found I often wasn't bothering to take it out of its wrapper, and if I did, it took about five minutes to glance through. I didn't mind paying the sub to the local branch even if I didn't make most of the meetings, but rather resented the high-handed manner of HQ, so my attendance and membership lapsed. Ironically, I still get sent the magazine. The first year, I thought that maybe they were doing it to keep me in touch and maybe tempt me back, but now I just think they're inefficient. All the same, I do miss seeing my friends and so I am aiming to rejoin. But not tonight.
I missed much of this morning's music lesson because the Finance meeting went on a long time (we're not out of money, a major policy item was being discussed), but when I joined the lesson to find that the pupils were learning how to mix tracks, I thought I was fairly okay, having used the programme before. However, turned out they were using a different programme. So, I asked one group who was doing well what they were doing and, when another had a problem, relayed the information. This afternoon, as the teacher was showing the whole class what to do, I made notes on my phone (better than paper as I won't lose them). So I was able to be a bit more useful.
I also had school dinner again, which was very good. And cheap, £1.18 for a pasta/tomato sauce bake with cheese topping, and salad. And the catering manager came and offered me coffee afterwards.
I used to be a member for about 20 years, but haven't been for the past three. This is nothing to do with the society I went to, but I was busy and missing more meetings than I attended. And then, HQ decided that they were going to relaunch their magazine, send it to everyone, and charge a higher fee accordingly.
How it works, the subscription is decided at Head Office, with the capitation fee they take off. The rest of the money is the society's to use as necessary and desired - on the meeting place, speakers, etc, and more fundraising can be done if required. The thing is, though, I didn't want the magazine and there wasn't an option not to pay for it. You could opt out of receiving it, but you still had to pay. I gave it a chance to grow on me, but found I often wasn't bothering to take it out of its wrapper, and if I did, it took about five minutes to glance through. I didn't mind paying the sub to the local branch even if I didn't make most of the meetings, but rather resented the high-handed manner of HQ, so my attendance and membership lapsed. Ironically, I still get sent the magazine. The first year, I thought that maybe they were doing it to keep me in touch and maybe tempt me back, but now I just think they're inefficient. All the same, I do miss seeing my friends and so I am aiming to rejoin. But not tonight.
I missed much of this morning's music lesson because the Finance meeting went on a long time (we're not out of money, a major policy item was being discussed), but when I joined the lesson to find that the pupils were learning how to mix tracks, I thought I was fairly okay, having used the programme before. However, turned out they were using a different programme. So, I asked one group who was doing well what they were doing and, when another had a problem, relayed the information. This afternoon, as the teacher was showing the whole class what to do, I made notes on my phone (better than paper as I won't lose them). So I was able to be a bit more useful.
I also had school dinner again, which was very good. And cheap, £1.18 for a pasta/tomato sauce bake with cheese topping, and salad. And the catering manager came and offered me coffee afterwards.
Monday, 31 January 2011
Mug Shot
All the staff now have those dangly plastic identification things with their photos on, and it has been decreed that the governors must too. I'm rather regretful at this. Partly for the obvious reason that it meant having my picture taken, partly because it means me giving up wearing my name badge (also dangly, but from a metal chain rather than a ribbon) that has a green smiley face sticker that my friend Caroline in Learning Support gave me. However, I dutifully got my picture taken after the committee meeting last Thursday and picked the badge up on Friday ... and put it, unlooked at, in my bag. I didn't look at it the next day either. I finally hauled it out on Saturday at the quiz and passed it round the table. I look strangely thin-lipped, which I'm not, but otherwise, though not flattering at all, I have to admit that's probably much what I look like. A bit depressing, that. Anyway, I asked for, and got, the dots on my name.
Today, I have a vital day for getting stuff done at home. No housework will be involved, past the daily stuff. If I do well, I'll make marmalade this afternoon, however. I bought enough oranges for two more batches, and that will certainly be enough for the year. It might well be more than the the jars I have. I remember one year my father, who was the marmalade maker in our family, used glasses when he ran out of jars. We had loads of glasses, it didn't matter, and the marmalade did look very pretty, especially as he added a few almonds and cherries at the last for cosmetic purposes.
One of the things that the Sage was happily showing Mike yesterday was the ugly mug I gave him for Christmas. He's so pleased with it. I saw last night that he hadn't put it safely away, and I've just spotted it now where he left, it, on an armchair. Although there's no reason to think it won't be safe there, I've had to move it. Too many years of having dogs and children plonking themselves onto chairs without looking, I can't overcome my inbuilt caution and I was feeling extremely uncomfortable.
The fishmonger calls on a Monday morning. I have bought kippers, especially for Christopher. I shall open the window and waft the aroma in a southerly direction tonight. I've just made coffee, but I'm tactfully not wafting that Roses' way in case she's still not permitted caffeine.
Today, I have a vital day for getting stuff done at home. No housework will be involved, past the daily stuff. If I do well, I'll make marmalade this afternoon, however. I bought enough oranges for two more batches, and that will certainly be enough for the year. It might well be more than the the jars I have. I remember one year my father, who was the marmalade maker in our family, used glasses when he ran out of jars. We had loads of glasses, it didn't matter, and the marmalade did look very pretty, especially as he added a few almonds and cherries at the last for cosmetic purposes.
One of the things that the Sage was happily showing Mike yesterday was the ugly mug I gave him for Christmas. He's so pleased with it. I saw last night that he hadn't put it safely away, and I've just spotted it now where he left, it, on an armchair. Although there's no reason to think it won't be safe there, I've had to move it. Too many years of having dogs and children plonking themselves onto chairs without looking, I can't overcome my inbuilt caution and I was feeling extremely uncomfortable.
The fishmonger calls on a Monday morning. I have bought kippers, especially for Christopher. I shall open the window and waft the aroma in a southerly direction tonight. I've just made coffee, but I'm tactfully not wafting that Roses' way in case she's still not permitted caffeine.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Z the lightweight
Last night, three of us polished off three bottles of wine. I matched the other two glass for glass for a while, but had to admit defeat after the first glass of the third bottle.
This morning, I decided not to go to the pub, but give my liver a chance to recover a bit, and cycled in for the papers instead. I've spent most of the day reading, actually, books and newspapers. All that busyness and sociability had taken its toll and I'd reached my limit. I was quite happy to be on my own.
At about three o'clock the Sage mentioned that he'd invited a friend round. So I said, quite pleasantly, that I'd make them some tea and retire to the kitchen to read. The Sage was awfully disappointed and I think he thinks I wasn't quite polite - he said I could sit reading while they were talking. I felt that would be really offhand, and in the event I did greet the friend and explain cheerfully that I'd leave them to it. Mike didn't mind a bit, but the Sage was a bit twitchy.
The thing is, though, that he doesn't do anything with me if he doesn't want to. For example, the quiz last night - he doesn't really enjoy them and I do, so he was quite happy to back out, and I go with Al and Dilly, and another friend of theirs. But he is a bit disappointed if I do the same thing although, conversely, he doesn't necessarily feel the need to include me if it's something he wants to do on his own.
