I suspect this is meant more to encourage than to describe

My Inner Hero - Paladin!





I strive to help others, and to bring truth and harmony to the world however I can*. Whether times are good or bad, you can always count on me**. I'm a shoulder to cry on, a champion for the helpless, and an all around nice person***.



How about you? Click here to find your own inner hero

*Can't you just see my tongue curling into my cheek here?
**Preferably good.
***Not all around, you should just see my other side.

Character Stats:

Rogue (14)
Warrior (6)
Wizard (12)
Paladin (15)

I think it's Rogue, almost equal with Paladin (what's a paladin, anyway?) that really describes me.

I did this a few days ago and have forgotten whose blog I got it from. Sorry.

I spoil the Sage

He's had fun this evening.

You wouldn't think a stand-up real-life auctioneer-for-forty-years would like eBay so much, would you.

I even paid.

The family story – part 11 – the Land Army, part 1

If the farmer had expected a landgirl who would feed the hens and not know a cow from a bull, he received a pleasant surprise. Not only was Jane a knowledgeable countrywoman, she was determined to earn the respect of the men by working hard and well and expected no concessions. She was of medium height, slender, with curly brown hair ... I have no photos of her when young, but she was told she looked like Deanna Durbin. She loved horse riding and enjoyed working with the horses - there were cart horses and an ex-polo pony. Nearly all the farm work was done with horses or by hand, rather than with tractors or other machinery. It was a family farm run by two brothers and the other workers were older men, beyond the age to be called up. Other Land Girls did come along, but they were all from the city and were teased - not unkindly - for example someone would rub his arms, comment on the draught and ask the girl to run and shut the five-barred gate.

Jane prided herself on her skill with horses. She could judge to an inch how to take a load of hay through a gateway and, small as she was, she could manage the biggest cart horse. The cows liked to be milked by her as she was more gentle than some of the men and took into account their personalities. However, she told of one time when a particularly cussed-natured cow, known as a kicker, waited until the pail was almost full before lashing out, tipping out all the milk and knocking Jane flat on her back. "You sod" she exclaimed, to the great amusement of the men, who had never heard her swear.

She found aspects of farming hard. There was one pig kept for the farm each year, which was bought in as a weaner and fed all the household scraps, boiled into swill, the leftover buttermilk and grain as required, and then slaughtered in the autumn to feed the household during the winter. She avoided the pig, as she felt she could not eat any animal she had looked in the eye - but one summer day, it was standing in its sty, front trotters on the gate, and looked hopefully at her. She went to greet it, scratched its head, talked to it...she said she went very hungry that winter. She couldn't touch a mouthful of the meat and the farmer's mother, who thought she was ridiculously sentimental, would not give her any alternative food. You would think she would have been allowed to fill up on potatoes and bread; it was a farm after all, but she was strictly rationed.

My mother was passionately opposed to identity cards as a result of her Land Army experiences. She said that they were more nuisance to the law-abiding than anyone else and - well, quite a lot else that this place is irrelevant to put. She told one tale of a blistering hot day, when she, on her own with the sheepdog, had to move a flock of sheep from one field to another a mile down the road. This was going well until PC Jobsworth stopped her and asked to see her ID card. She hadn't got it. She hadn't thought of herself as going off the farm and she was in her lightest summer clothes. She pointed out that a) he knew her and b) it would take an unusually determined spy to drive a flock of sheep to disguise her tracks. Constable Jobsworth gave her a lecture on 'there's a war on, you know', which she had to listen to as, in despair, she saw the sheep wandering off in all directions. It took a long time to round them all up again.

The worst job was pulling up the various beets - sugarbeet, mangle wurzels, turnips and the like. You had to pull them up, chop off the leaves and toss them to the side to be loaded onto a cart. This was an autumn job and muddy beets are hard to get a grip on, for pulling and for chopping. It was often cold and wet and standing at one corner of a field, seeing acres of beet stretching ahead of you, is a daunting prospect. On the other hand, she enjoyed hoeing carrots. She had a short hoe that she had to bend to use - the men had all rejected it. She found that she could put her back into the job and work quicker than any of them.