He's used to my independence and occasional solitude, but also to me backing him up and he doesn't expect me to want to be backed up. This is fair enough, and mostly suits us both. For instance, this morning he vanished for three hours, visiting a friend and it certainly didn't occur to him to ask me if I'd like to go. But this afternoon's visit was in respect of a couple of things that I've heard about over and over, and I just didn't want to have to be falsely interested yet again. But to say that, he'd be hurt that I'm not interested any more (I am in a sense, I just don't want to talk about it any more).
I should say, we haven't fallen out and we're not going to. He's just brought me coffee and all is cosy and friendly in the Zage household. And Dilly and Al asked us in for dinner, and we've just got back.
This morning, I decided not to go to the pub, but give my liver a chance to recover a bit, and cycled in for the papers instead. I've spent most of the day reading, actually, books and newspapers. All that busyness and sociability had taken its toll and I'd reached my limit. I was quite happy to be on my own.
At about three o'clock the Sage mentioned that he'd invited a friend round. So I said, quite pleasantly, that I'd make them some tea and retire to the kitchen to read. The Sage was awfully disappointed and I think he thinks I wasn't quite polite - he said I could sit reading while they were talking. I felt that would be really offhand, and in the event I did greet the friend and explain cheerfully that I'd leave them to it. Mike didn't mind a bit, but the Sage was a bit twitchy.
The thing is, though, that he doesn't do anything with me if he doesn't want to. For example, the quiz last night - he doesn't really enjoy them and I do, so he was quite happy to back out, and I go with Al and Dilly, and another friend of theirs. But he is a bit disappointed if I do the same thing although, conversely, he doesn't necessarily feel the need to include me if it's something he wants to do on his own.
He's used to my independence and occasional solitude, but also to me backing him up and he doesn't expect me to want to be backed up. This is fair enough, and mostly suits us both. For instance, this morning he vanished for three hours, visiting a friend and it certainly didn't occur to him to ask me if I'd like to go. But this afternoon's visit was in respect of a couple of things that I've heard about over and over, and I just didn't want to have to be falsely interested yet again. But to say that, he'd be hurt that I'm not interested any more (I am in a sense, I just don't want to talk about it any more).
I should say, we haven't fallen out and we're not going to. He's just brought me coffee and all is cosy and friendly in the Zage household. And Dilly and Al asked us in for dinner, and we've just got back.
Saturday, 29 January 2011
Out and about
Ro was moving house today, and a few things were surplus to requirements for now, although not necessarily in the future, so we've brought them back here. We have stalwartly resisted using his bedroom to put our stuff in, but it's a huge room so there is plenty of room to keep whatever he wants. As I said yesterday, I suggested going out for lunch and, in the event, the Sage decided to come too. I was rather glad of that, as it means I don't have to feel guilty at not having got in anything for him for tonight, when I'm out and he's babysitting - although, in fact, there are still sausage casserole and smoked fish risotto leftovers in the fridge, so he won't have to forage too far.
In the afternoon, we called on Andy and John. We each visited one and then swapped over! Both are doing very well. Andy is actually getting really excited at the thought of retirement - it's pretty brave of him really, he still can only walk a few steps in a shuffle using a frame, and may never walk independently again, but he's choosing to take a completely positive attitude. His son-in-law, who is paraplegic, has offered him a spare electric wheelchair and he's looking forward to whizzing around the village. He's looking forward to playing music again - don't think he'll manage his guitar for a while, but he can play his keyboard once he leaves hospital on Monday week. He has various plans to do voluntary work.
A digression - there is no doubt that a strong religious faith helps people get through such times, and accept what's happening to them. That is, what went wrong "just happened, one of those things", whereas the things that are going really well now are God-led and he's thankful for them. The point is, it doesn't matter in the least whether you think he's deluded or what, but that it's taking him out of a possible self-pity, for which no one could blame him, and helping his recovery and well-being. And if you think it's a delusion, please don't sneer, or not here - he still is choosing his positive attitude, and if he's being buoyed by faith, then good for him.
Since they've been home, things have gone remarkably well. They put their house on the market - photos were taken and particulars put out by the agent on Monday. On Wednesday, a couple came to see the house, put in an offer very near the asking price, which they accepted. They put in an offer on a bungalow in this village, which was accepted. The couple have sold their house, are living in a rented house and have all the money in the bank, waiting. This could be the fastest transaction it's possible to have. Andy is now waiting to hear about his disability allowances, and to be released from his employment contract. I said to him, "well, you're not a lot of use to them at present, are you?"
In the afternoon, we called on Andy and John. We each visited one and then swapped over! Both are doing very well. Andy is actually getting really excited at the thought of retirement - it's pretty brave of him really, he still can only walk a few steps in a shuffle using a frame, and may never walk independently again, but he's choosing to take a completely positive attitude. His son-in-law, who is paraplegic, has offered him a spare electric wheelchair and he's looking forward to whizzing around the village. He's looking forward to playing music again - don't think he'll manage his guitar for a while, but he can play his keyboard once he leaves hospital on Monday week. He has various plans to do voluntary work.
A digression - there is no doubt that a strong religious faith helps people get through such times, and accept what's happening to them. That is, what went wrong "just happened, one of those things", whereas the things that are going really well now are God-led and he's thankful for them. The point is, it doesn't matter in the least whether you think he's deluded or what, but that it's taking him out of a possible self-pity, for which no one could blame him, and helping his recovery and well-being. And if you think it's a delusion, please don't sneer, or not here - he still is choosing his positive attitude, and if he's being buoyed by faith, then good for him.
Since they've been home, things have gone remarkably well. They put their house on the market - photos were taken and particulars put out by the agent on Monday. On Wednesday, a couple came to see the house, put in an offer very near the asking price, which they accepted. They put in an offer on a bungalow in this village, which was accepted. The couple have sold their house, are living in a rented house and have all the money in the bank, waiting. This could be the fastest transaction it's possible to have. Andy is now waiting to hear about his disability allowances, and to be released from his employment contract. I said to him, "well, you're not a lot of use to them at present, are you?"
Friday, 28 January 2011
Zingo!
I came up with a suggestion today that, momentarily, silenced the Head, until he pointed out a fatal flaw - though with a certain regret, because he recognised the brilliance (not saying it was good, but it was brilliant). I've just realised, and emailed him to say, that the flaw is not necessarily fatal, having done a bit of remembering from yesterday's meeting - I had actually made a note of the relevant point, having no idea of its relevance at the time. However, I think it's too radical a plan - though it'd be fun and would completely wrong-foot certain unhelpful people.
You know sometimes, when there's a problem, you suddenly have a brilliant idea which doesn't quite hold water, but which opens up other pathways (waterways?), either in your brain or the other person's, that might float all the boats, though?* The Sage is excellent for bouncing ideas off - I rattle away excitedly and he listens with an indulgent air. Usually, by the time I've talked through it, I've noticed the impracticalities myself. But sometimes, the project takes off (this is how the wall idea started, with me saying "Wouldn't it be fun if..."). I do appreciate people who don't dampen enthusiasm.
I'm writing early this evening, because I'm going out. In fact, Dilly and I are both going to visit a friend, and being picked up by another. We're also, with three other of Dilly and Al's friends, going to the next village to a quiz and supper tomorrow night. This is terribly unusual for me. I might celebrate by going to the pub on Sunday. I haven't had a pint of Lightweight for ages.