This is too long to go in one post, more another time

Z should be working, but has found an excuse to blog instead

I lurched out of bed late this morning. I woke up, dozed and woke again more zonked than before. I lay supine for another half hour before I was able to stir myself.

When I arrived downstairs, I discovered that there had been a message from our chainsaw-wielding chum, to say that he had to work this morning so can't come to help with the trees - we have a large ash tree down and a scrubbier hawthorn. They are both on the field, but the roots of the ash have come up, leaving a hole by the beck and the thorn has fallen over the beck itself. They will both need sorting out; let's hope that, once cut, the ash stump will just drop back into place. The beck has a gravel base and disturbance isn't good for it.

Squiffany and I did have our happy day yesterday. We went for a walk round the village. I'd thought to walk into Yagnub, but Tilly the dog looked so hopeful that I changed my mind. A dog on an extending lead and a child in a pushchair are not easy to manage on the main road to Yagnub, which has a narrow footpath. Tilly feels very self-important when she is responsible for Squffany. It is the only time when she is not nervous of other dogs. She even goes into territory-marking - stopping to pee every few minutes and, hilariously, trying to lift her leg against a wall or lamppost like a dog. She gave a hard stare at a cat, surprised behind a parked car, but they both moved in in a dignified way.

When we arrived home, the Sage's car was missing. My bag was in the house and we were locked out. Fortunately, I'd fetched something out of my car before going out and left the key in the ignition. So the three of us went in to Yagnub to ask Al if his father was around. He had, it seemed, received a phone call from an Elderly Friend in Distress, whose electricity was off after the gale and who was worried about the contents of her freezer. Sage forgiven for forgetting us, I borrowed money from Al and we went out to lunch here.*

Dilly arrived home while Squiffany was eating tea - scrambled eggs on toast followed by a satsuma ... I'd gone for the simple option that I knew she'd eat. Sqiffany wielded a spoon in one hand and a fork in the other skilfully and didn't notice her mother for a few minutes. Then "oh, hello, Mummy, hello Pugsley," she said and kept on eating. Halfway through the satsuma, she suddenly looked at me. "Thank you, thank you, Granny" she said. "Hug." And I received a juicy orange hug and kiss.

*This is more child-friendly than the review sounds as you can have anything from a teacake or sandwich to a full meal.

Today, I'm mostly being Granny

Dilly is planning a day with her sisters. They would like to have a good chat and to enjoy each other's company. Toddlers take most of the attention, especially if they are very happy to see their aunties.

No power cuts, some branches and part of a fence down, some broken glass in the greenhouses but the structures have survived. One ash tree has fallen on the field, but harmlessly.

The sun is shining today. I think we'll go for a walk. Maybe we'll call on friends. Perhaps we'll go on the swings. Go to see Daddy in the shop and maybe call at the café for a snack or lunch.

It'll all be delightful and relaxing and by this evening I will be entirely exhausted.

The wind is blowing. However, the snow is not snowing and the cattle are not lowing.

A hasty post in case the phone line goes off again. It is being rubbed lovingly by a tall and gangly broom (shrub, not besom; an explanation I've already given to a friend - sorry to bore you, AB, if you look in) and might go. I have heard two creaks and crashes, which sounded like branches rather than whole trees. One of the greenhouses is badly bowed; let it go if it will, there's nothing to be done about it. I have lit a nightlight so that we will not be left scrambling for matches if the lights go out. Nothing more to do, as long as the tall pine that is due to be cut down (after our experience of a couple of weeks ago) doesn't fall on the house.

I'm watching television as I write, with tears in my eyes, at the lives lost during this storm. In the usual English way, it is not a dreadful gale by global standards, but we like our undemonstrative weather and this is quite bad enough in its unpredictable devastation.