A few minutes passes... Goodness, this is getting to be a social whirl. Ro just phoned and I've suggested I take him and Dora out to lunch tomorrow. I'm awfully excited. This is lovely. I do enjoy this sort of thing, I wonder why I don't do it more often?
*terribly sorry for that laboured and slightly implausible metaphor
You know sometimes, when there's a problem, you suddenly have a brilliant idea which doesn't quite hold water, but which opens up other pathways (waterways?), either in your brain or the other person's, that might float all the boats, though?* The Sage is excellent for bouncing ideas off - I rattle away excitedly and he listens with an indulgent air. Usually, by the time I've talked through it, I've noticed the impracticalities myself. But sometimes, the project takes off (this is how the wall idea started, with me saying "Wouldn't it be fun if..."). I do appreciate people who don't dampen enthusiasm.
I'm writing early this evening, because I'm going out. In fact, Dilly and I are both going to visit a friend, and being picked up by another. We're also, with three other of Dilly and Al's friends, going to the next village to a quiz and supper tomorrow night. This is terribly unusual for me. I might celebrate by going to the pub on Sunday. I haven't had a pint of Lightweight for ages.
A few minutes passes... Goodness, this is getting to be a social whirl. Ro just phoned and I've suggested I take him and Dora out to lunch tomorrow. I'm awfully excited. This is lovely. I do enjoy this sort of thing, I wonder why I don't do it more often?
*terribly sorry for that laboured and slightly implausible metaphor
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Marmalade recipe, using whole oranges
I'll put the link to the recipe using a pressure cooker at the end.
Prep: 40 min, Cook: 90 min
Ingredients
10 Seville oranges (weighs about 3 lbs, 1.5 kg)
2 lemons
1.5 litres water
2 kg sugar
Method
Put some saucers in the freezer. Simmer the whole oranges and lemons, covered, in the given water until the skin is very soft; this takes about 40 minutes depending on the fruit. Use a smaller upturned saucepan lid that fits comfortably inside the pan or a plate weighed down with a tin, to keep the fruit immersed. Piercing the oranges after about 20 minutes encourages sinking, and rotate the fruit if not fully immersed. A large saucepan makes this easier than using a preserving pan at this stage.
Lift the soft fruit into a colander over a bowl and leave to cool. You can speed this up by cutting each fruit in half and putting them onto a plate. Quarter the soft, cooled fruit. Use your fingers or a teaspoon to pinch out the seeds and hard membrane into a bowl. Slice or chop the peel in your preferred thickness. Do not worry about the thick pith as this will melt to thicken the marmalade.
At this point there is a choice. If you are quite sure the peel is cooked through, add the sugar to the liquid in the pan and stir, heating gently, until it’s completely dissolved. If it boils before it dissolves, it will become granular.
Or, if any of the peel shows a white layer, cook very gently for a few more minutes in the liquid until it’s cooked through. Once the sugar is added, the peel won’t soften any more.
Put the seeds into a sieve and push with a potato masher, The purée will come through, leaving the seeds behind. Put the purée in the pan (any odd seeds will float to the top later and can be skimmed off). If you haven’t a masher, just chuck in any purée you can isolate from the pips and abandon the rest.
Bring the marmalade to simmer over your largest burner stirring thoroughly and constantly with a long wooden spoon to avoid sticking points. Once the marmalade begins to simmer, increase the heat and boil hard, stirring occasionally, until setting point is reached. This varies depending on the fruit and previous evaporation and takes about 5 – 15 minutes. purée
Once it begins to look syrupy, test by placing a teaspoonful on an icy saucer. Cool, then push with your finger. If it wrinkles, it’s done. Leave the marmalade to settle for 5 minutes. Stir again and pour or ladle into hot, sterilised jam jars. Leave for 5 minutes, then cover and cool. Wipe any spillages off the jars while they’re still warm and it’ll come off easily. Label and leave for 24 hours to set before storing. Ready to eat immediately.
I have a preserving pan so would use that for boiling the marmalade. If using a saucepan, it must be large enough – the boiling mixture will more than double in volume. If it’s too much, halve the quantity (you could do the initial cooking, then halve for the final boil).
Link to Cottage Smallholder's recipe for marmalade using a pressure cooker
Link to Cottage Smallholder's recipe for marmalade using a pressure cooker
Analgesic Sage
I should have been writing about something quite different, but I was reminded, by means of Facebook, about the birth of Ro. By the way, his girlfriend Dora has just received news of a new baby nephew, so congratulations to her and the happy parents. So maybe this is appropriate after all.
Ro was due in August, but in the early hours of 24th July, I woke feeling uncomfortable. This continued for the rest of the night. I didn't get 'false alarms' so I reckoned that things were happening. It so happened that I was due a check-up with the gynaecologist that day, so I packed a bag, asked the Sage to drive me and arrived at the local hospital, and waited for my appointment. Waited, my left foot. I was left apologising to the Sage for giving up an entire morning. No idea what went wrong, but it was hours before I was called in. A few women had young children with them, they were in despair and the children inconsolable at being kept in a crowded waiting room. Anyway, eventually my name was called and I went in.
When Weeza was born, this chap had delivered her. Al was born at home under the care of the family doctor. This was lovely, but he'd retired. I asked my doctor if he did home deliveries, but he didn't and I really liked him and didn't want to change, so opted for the consultant I'd known ten years before (who didn't remember me, but then he sees a lot of rear ends and I don't suppose one stands out more than another).
I said to him, I was having labour pains and had had for eight hours. He didn't reply, but said he'd have a look. A painful few minutes later, he said he'd see me in a fortnight. That still rankles, twenty-six and a half years later, that he didn't actually address a word in answer to anything I said. I've favoured non-white/female/non-posh-voiced consultants ever since. (Any combination of)
I stalked out, we went home, I felt uncomfortable. At 3 o'clock, it moved up a gear, I phoned my mum who came straight over. I remember waving to Weeza and Al, standing looking anxious in the drive. We drove ten miles to the hospital. On the roundabout in Yarmouth, the car sounded as if there was a flat tyre. I was wriggling uncomfortably, the Sage was annoyingly calm. We discussed it and decided it was the road surface, which it was.
We got to the hospital and the Sage said that the dog needed to be fed (that was Simon, you don't know him) and buggered off, leaving me feeling a bit ... left.
Anyway, things progressed, I'll get to the point eventually. I was assigned two lovely midwives and taken to a room and they popped in regularly, but basically I was left. Which was fine, I'm better on my own. Eventually, I said politely that I would like my husband to be phoned. They did so, but there was no answer. I started to feel a bit desperate, I really wanted my Sage with me. It was rush hour, they said he was probably stuck in traffic. Finally, we couldn't wait, they started to help me on to a trolley to get me in to the delivery room. I was very uncomfortable.
The Sage arrived and put his arms round me. And as he put his arms around me, the pain vanished. I promise you, this is literally true. I felt all pain drain away - not vanishing in a moment, but steadily leaving me and draining away. And, although the contractions carried on happening, and I suppose it must have been quite a strong feeling, they never hurt again as they had.
I'd have made a good Scientologist mother, you know, I used to bear childbirth in silence. I cope better by focussing than letting it out. All the same, it was the Sage who brought me through that so easily. And I was quite looking forward to waving my new son at that rude obstetrician, but he didn't appear again. No great loss, we didn't need him.
Ro was due in August, but in the early hours of 24th July, I woke feeling uncomfortable. This continued for the rest of the night. I didn't get 'false alarms' so I reckoned that things were happening. It so happened that I was due a check-up with the gynaecologist that day, so I packed a bag, asked the Sage to drive me and arrived at the local hospital, and waited for my appointment. Waited, my left foot. I was left apologising to the Sage for giving up an entire morning. No idea what went wrong, but it was hours before I was called in. A few women had young children with them, they were in despair and the children inconsolable at being kept in a crowded waiting room. Anyway, eventually my name was called and I went in.
When Weeza was born, this chap had delivered her. Al was born at home under the care of the family doctor. This was lovely, but he'd retired. I asked my doctor if he did home deliveries, but he didn't and I really liked him and didn't want to change, so opted for the consultant I'd known ten years before (who didn't remember me, but then he sees a lot of rear ends and I don't suppose one stands out more than another).
I said to him, I was having labour pains and had had for eight hours. He didn't reply, but said he'd have a look. A painful few minutes later, he said he'd see me in a fortnight. That still rankles, twenty-six and a half years later, that he didn't actually address a word in answer to anything I said. I've favoured non-white/female/non-posh-voiced consultants ever since. (Any combination of)
I stalked out, we went home, I felt uncomfortable. At 3 o'clock, it moved up a gear, I phoned my mum who came straight over. I remember waving to Weeza and Al, standing looking anxious in the drive. We drove ten miles to the hospital. On the roundabout in Yarmouth, the car sounded as if there was a flat tyre. I was wriggling uncomfortably, the Sage was annoyingly calm. We discussed it and decided it was the road surface, which it was.
We got to the hospital and the Sage said that the dog needed to be fed (that was Simon, you don't know him) and buggered off, leaving me feeling a bit ... left.
Anyway, things progressed, I'll get to the point eventually. I was assigned two lovely midwives and taken to a room and they popped in regularly, but basically I was left. Which was fine, I'm better on my own. Eventually, I said politely that I would like my husband to be phoned. They did so, but there was no answer. I started to feel a bit desperate, I really wanted my Sage with me. It was rush hour, they said he was probably stuck in traffic. Finally, we couldn't wait, they started to help me on to a trolley to get me in to the delivery room. I was very uncomfortable.
The Sage arrived and put his arms round me. And as he put his arms around me, the pain vanished. I promise you, this is literally true. I felt all pain drain away - not vanishing in a moment, but steadily leaving me and draining away. And, although the contractions carried on happening, and I suppose it must have been quite a strong feeling, they never hurt again as they had.
I'd have made a good Scientologist mother, you know, I used to bear childbirth in silence. I cope better by focussing than letting it out. All the same, it was the Sage who brought me through that so easily. And I was quite looking forward to waving my new son at that rude obstetrician, but he didn't appear again. No great loss, we didn't need him.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
Burned out
My three half-days in Learning Support are done. I've been in such lessons before of course (SEN governor) but it was more concentrated than usual and, in addition, I was asked to fill in an observation sheet for each lesson as well as the sheet for the governors' records. If you've noticed a certain distraction the past couple of nights, it's been because that has taken ages, and much thought.
I sent a cheerily friendly email to a friend yesterday whom I haven't seen for months. He and I are really good friends but rarely bump into each other and, now not being on the same committee (we've both left it), we haven't got any particular reason to phone or email each other. I had a short reply (saying 'to be continued', however) describing the Burns Night party he and his wife went to last night. Everyone was expected to sing or recite something appropriate. I do know some Burns by heart, but I'd so not do that. Really. Goodness. What for? A few would enjoy it, the rest would find it an ordeal at best, totally appalling at worst. I'd be in the "what for" brigade of refuseniks.
No, actually, I've just thought, I wouldn't. I'd quote Rudyard Kipling's brief, twelve line poem about James I/VI. Which I should know. Not googling, so may not have it word perfect -
"The child of Mary Queen of Scots
A shifty mother's shiftless son
Bred up amid intrigue and plots
Learnèd in all things, wise in none.
Ungainly, babbling, wasteful, weak,
Shrewd, clever, cowardly, pedantic.
The sight of steel would blanch his cheek,
The smell of baccy drive him frantic.
He was the author of his line.
He wrote that witches should be burnt.
He wrote that monarchs were divine,
And left a son who - proved they weren't."*
Yup, a good antidote to all things Scottish. Not that I've a thing against them. My middle name is Buchanan.
Regrettably, that's true. If I'd been a boy, I'd have gone to school at Glenalmond.
* I learned this, years ago, while the Sage drove me to Wells Next The Sea. It was the year I decided to learn a poem. It was the shortest I could find.
I sent a cheerily friendly email to a friend yesterday whom I haven't seen for months. He and I are really good friends but rarely bump into each other and, now not being on the same committee (we've both left it), we haven't got any particular reason to phone or email each other. I had a short reply (saying 'to be continued', however) describing the Burns Night party he and his wife went to last night. Everyone was expected to sing or recite something appropriate. I do know some Burns by heart, but I'd so not do that. Really. Goodness. What for? A few would enjoy it, the rest would find it an ordeal at best, totally appalling at worst. I'd be in the "what for" brigade of refuseniks.
No, actually, I've just thought, I wouldn't. I'd quote Rudyard Kipling's brief, twelve line poem about James I/VI. Which I should know. Not googling, so may not have it word perfect -
"The child of Mary Queen of Scots
A shifty mother's shiftless son
Bred up amid intrigue and plots
Learnèd in all things, wise in none.
Ungainly, babbling, wasteful, weak,
Shrewd, clever, cowardly, pedantic.
The sight of steel would blanch his cheek,
The smell of baccy drive him frantic.
He was the author of his line.
He wrote that witches should be burnt.
He wrote that monarchs were divine,
And left a son who - proved they weren't."*
Yup, a good antidote to all things Scottish. Not that I've a thing against them. My middle name is Buchanan.
Regrettably, that's true. If I'd been a boy, I'd have gone to school at Glenalmond.
* I learned this, years ago, while the Sage drove me to Wells Next The Sea. It was the year I decided to learn a poem. It was the shortest I could find.
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Zedtective work
I've spent the last couple of hours searching emails for the Sage. He is a friendly sort, you see, and likes to keep in touch. Sometime last year, he called on someone (who lives in the same village as Ziggi, as it happens) and he wanted this chap's phone number. They had got in touch with each other via eBay, said the Sage.
The Sage said he'd called on him during the autumn, but I knew that couldn't be right - I'd visited Ziggi in August, after the Sage had called on his friend. By a great feat of memory, the Sage remembered his name, *John Smith*, but that wouldn't be given in the title of an eBay email. I spent some time looking, without success. I finally tore the Sage away from his computer and he went to look for last year's diary. That gave a date, and finally he remembered the item he'd gone to look at. I searched every damn email for six months and finally had to say I couldn't find it. I looked on BT.com for the chap's phone number, but he's ex-directory.