The Family story – part 10 – the War

My mother, Jane, and her father had moved to a village near Weymouth. Jane was disappointed to find that her new school was not a patch on the previous one. However, home life was much happier. Her father, proud and angry, had left his wife with virtually everything he owned and money was tight, although he owned his bungalow and a car, so he can't have been too badly off. Perhaps he had inherited money when his mother had died. I don't know, this was one amongst many questions I never thought to ask my mother.

He gave housekeeping money to Jane and she kept house. I don't know if she did all the housework or if they had a daily; she never mentioned one. Grandad lived in the bungalow for the rest of his life. It isn't there now; there was a large garden and the house has been pulled down and new houses built - this is in the Coombe (hope I've spelt it right, it's a long time since I wrote it down) Valley in beautiful scenery.

My grandfather was not an easy man to live with - he had left his wife with everything impulsively and rather regretted it, and he had had much unhappiness and disappointment in his life. However, I think it was a happy time. They regularly went to the cinema and belonged to a rambling club. They were both musical - Grandad, at that time, had an oboe, which he later sold in exchange for a clarinet; a Boosey & Hawkes Regent, dating from the early 1950s (he bought it second-hand), which I still play*. Jane played the piano, which she loved. She was self-taught - she always rather resented the fact that her father had refused to pay for lessons - and her most treasured possession was her grandmother's grand piano. They used to hold musical evenings with friends who brought their violin, flute or other instruments.

A year or so later, the War broke out. It seems odd that Weymouth, on the South Coast of England, was used as a refuge, but London children were sent there for safety from the Blitz. It was decided that the local children should go to school in the mornings and the London ones in the afternoon. Books had to be left at school for the others to use. The Headmistress was obsessed with drill and held practices several times a week, when an alarm would ring and all the children had to run out to the air-raid shelter. Jane was receiving no useful education at all, and left school in the summer of 1940, when she was 16.

She went to a secretarial school in Weymouth near the harbour. By this time, there were regular sorties by German war planes and they were intercepted by the British planes. These 'dogfights', as they were called, took place in sight of the school and the girls excitedly ran up on to the flat roof to get the best view. The Principal of the school, a rather dainty, prissy man whose name I have forgotten, hurried up after them, wringing his hands. If they were lucky, a German plane was shot down, the pilots ejected into the water and were rescued and arrested. The girls ran back downstairs again and outside in time to see them being walked dejectedly along the road to the police station. They had always lost their boots and trooped along in socks. This fun came to an abrupt end one day when it was a British plane that was shot down in flames and there were no survivors. The girls never watched the dogfights again. They were also upset when a German plane came down in a field a couple of miles away and was not found until a week later, when it was too late to rescue the pilots who had survived but were trapped.

After she had gained her secretarial qualifications, Jane went to work as Almoner's Assistant at Weymouth Hospital. She enjoyed this job as she loved to meet people. She greeted everyone as they came for their appointments and took records of their health insurance. This was, of course, before the days of the National Health Service, but she said that it worked well and no one (in this hospital) went untreated. They used to pay a penny, or a few pence, a week, depending on their circumstances and this qualified them for full treatment. She prided herself on remembering each person's name and ailment and asked after their family - she contrasted this with my father's treatment ten years later when he had a broken arm. He visited the hospital weekly for a couple of months, and on the last visit the receptionist, who had seen him each time, snapped "Name?" just as abruptly as she had on the first.

The only fly in that particular ointment was that, although she was entitled to a free lunch, she found herself unable to eat it and had to take a packed lunch. She could not take the gruesome conversation of the nurses who chatted about their day's work.

She also discovered that her father, as her share of the expenses, expected her to buy all food, cleaning materials and other household essentials. He paid the bills, but she had no money to spend on herself. She had one weekday dress for each season and bought two removable white collars, so that she could wash one each evening and iron it the next, washing the dress each week.

Once she reached 18, she knew that, sooner or later, she would be called up to one of the services. She did not want this at all. For one thing, she did not want to wear a uniform, for another, she did not want to be sent who knows where, and she was also shyly disconcerted by the notion of the required medical examination. So she decided to volunteer to join the Land Army.