"What do you want to speak to him about?" I asked. "Oh, you know, just for a chat."
The Sage dozed off. I thought about it a bit further. And thought, maybe he contacted us direct, it was nothing to do with eBay.
Two minutes later, I was waking the Sage up with the news that I had the full correspondence, including address, email and phone number.
He couldn't cope without me. No one else would do it for him. Lucky he's worth it.
The Sage said he'd called on him during the autumn, but I knew that couldn't be right - I'd visited Ziggi in August, after the Sage had called on his friend. By a great feat of memory, the Sage remembered his name, *John Smith*, but that wouldn't be given in the title of an eBay email. I spent some time looking, without success. I finally tore the Sage away from his computer and he went to look for last year's diary. That gave a date, and finally he remembered the item he'd gone to look at. I searched every damn email for six months and finally had to say I couldn't find it. I looked on BT.com for the chap's phone number, but he's ex-directory.
"What do you want to speak to him about?" I asked. "Oh, you know, just for a chat."
The Sage dozed off. I thought about it a bit further. And thought, maybe he contacted us direct, it was nothing to do with eBay.
Two minutes later, I was waking the Sage up with the news that I had the full correspondence, including address, email and phone number.
He couldn't cope without me. No one else would do it for him. Lucky he's worth it.
Zycling again
I'm waiting for the train website to process my ticket order. I suspect it isn't going to happen tonight and I'll have to do it again tomorrow afternoon - very little chance that I'll do it in the morning. I've got to leave here by 8.30, which isn't what I've been used to recently.
The tickets aren't for me, the Sage is going to London in a couple of weeks to sort out a few odd jobs in the flat, and also evaluate the getting out of the washing machine. It's on the first floor, the stairs have a bend and the passageway is very narrow at one point. Weeza, who used to live there, frankly doubts that it will come out. I didn't see it going in, but it must have, unless the builders got it in through the window ... surely not. Anyway, after more than 11 years without so much as a service, it's done well. Of course, then there will be the getting in of a new one...
The website, which moved quickly through the booking form, isn't going through to process the order. I'll give it until I've finished this post.
I cycled in to the school this afternoon, and was not surprised, though quite shocked, by my unfitness. It's only a couple of miles each way, but I really struggled on the hill. Thinking about it, I went on holiday in early November, only cycled into town once or twice on my return, then the bad weather started and I am fairly sure I haven't done it since. It was colder than it seemed when I left, I was wearing a hat but my ears were bare and when I returned home, I had various whistles and bells in there for a while. Not sure if I can face it both tomorrow and the next day, and yet I'm going to have to get myself cycling again, because I don't want to use the car and I do want to be a bit more active. Not that I enjoy it. I don't get any pleasure from exercise, as such. Phil, my son-in-law, cycles 23 miles every day as part of his journey to and from work - sometimes, on a Friday afternoon, he cycles all the way home instead of taking the train, which adds about another 15 miles. He loves it. He also loves not having to watch what he eats - he reckons that 100 miles a week is enough to keep him trim. I'd be satisfied to get up to 20 again.
The aconites are in flower, by the way, I meant to mention it before. It's silly to think that winter is nearly over when it isn't even February yet, but it's hard not to, in view of the snow we had last month.I didn't get around to sending in a seed order with the gardening club, so I must get on and do it soon. I'm not sure what to grow this year, now I don't have to grow for the shop. It'll be smaller amounts, but I can grow a wider variety of things if I want to - I'd simplified it way down. On the other hand, I might give myself an easy year and grow mostly potatoes!
The tickets aren't for me, the Sage is going to London in a couple of weeks to sort out a few odd jobs in the flat, and also evaluate the getting out of the washing machine. It's on the first floor, the stairs have a bend and the passageway is very narrow at one point. Weeza, who used to live there, frankly doubts that it will come out. I didn't see it going in, but it must have, unless the builders got it in through the window ... surely not. Anyway, after more than 11 years without so much as a service, it's done well. Of course, then there will be the getting in of a new one...
The website, which moved quickly through the booking form, isn't going through to process the order. I'll give it until I've finished this post.
I cycled in to the school this afternoon, and was not surprised, though quite shocked, by my unfitness. It's only a couple of miles each way, but I really struggled on the hill. Thinking about it, I went on holiday in early November, only cycled into town once or twice on my return, then the bad weather started and I am fairly sure I haven't done it since. It was colder than it seemed when I left, I was wearing a hat but my ears were bare and when I returned home, I had various whistles and bells in there for a while. Not sure if I can face it both tomorrow and the next day, and yet I'm going to have to get myself cycling again, because I don't want to use the car and I do want to be a bit more active. Not that I enjoy it. I don't get any pleasure from exercise, as such. Phil, my son-in-law, cycles 23 miles every day as part of his journey to and from work - sometimes, on a Friday afternoon, he cycles all the way home instead of taking the train, which adds about another 15 miles. He loves it. He also loves not having to watch what he eats - he reckons that 100 miles a week is enough to keep him trim. I'd be satisfied to get up to 20 again.
The aconites are in flower, by the way, I meant to mention it before. It's silly to think that winter is nearly over when it isn't even February yet, but it's hard not to, in view of the snow we had last month.I didn't get around to sending in a seed order with the gardening club, so I must get on and do it soon. I'm not sure what to grow this year, now I don't have to grow for the shop. It'll be smaller amounts, but I can grow a wider variety of things if I want to - I'd simplified it way down. On the other hand, I might give myself an easy year and grow mostly potatoes!
Sunday, 23 January 2011
Z gets set
I made marmalade this afternoon. Other bloggers have been saying that for a couple of weeks ago, but Tim only had Seville oranges in for the first time yesterday. I know I'll be busy next week, so I thought I'd get a batch in at once. I used the method I tried for the first time last year, which means cooking the oranges whole - it's Lindsay Bareham's recipe from The Times last year (well, I think so) but I've made a couple of changes, just because I don't think she always explained it in full, so if anyone would like it, let me know. A couple of people have excellent recipes using a pressure cooker (I can do a link to one of them), and the traditional method I used to use is also very reliable - but takes longer and is more work.
I've been thinking about anniversaries again, but this isn't one of them, deliberately. I only mark good anniversaries, and my stepfather and father both died in the second half of January - not on the same day but not many days, although a good many years, apart. 24 for my stepfather, 41 for my father. I feel the loss of both of them. Whether you believe in an afterlife, in whatever form, or not, there is surely some sort of after-life in being remembered and missed by people who knew you.
Next week, I'll mostly be at school. It's a governors' link week, which means that the governors linked to a department go in to lessons, meet the head of faculty, talk to pupils, that sort of thing. The music teacher has been ill with flu, and I will not bother her with visits - I'll send her an email shortly, suggesting we leave it a couple of weeks until she's back into her stride - but I'm also Special Needs governor, so I'm going into a Lexia class, an Asdan class and an Outdoor Education class. Then I've got a morning being educated by the Local Authority on the pros and cons of being an Academy, a committee meeting, a meeting with the Head, another committee meeting and a lunch with governors and heads of faculty. So that'll be how I spend my week. Housework has to be done on Monday morning, when all the business emails come in (so, lucky the Sage has learned how to reply to them) and then there will be no time, not if I want to visit friends in hospital too. This is otherwise known as not having a job. Oh, and a friend is holding a Bodyshop party on Friday night, so Dilly and I are going to that.
I've just realised that I've mentioned everything I might have blogged about next week. Bugger. What shall I talk about, then? Or maybe I should take a week off.
I don't think it's likely. It's bad enough not having anything on the radio just after 7 o'clock to get used to. I don't want to listen to The Archers, I genuinely don't care and actively want not to get involved again, but I'm always cooking at 7 o'clock - well, normally - and now I do it in silence. I always listened to Front Row until dinner was cooked, and now I don't listen to that too. So it's quiet around here nowadays.
I've been thinking about anniversaries again, but this isn't one of them, deliberately. I only mark good anniversaries, and my stepfather and father both died in the second half of January - not on the same day but not many days, although a good many years, apart. 24 for my stepfather, 41 for my father. I feel the loss of both of them. Whether you believe in an afterlife, in whatever form, or not, there is surely some sort of after-life in being remembered and missed by people who knew you.
Next week, I'll mostly be at school. It's a governors' link week, which means that the governors linked to a department go in to lessons, meet the head of faculty, talk to pupils, that sort of thing. The music teacher has been ill with flu, and I will not bother her with visits - I'll send her an email shortly, suggesting we leave it a couple of weeks until she's back into her stride - but I'm also Special Needs governor, so I'm going into a Lexia class, an Asdan class and an Outdoor Education class. Then I've got a morning being educated by the Local Authority on the pros and cons of being an Academy, a committee meeting, a meeting with the Head, another committee meeting and a lunch with governors and heads of faculty. So that'll be how I spend my week. Housework has to be done on Monday morning, when all the business emails come in (so, lucky the Sage has learned how to reply to them) and then there will be no time, not if I want to visit friends in hospital too. This is otherwise known as not having a job. Oh, and a friend is holding a Bodyshop party on Friday night, so Dilly and I are going to that.
I've just realised that I've mentioned everything I might have blogged about next week. Bugger. What shall I talk about, then? Or maybe I should take a week off.
I don't think it's likely. It's bad enough not having anything on the radio just after 7 o'clock to get used to. I don't want to listen to The Archers, I genuinely don't care and actively want not to get involved again, but I'm always cooking at 7 o'clock - well, normally - and now I do it in silence. I always listened to Front Row until dinner was cooked, and now I don't listen to that too. So it's quiet around here nowadays.
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Hippy Anniversary
It's been a whole year. I've been looking back at the post I wrote as soon as I was back in my room after the operation. It's short, but worth reading for the lovely comments, for which, thank you again. I was so damn chirpy, wasn't I. I'd built myself up into quite a high, having managed to go, in a week or two, from extreme reluctance to have the operation to a gung-ho state that might be more usually associated with a bungee jumper (that is forbidden to me, by the way, as is parachuting).
The coffee morning was very jolly. I got up late and so didn't make a cake, so took marmalade instead. Tim has finally got Seville oranges in and I'll make a batch tomorrow. Sally, our hostess, had made cakes, rock buns, flapjacks and biscuits, so it was as well that I'd not eaten any breakfast in preparation. I don't usually not eat breakfast, I hasten to add. I've gone off porridge a bit for now, so usually have a poached egg on virtuously unbuttered toast. Buttered toast would be nicer, but I'm showing the lack of recent cycling with a gain in weight. I'm wary of cycling if the weather is cold, just now, as I keep getting a blocked feeling in my ears (as I mentioned two or three weeks ago), which then shifts and makes me dizzy. It's not bad, and it's the equivalent of blocked sinuses and I know that the doctor will just recommend a decongestant, so I just leave it.
I feel that it's the anniversary of getting my life back. I'm very grateful. I feel for those people whose implants have not been successful. Manufacturers are always on the look-out for new and better ones, but sometimes they turn out to be potentially unsafe, particularly the all-metal ones. I hope my other hip doesn't start to go, but there's no point fussing about it, it will or it won't. If I get a few active years before the downward lurch to another op, then I'll be happy. It's not the new hip, it's the gradual deterioration that's the downer - but the main thing is, it's completely treatable. I'm absolutely fine now, and - well - I'm glad and grateful. I'll go back for a checkup and another x-ray with Mr C in a few weeks, and I'll tell him.
The coffee morning was very jolly. I got up late and so didn't make a cake, so took marmalade instead. Tim has finally got Seville oranges in and I'll make a batch tomorrow. Sally, our hostess, had made cakes, rock buns, flapjacks and biscuits, so it was as well that I'd not eaten any breakfast in preparation. I don't usually not eat breakfast, I hasten to add. I've gone off porridge a bit for now, so usually have a poached egg on virtuously unbuttered toast. Buttered toast would be nicer, but I'm showing the lack of recent cycling with a gain in weight. I'm wary of cycling if the weather is cold, just now, as I keep getting a blocked feeling in my ears (as I mentioned two or three weeks ago), which then shifts and makes me dizzy. It's not bad, and it's the equivalent of blocked sinuses and I know that the doctor will just recommend a decongestant, so I just leave it.
I feel that it's the anniversary of getting my life back. I'm very grateful. I feel for those people whose implants have not been successful. Manufacturers are always on the look-out for new and better ones, but sometimes they turn out to be potentially unsafe, particularly the all-metal ones. I hope my other hip doesn't start to go, but there's no point fussing about it, it will or it won't. If I get a few active years before the downward lurch to another op, then I'll be happy. It's not the new hip, it's the gradual deterioration that's the downer - but the main thing is, it's completely treatable. I'm absolutely fine now, and - well - I'm glad and grateful. I'll go back for a checkup and another x-ray with Mr C in a few weeks, and I'll tell him.
Friday, 21 January 2011
Z eats breakfast at lunchtime - you'd think there would be a word for that
I saw both John and Andy today in hospital and they're both looking loads better. Each has their own room, with a bathroom, with charming staff who pop in to make sure there are enough clean towels and that sort of thing. John's radio didn't work very well, and by the time one was found that did, three different people, including the top brass, had been onto the case. The hospital does have voluntary support, but is still largely funded by the NHS - mind you, the government tried to close it down about ten years ago, in the interests of "efficiency" and it was only a concerted local effort, which included pressure from the doctors' surgery, that saved it. There would be even more of a problem with "bed-blockers' as those who aren't fit to return home but can't find interim care are insultingly named, if such places had all closed.
Other than that, not a lot. I've brought my paperwork up to date and paid bills. I got up extremely late, having slept on and off until 11 o'clock this morning. I've not slept well since the nights turned mild a few weeks ago and it finally caught up with me yesterday, when I really didn't feel too sharp.
Tomorrow, I'm going to a coffee morning. I haven't been to one of those for years, I hardly knew they still existed. I think there's a bring and buy stall too. I have no idea what to take. Should I make cake?
Other than that, not a lot. I've brought my paperwork up to date and paid bills. I got up extremely late, having slept on and off until 11 o'clock this morning. I've not slept well since the nights turned mild a few weeks ago and it finally caught up with me yesterday, when I really didn't feel too sharp.