* Some years ago I took it to be tuned to an old man who was pleased to see it. "I must have tuned this before it left the factory," he said. "I worked for Boosey & Hawkes in the 50s and I tuned all the clarinets."

What's in a job?

Dandelion put me on the spot by challenging my assertion that "I never ask about jobs as I do not evaluate people by what they do for a living."

I don't of course *never* find out what someone's job is or *never* express an interest in it - some very interesting conversations are with people who have decided to take on a challenging and unusual job, or who love their job. However, a great many people draw conclusions simply by what your job is and, more tellingly, what you earn from it and what prestige it gives you. It can get in the way of making your own mind up about what someone 'is' as a person. Finding out what his interests are tells you much more. I had a friend who was a carpenter working for a local builder, skilled at what he did, but it wasn't his greatest interest; he had a huge passion for and knowledge of Lowestoft porcelain and classical music. I love to hear about a person's enthusiasms, even if I don't share them. Once, years ago, at a party, a very shy man was completely tongue-tied until he found an opening to start talking about bees. Although, in his keenness, he talked for too long about bees, it was endearing as well as interesting to hear him. I don't know what his job was, but I suspect I'd have simply found out his approximate income and social standing by asking, and I have no interest in that at all - which was what I meant by 'I don't evaluate...'

Of course, if someone loves their job and is glad to tell you about it, that is part of getting to know them. You would not talk to the Sage for long without finding out about his work, nor to Al. My other two children, whilst being happy in their jobs, probably would not bother to chat about them in a social situation. Ro's job, for instance, is in IT. You ask what he does. "I work in the IT department of a local factory that makes ***." What is there to follow up? Does he enjoy it, has he been there long, is it a field he wishes to stay in - if you had a similar job you might ask a technical question or two, but you wouldn't know more about his personality from it, unless you have a 'mind's eye' view of IT technicians that could cloud, one way or another, your view of him. On the other hand, ask me about porcelain and I'll still be enthusing quite some time later. You would, indeed, be taught quite a bit about me, if only never to bring up the subject again.

Once, someone said to me - and he meant it in quite a complimentary way -"I should think you don't suffer fools gladly." "I love fools," I replied, hurt, "I'm a fool myself." When I meet someone, I try not to prejudge them. I am predisposed to like them and sometimes, of course, there is an instant rapport. But I don't feel a wish to judge or decide about them, I would want to accept them on their own terms and receive the message they wish to give. I draw some conclusions from that, of course, but I still keep my mind open.

I take on board Dandelion's comment (about herself) I'm sometimes too self-absorbed to really care enough for it to occur to me to ask as that certainly used to apply to me. I was far too shy and self-conscious for many years to wonder about the person I was speaking to, I was more concerned with worrying about the impression I was giving. I don't think that's the case now, if anything I'm slightly under-concerned about my own self-portrayal.

I wrote, a few weeks ago, about going to see someone on business, whom we'd known for years and who had always disregarded me, but that, on that occasion, he started to see me as a more interesting and likeable person. I did put some effort into charming him, but what I didn't mention at the time was that (after the initial spark of friendship had been lit, for we'd got on to more personal conversation by then) I referred to the place where I grew up, which was the poshest part of Oulton Broad. He asked if I'd known a couple of families and I did; they were close friends of my parents. He asked what my father did for a living - I was slightly startled by this and replied "Er, nothing ... he just 'lived'." An odd way of putting it, but he was, indeed, a man of independent means and this came across in my confused words. The businessman was impressed. And that, to me, was a little offputting - except that I know, for another friend had told me, that his own father had built up his business from very humble beginnings; they had adopted a different way of life and left their roots behind. Whilst this is not the way people go now, they would be proud, if anything, of both their achievements and their origins, it was not often the case 50 years ago. And so, whilst not liking the hint of snobbery, I understood its origins and did not 'mark him down' for it.

Darling Dandelion, I bet you wish you hadn't asked. Have I explained? I don't expect to be agreed with and I like to be challenged, thank you for your comment.

And if one green bottle...

should accidentally fall, you'll get pale brown lager all around the hall. This was unfortunate, but when, later, I knocked over the bottle I was drinking from (not at the moment I was drinking, you understand, I'd put it down) and spilled it on the carpet, it seemed more like carelessness.

On the other hand, my luck was in and I won a bag of seed potatoes at the Gardening Club raffle. I sat next to a woman I hadn't seen before and who, it transpired, has just joined. She grows lots of vegetables and sells some of them at the Friday evening market and I said that, if she still has a surplus, to offer them to Al. I even asked her name and have remembered it!!(!). This may not appear remarkable to you sophisticated yet friendly people, but I am remarkably bad at that. When meeting someone new, I always tell them my name. Generally, if there seems any doubt in their eyes, I tell them again on the second and third meetings as I do not expect to be remembered - this is not humility but an acceptance that this is the way life is, most people are not brilliant at remembering names. However, when I say "Hello, I'm Z, I am *something pertinent about me*", quite often I simply get "Hello Z" back, when I'm hoping for "Hello Z, I'm X."

Sometimes, I know someone for quite some time before I find out their name or their job. I never ask about jobs as I do not evaluate people by what they do for a living. But it means that I'm always the last person to find out anything.

Tomorrow night, it's the Car Club Christmas dinner. They always have it in mid-January, which I think is a very good idea. We're all Christmas-dinnered-out in December. I always find it slightly sticky, actually, as I hardly know most of the members, but I'll put on my party manners and scintillate as much as decorum suggests.

Hello, and welcome to the school. I'm Z, one of the governors...

It is one of the perquisites of the post of school governor that one is asked to sit on interviewing panels. I do enjoy this. It is particularly interesting when one is interviewing support staff, such as Learning Support/Teaching Assistants, Librarians or Clerical staff, because one has quite a deal of scope.

This was the situation today. It is a temporary post, for maternity cover. I interviewed the person who currently holds the job, a year or two ago and liked her immensely. Her enthusiasm and aptitude shone through in a strong field. I spoke to her today, to congratulate her on the impending birth of her baby and, as we chatted, I realised I knew her via her husband, who comes into the shop periodically. Al delivers a £15 fruit box to them each week. It is one of those surnames that is neither common nor uncommon and I'd not connected.

We interviewed four people, all of whom were interesting and really pleasant people. Again, a strong field, but it came down to two. I was inclined towards one, because of the enthusiasm she had shown ... I'm a sucker for genuine enthusiasm, I think it is inspirational, particularly for children*, and she will be dealing with teenagers. She started nervously but, when questioned (and I don't believe in aggressive** interviewing, I think you can get more out of people by asking for their strengths; their weaknesses come through unconsciously), she blossomed. The other two on the panel had been slightly more drawn towards another candidate but, being reasonable people, agreed with me in the end.

Heh heh, no, it was not I who convinced them, but a careful evaluation of strengths, weaknesses and the need for someone who could slot into a temporary position at once. In fact, I would have been happy with the other person too, but she would have needed some training and support in the short term.

I was in the shop all morning and finished at 1.30. I feel a bit bereft. I reluctantly handed over to Al and went back at 5 o'clock to help him pack up.


*and me, who has never entirely grown up

**probing, perhaps, a gentle but thorough probe is always a good idea and can be a pleasure

Regarding moderation...

...I'll drink to that!

No, no, I'm not to be distracted by such frivolity. I have taken your comments on board, as they say, and - as I am a Reasonable Woman and believe in making the first move (wouldn't you have guessed it, heh heh?) - I have turned off comment moderation. Under no circumstances will I go back to WV, however, so it may have to be haloscan or similar if I get spammed to total frustration.

If even one of you is inspired to turn off wv, my gesture will not have been in vain.

Z is peeved. Then, having let it all out, Z is cheerful

No one has taken on board my suggestion that they abandon word verification. If I weren't so fond of the sight of my own voice, I would boycott comments on all sites that used it*. It almost always rejects my first attempt and takes the second, which is extremely annoying when I know I got it right first time.

Moderate comments instead. It is the way to go. Unless days go by without checking your email.