Tomorrow, I'm going to a coffee morning. I haven't been to one of those for years, I hardly knew they still existed. I think there's a bring and buy stall too. I have no idea what to take. Should I make cake?
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Kind Sage
Today, I've mostly been babysitting. Weeza had an appointment over lunchtime and in to the early afternoon, so I extricated myself from my lunch engagement and a couple of meetings. It all went fine, I picked up a couple of friends and took them to the lunch as promised, and gave them papers to be handed out - I'm secretary of this lunch club, which is very little work.
Zerlina wanted to go to sleep soon after Weeza left, so babysitting didn't involve any actual childcare. When I arrived home, the Sage said that Al and Dilly has to go to Norwich, so I've spent the evening here babysitting too, except while I was cooking dinner and the Sage took over.
He has had a day of looking after people too. John is now in the local cottage hospital, the Sage having organised it. That is, he would have had to wait longer or maybe gone to a different hospital, but the Sage helped. Then he went to see Andy, who is also in the same hospital. And then he went to visit the wife of a dear friend of his, who died a few days ago. So he has excelled even his usual lovely self in kindness today.
Zerlina wanted to go to sleep soon after Weeza left, so babysitting didn't involve any actual childcare. When I arrived home, the Sage said that Al and Dilly has to go to Norwich, so I've spent the evening here babysitting too, except while I was cooking dinner and the Sage took over.
He has had a day of looking after people too. John is now in the local cottage hospital, the Sage having organised it. That is, he would have had to wait longer or maybe gone to a different hospital, but the Sage helped. Then he went to see Andy, who is also in the same hospital. And then he went to visit the wife of a dear friend of his, who died a few days ago. So he has excelled even his usual lovely self in kindness today.
Wednesday, 19 January 2011
Z dines out
We were going out this evening, and I was a bit reluctant. Not for the being out so much as for the going up and getting changed into something not as warm and venturing outside. It was the Classic Car Club Christmas dinner. It's always held well into January.
I'm quite happy to go, although I find the conversation a bit sticky. I'm not uninterested in old cars, but I haven't the passion for them that most members have. Usually, when someone starts talking about a particular interest, you can just listen and, by interjecting the odd reasonably unstupid comment or question, you can turn it into a one-sided conversation rather than a monologue. It's more difficult when you should reasonably be expected to know a bit about the subject.
The talk wasn't all about old cars, of course, and everyone was very jolly. I have eaten rather more than usual, I have to admit.
Years ago, I remember, I was at a party, a get-together for parents at Weeza and Al's prep schools. It was held at a very nice local hotel owned by one of the boys' parents. It was in the summer and we all sat around tables outside to eat. One man was very tongue-tied and shy and hardly said a word throughout the meal. Chatting afterwards, somehow the subject of honey bees came up. This chap's face lit up. Seems he was an enthusiast, and at last he could join in the conversation. Not having good social skills, however, he didn't know how to make it a conversation and, half an hour later, he and I were still talking about bees and everyone else had quietly melted away, including his wife. She was a sociable woman and was off chatting happily, having seen her husband in safe hands. I hadn't actually got stuck, although I had had enough of the bee talk, to be honest. I was in one of my rare moods of kindness. The man knew a lot and talked well, it was just his awkwardness that didn't let him join in general conversation. It was, admittedly boring - I came up with every single think I knew about bees and thought of various questions too, and couldn't find a way out of the hive talk. He had a good evening though, and so did his wife, so I didn't mind, just for once.
More recently, although still a while ago, we went to dinner with friends. Another couple was there, who had moved into the village not long ago, and one got the impression that they didn't really go to dinner parties, or whatever you might choose them to disguise the fact that the best glasses actually had been got out. The hostess warmly welcomed us and was chatting away, and then excused herself to see to the dinner. A silence fell. I suddenly became aware that everyone was looking hopefully at me.
I was quite tired that evening, in fact. I was not unhappy about going out, but I'd quite have liked to sit back and be entertained and not do much talking. But, I realised, there was an expectation that I'd start the conversation off and be sparkling. So, I took the proffered glass of wine from our host, took a gulp from it and started chatting. I hadn't been mistaken, faces lit up into a "Z's off!" expression and it all went fine. And, of course, once you pretend to be in a mood, you become it, so I wasn't tired any more. I was uncomfortably aware that everyone assumed it was the first glug of wine that did it to me, however, whereas it was, in fact, an effort of will.
I'm not so good at a general party, however, the sort where people stand around in little groups with glasses of wine. The business of circulating, not spending too long with anyone but extricating yourself without leaving them flat - or being the one left alone, looking for a conversation or a lone person to join - having lots of small talk that is entertaining without being too involving, eating the occasional canapé without spilling it down your front or getting tomato stuck between your front teeth is something I've never really mastered. How many people have, I wonder? You rarely get anyone who admits to enjoying it.
Mind you, I did well the other month. Back last summer, we went to London to view an auction - we'd viewed it in the daytime, and then there was an official view, with wine and canapés, in the evening, to which we'd been invited. It went quite well, because there was always the china to talk about, and to look at if you were alone for a few minutes. The Sage always abandons me instantly on these occasions. There's no question of us looking after each other. However, after an hour or so, we found ourselves together, talking to a very nice chap, whom we offered to send a catalogue of our next sale, and he came to the sale. When he turned up to the sale, four or five months after this meeting, I greeted him by name. It was a rare triumph, and he was duly flattered.
I'm quite happy to go, although I find the conversation a bit sticky. I'm not uninterested in old cars, but I haven't the passion for them that most members have. Usually, when someone starts talking about a particular interest, you can just listen and, by interjecting the odd reasonably unstupid comment or question, you can turn it into a one-sided conversation rather than a monologue. It's more difficult when you should reasonably be expected to know a bit about the subject.
The talk wasn't all about old cars, of course, and everyone was very jolly. I have eaten rather more than usual, I have to admit.
Years ago, I remember, I was at a party, a get-together for parents at Weeza and Al's prep schools. It was held at a very nice local hotel owned by one of the boys' parents. It was in the summer and we all sat around tables outside to eat. One man was very tongue-tied and shy and hardly said a word throughout the meal. Chatting afterwards, somehow the subject of honey bees came up. This chap's face lit up. Seems he was an enthusiast, and at last he could join in the conversation. Not having good social skills, however, he didn't know how to make it a conversation and, half an hour later, he and I were still talking about bees and everyone else had quietly melted away, including his wife. She was a sociable woman and was off chatting happily, having seen her husband in safe hands. I hadn't actually got stuck, although I had had enough of the bee talk, to be honest. I was in one of my rare moods of kindness. The man knew a lot and talked well, it was just his awkwardness that didn't let him join in general conversation. It was, admittedly boring - I came up with every single think I knew about bees and thought of various questions too, and couldn't find a way out of the hive talk. He had a good evening though, and so did his wife, so I didn't mind, just for once.
More recently, although still a while ago, we went to dinner with friends. Another couple was there, who had moved into the village not long ago, and one got the impression that they didn't really go to dinner parties, or whatever you might choose them to disguise the fact that the best glasses actually had been got out. The hostess warmly welcomed us and was chatting away, and then excused herself to see to the dinner. A silence fell. I suddenly became aware that everyone was looking hopefully at me.