Ah, while I'm being peeved, Blogger has it in for Mac users. First, they didn't email comments to my email address, I now have to have them sent to my gmail address which, in cussedness, I therefore use for nothing else. Now they won't let me post photos using Safari. Sodding Microsoft, as I fondly call it, doesn't let Mac users use Internet Express any more (not that I ever did if I could help it) and the only alternative is Firefox, which is not only both slower and more temperamental than Safari, but also asks me silly questions.

That's it, off my capacious chest. No need to be peeved any more.

*I still might. I wonder if anyone would notice.

Just time to relax

It's a lovely day, cold but bright and sunny. The seed heads of the clematis in Al and Dilly's garden are outside my study window and look very pretty against the blue sky.

It's the Sunday when I go twice to church (this just works out that way, it is no excess of devotion), and I've just returned home, having left the house at 7.30, attended a service, driven to Norwich and back to deliver some papers, played the organ at another service, cleaned several months build-up of wax off the brass candlesticks, drunk two cups of coffee and eaten a ginger nut. Breakfast, by the way, was a small, round Communion wafer and a good swig of port. I feel cheerful and peaceful, apart from still worrying about my friend of yesterday. I'll go back into Yagnub later and, while I'm there, keep an eye out for him.

The family is recovering and Al still hasn't succumbed, so I've said that I'll deal with tomorrow's order and go into the shop tomorrow morning and, all being well, he can take over after lunch for me to go and do my interviews. If he is ill, the Sage will take over instead, but Al is confident. I've tried the 'I won't be ill' technique many times and it can work for some things but not, in my experience, a gastric bug - however, let's hope he's right. Because I don't want it either. The one we all caught last year (except Ro, who kept well out of our way) was Most Unpleasant.

Ooh, I've just had an email from Amazon to say my book order is on the way. Yay! I checked back through the 20 emails I haven't got around to opening yet (personal and business ones have been read of course) and my CD was posted on Friday. If only I could find the lead to recharge my iPod.

Time for some food.

Talking backwards

A man pulled up outside the shop at twenty past five and hurried to the door. "Are you still open, I wanted a stalk of brussels sprouts?" I welcomed him in. I had started to bring everything in from outside ... I say 'everything', but so much has been sold today that my display of produce was considerably diminished.

He bought several things and chatted for a while. He lives in the next town, nine miles away, and doesn't often come to Yagnub, but always calls in at the shop when he can. It's the welcome, he said, the quality of the food and the care in the display, Al's friendliness and interest in his job.

Actually, you could say that of many of the shops here, I'm sure it's because so many of them are run by their owners. But I was happy to hear it.

Not long before, I had been considerably cheered by a woman and her daughter who came in and spent over thirty pounds - what a nice thing to happen at the end of a Saturday afternoon. The teenage girl enthused over the fruit - she loves fruit, she said. I'm not sure how many there are in the family, but a lot, I imagine - they bought 20 satsumas, 5 mangos, 10 apples --- whole lots more, plus a sack of potatoes. They said that all the fruit would be gone by Monday.

A little before that (I'm sorry, I am ending the day on a 'Memento' note, although I haven't tattooed its events over my body) a man had come in and, after a minute or two's conversation, I suspected he was newly out of prison and so it proved. I was in the middle of serving someone else; I wish I had done more to help him.

He simply asked how I priced the fruit; by item or weight, and how much a banana, for example, cost. I weighed a few of different sizes to give him an idea. He said that where he had been, they served very small pieces of fruit that didn't taste of much, which is a pity as he loves fruit. He said he would come back and buy some after the weekend. He was newly released and money should have been available for him today but it hadn't arrived so he would have to manage without for the weekend. His solicitor would contact the authorities for him on Monday. "It isn't supposed to happen like that, for someone charged under the Mental Health Act" he said. He raised his trouser leg and showed me the tracking device. "They keep track of me, but don't tell people I have shown you, I don't want everyone to know" he said.

He left and I called him back to offer him a box of various fruit that had marked skin - it was quite all right, but I'd put it on one side to take home. I gave him a few bananas too, and said I hoped he would not be offended - not at all, he said.

He went out quickly, before I realised I should have checked if he could cook food where he lives - a couple of pounds worth of vegetables such as potatoes, carrots and greens would see him through the weekend and my fruit won't take him past the night. I'll drive through the town tomorrow and see if he's about. I hesitated because I didn't want to land Al with someone who might be a bother to him - I was friendly at any rate and, at least, did something, but really not enough. He seemed a nice man, very polite, and quite simple.

Unfortunately, although the family had a lovely time away, in the night Dilly became ill and today both the babies did too. Nothing they've eaten, it's a stomach bug. Al is fine but nervous as he suspects he will be next. I've said I'll go in the shop on Monday morning, but I'm doing staff interviews at the High School in the afternoon and can't be there all day. I have something on on Tuesday too, but I can ditch it if necessary.

Here it is, Betty

I was tagged by Betty, for five things most people don't know about me. This is awfully difficult, as I am such a blabbermouth that anything not generally known is probably a dark and deep secret which I will not tell even you.

1. If I had been born a boy, I would have inherited a baronetcy. Yep, Sir Z. My grandfather was the heir of his uncle, and he and my father debated the matter. You do not inherit a title as a matter of course, you have to claim it. They agreed that they were not bothered about a pointless title and would only claim it if there were a further heir, my sister being an only child at the time.

2. I always eat the pith of oranges. I love it. I peel the peel, then I peel the pith, then I have, alternately, segments of orange and pieces of pith. I really don't know why. It's not exactly that it tastes good. I also love to eat the peel of lemons and of the various types of mandarin orange. I really hope that wax they put on to stop the fruit drying out is not carcinogenic or something, as I've taken in a fair bit over the years.

3. I am absolutely, if silently, evangelical about the importance of sex within marriage*. I am confident that it should become more important, as well as better*, the longer you are married. I was, some years ago, shocked speechless when a long-married friend, then probably about the age I am now, said confidentially and confidentally, that of course, at our age ('OUR'? - I am about ten years younger than her, and hadn't realised she thought of us as similarly aged), thank goodness we don't have to bother with that sort of thing any longer. I asked another mutual, and older friend what she thought and I'm glad to say that she, too, was open-mouthed with horror.

4. When I was a child, I was hopelessly in love with Bamber Gascoigne. University Challenge was my favourite programme and I played along and kept score.*** Jeremy Paxman is not the same at all.

5. Once, I saw a spectacularly striped snake swimming in our garden pond. It was multi-coloured and quite large, about three inches in diameter and maybe three feet long. It, and this is the odd thing, was several decades before I realised that I must have been dreaming as such a snake does not exist in this country.

*this is with a bow to Betty. I could not respond to a tag from her without mentioning sex.

**sorry everyone, I know you, knowing my age, are going 'ew'. Especially any of my family reading this.

***I feel quite embarrassed writing this - about the keeping score, that is.

Midnight conversation

Ro went to bed. Fifteen minutes later he returned. "Has Tilly been upstairs today?" "I was out all day, no idea. Why?" "There's a big poo in the middle of Alex's old room carpet." "Well, I didn't do it." "I know it was none of us," (with dignity) "that is why I asked about Tilly."

The design of Tudor houses is for the rooms to lead one into the next, rather than via corridors. There have been alterations in this house and a landing was put in, but Ro still gets from the bathroom to his room through a spare bedroom, formerly his brother's.

Tilly is a well-behaved, clean little dog and must have been desperate. She doesn't often go upstairs and, if she does, it's usually to have a Saturday morning bedtime cuddle. I suggested that the spare bedroom, being hardly ever visited, did not seem part of her indoor territory and, therefore, not a 'taboo' place to use.

"I couldn't believe it, when I went through after my bath" bemoaned Ro. "I just stood there looking at it, thinking 'this can't be right' ". I fell about, laughing. "Can it be picked up?" "I don't know," he said, "I haven't tried." I snorted with laughter. "Where should I put it?" "Down the loo?" I suggested.