I was quite tired that evening, in fact. I was not unhappy about going out, but I'd quite have liked to sit back and be entertained and not do much talking. But, I realised, there was an expectation that I'd start the conversation off and be sparkling. So, I took the proffered glass of wine from our host, took a gulp from it and started chatting. I hadn't been mistaken, faces lit up into a "Z's off!" expression and it all went fine. And, of course, once you pretend to be in a mood, you become it, so I wasn't tired any more. I was uncomfortably aware that everyone assumed it was the first glug of wine that did it to me, however, whereas it was, in fact, an effort of will.
I'm not so good at a general party, however, the sort where people stand around in little groups with glasses of wine. The business of circulating, not spending too long with anyone but extricating yourself without leaving them flat - or being the one left alone, looking for a conversation or a lone person to join - having lots of small talk that is entertaining without being too involving, eating the occasional canapé without spilling it down your front or getting tomato stuck between your front teeth is something I've never really mastered. How many people have, I wonder? You rarely get anyone who admits to enjoying it.
Mind you, I did well the other month. Back last summer, we went to London to view an auction - we'd viewed it in the daytime, and then there was an official view, with wine and canapés, in the evening, to which we'd been invited. It went quite well, because there was always the china to talk about, and to look at if you were alone for a few minutes. The Sage always abandons me instantly on these occasions. There's no question of us looking after each other. However, after an hour or so, we found ourselves together, talking to a very nice chap, whom we offered to send a catalogue of our next sale, and he came to the sale. When he turned up to the sale, four or five months after this meeting, I greeted him by name. It was a rare triumph, and he was duly flattered.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Roach for the shy
I am alone. Just for the evening, that is, the Sage is at a meeting. I feel more pleasure than is warranted by his absence, because he's at a PCC meeting, and I'm no longer on the PCC (this is, I should explain, the committee that runs the church. I used to be secretary and then, for six years, churchwarden). I have been asked if I'd be willing to rejoin at the AGM in April and I've said no. I was forewarned that the present secretary is standing down, and I have to admit to myself that I don't want to be secretary of anything again, partly because I'd have no one to delegate to. But I'd not do it anyway. If anything proves to me that I made the right decision, it's the glee I feel when there's a meeting on and I don't have to go to it.
The Sage's sister gave us a tin of chocolate biscuits for Christmas. We're quite matter-of-fact about this, we give her Stilton and she gives us chocolate biscuits. When the Sage opened the tin, he offered it to me and I took one. Just now, I thought that maybe I'd have another. I've just looked and there are three left. Hmm. Not that I've any objection to his eating of good quality chocolate biscuits, but I've only seen him munching two or three of them, and the tin has been in this room the whole time. He's a secret muncher!
Anyway, I thought I might watch television. Nothing appealed. The least tempting offer was on Channel Four - sorry, Channel 4 - Grimefighters, A Dagenham flat overrun by cockroaches. So I'm listening to a CD of Round the Horne, instead.
I am quite relaxed around all sorts of creepy crawlies. I'm the one in the family who's called on to lift spiders out of the bath, centipedes out of the artichoke and bishy barnabies (not that anyone dislikes them, of course, except the Harlequin variety on principle) from the rosebud. I did have quite a thing about cockroaches, however. We once had a load of coal delivered, when I was a child, into the cellar and it must have contained eggs, because during that winter a great many of the little beasts emerged into the kitchen. They're terribly difficult to kill, being almost impervious to insecticide. Stamping on them is the best option, and my mother used to sneak out into the kitchen, snap on the light and lunge on to as many as possible as they scurried for cover. It was most unpleasant. Eventually they were vanquished and I never saw one again until, in a fairly basic hotel in India, they were always to be found in the bathroom. To my surprise, they didn't bother me at all. They were quite small, for one thing, and they weren't in a kitchen (my poor ma, how horrible for her). I was relieved that what I'd thought was a lifetime phobia had resolved itself into matter-of-factness. I still don't want to see a television programme about them, however.
As I say, they're almost impossible to kill except by a direct blow, and there are various creatures and plants like that, and I always wonder, why haven't they completely taken over? In my garden, it's a constant battle - well, it would be if I hadn't given in long ago - against ground elder, thistles, nettles, brambles and bindweed. So how come they don't cover the entire ground? And sycamore trees! - A large example blew down in 1986 and we were getting seedlings sprouting up for years afterwards. I was really pleased when it blew down, even though it landed across the drive (no harm done) because of those damn seedlings, and there are still a few saplings that, however often they're cut down, keep sprouting again. Then there's hawthorn, which self-seeds everywhere, elder bushes, all sorts of things. Is there something self-limiting about them, so that they kill themselves after a few years' proliferation?
The Sage's sister gave us a tin of chocolate biscuits for Christmas. We're quite matter-of-fact about this, we give her Stilton and she gives us chocolate biscuits. When the Sage opened the tin, he offered it to me and I took one. Just now, I thought that maybe I'd have another. I've just looked and there are three left. Hmm. Not that I've any objection to his eating of good quality chocolate biscuits, but I've only seen him munching two or three of them, and the tin has been in this room the whole time. He's a secret muncher!
Anyway, I thought I might watch television. Nothing appealed. The least tempting offer was on Channel Four - sorry, Channel 4 - Grimefighters, A Dagenham flat overrun by cockroaches. So I'm listening to a CD of Round the Horne, instead.
I am quite relaxed around all sorts of creepy crawlies. I'm the one in the family who's called on to lift spiders out of the bath, centipedes out of the artichoke and bishy barnabies (not that anyone dislikes them, of course, except the Harlequin variety on principle) from the rosebud. I did have quite a thing about cockroaches, however. We once had a load of coal delivered, when I was a child, into the cellar and it must have contained eggs, because during that winter a great many of the little beasts emerged into the kitchen. They're terribly difficult to kill, being almost impervious to insecticide. Stamping on them is the best option, and my mother used to sneak out into the kitchen, snap on the light and lunge on to as many as possible as they scurried for cover. It was most unpleasant. Eventually they were vanquished and I never saw one again until, in a fairly basic hotel in India, they were always to be found in the bathroom. To my surprise, they didn't bother me at all. They were quite small, for one thing, and they weren't in a kitchen (my poor ma, how horrible for her). I was relieved that what I'd thought was a lifetime phobia had resolved itself into matter-of-factness. I still don't want to see a television programme about them, however.
As I say, they're almost impossible to kill except by a direct blow, and there are various creatures and plants like that, and I always wonder, why haven't they completely taken over? In my garden, it's a constant battle - well, it would be if I hadn't given in long ago - against ground elder, thistles, nettles, brambles and bindweed. So how come they don't cover the entire ground? And sycamore trees! - A large example blew down in 1986 and we were getting seedlings sprouting up for years afterwards. I was really pleased when it blew down, even though it landed across the drive (no harm done) because of those damn seedlings, and there are still a few saplings that, however often they're cut down, keep sprouting again. Then there's hawthorn, which self-seeds everywhere, elder bushes, all sorts of things. Is there something self-limiting about them, so that they kill themselves after a few years' proliferation?
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