When I went upstairs, there was no sign of anything amiss in the spare bedroom. But "this can't be right" still cracks me up.

Z's brain has gone

with the wind.

It was a difficult morning. I went in half an hour early as I had a lot to do, and decided not to put the full display outside as it was, by a long way, the windiest day yet. The nice man with the fish stall on Market Day came to help me put up the heavy wooden shelf.

From the start, I felt tired and confused, bewildered from the strength of the wind. At least I was indoors. The Egg Man (he merely sells them, don't imagine Humpty Dumpty) gave up and packed up by 9.30. As the gusty wind strengthened, the veg market stall took down their awning. I hadn't even put mine up, although it is sturdy wrought iron.

I changed my mind when it started to rain. I brought in the nuts, the soft fruit and the cauliflowers (beautiful local ones), put the boxes of cabbages, leeks and 'carrots on stalks' as Eileen calls them on the shelf and the pineapples and mangoes, which I had bought cheaply and really wanted to sell, on the lower staging, and pulled out the awning. A few minutes later, I was glad I had. The rain was torrential, lashed by a strong and gusty wind.

The market started to pack up.

I forgot to mention that I'd ordered apricots for my big order. I asked how much 20 would weigh. About a kilo? No, said Jason-the-wholesaler, about a pound. Send a kilo and I'll sell the rest, I said.

A kilo was 19 fruits. Thank goodness for the market, I nipped out and bought a couple more apricots for 38p. Belt, braces and baler twine girl, me, and I was allowing for one being soft. When I checked, indeed one was - worse, it had a bruise. So I ate it.

Anyway, the shop certainly filled up when it started raining, customers, dogs, the lot. If the rain had lasted a few more minutes, I'd have made tea.

It all got better later, I did the order, including 60 equal-sized shallots (I like this lady, she likes to get it right and so do I) and I added four extra free, in case one pinged to the floor and under the fridge, another was soft, another got burned and one more was irresistible once roasted and had to be eaten immediately. I had a fruit basket to do in the afternoon, but it took me until nearly 5 o'clock as I was busy.

I mastered the tills and got the totals right.

I remembered an errand on the way home, although I hadn't written it down.

My hair is a total mess.

My back aches. I have taken a pill and would be lying flat on my back, except that then I'd have to get up.

I am going to cook dinner. Pork chops and lots of vegetables, followed by a mango. I don't want anything clever or complicated and want simple comfort food.

Do you know, I feel fine now. Must be the ibuprofen mixed with wine.

I'll be over all this in a couple of days and will write about something else. You must have had enough about vegetables by now.

Congratulations to Pat on all her visitors. And Betty tagged me (I've linked to neither as you all know them both and love them as I do), which I will deal with soon.

Psst - Never mind the apples and pears, 'ere's a lovely lot of mangoes going cheap

I have just poured my third glass of wine*. I know that I've already drunk a comfortable amount, given that I'm quite tired.

I am going to drink the third glass. Fortunately, such an amount will make me splendidly relaxed, but will not have any morning-after effects.

Today went fine, except that I monumentally cocked up the till at the end of the day. I had to correct an error (a really silly one; I'd put in £1.09 and 85p without pressing the 'enter' button between, so a poor chap looked as if he had to pay a total of £114-something) and do a 'pay-out' of Eileen's wages. I thought I knew what to do, but I was wrong and everything just kept adding on...Al will take it in his stride, just uttering a shrugging 'Bof' or 'Pfft' as he perambulates.

I have also had my hair cut. The Sage minded** the shop while I was gone. He does not trust the till at all, so had all his takings written down for me to put in to the till. Have I ever mentioned that he is older than me***, and even more set in his ways?****

Jason from one of the wholesalers rang this morning. I was quite excited, for he had Special Offers to proffer. I said 'Yes!', for that is the kind of girl I am. I really hope there are a lot of people around in Yagnub tomorrow, as I have bought all sorts of things. I've not taken a chance on everything though: most of them are extremely good value and I will reduce prices and still make a Fat Profit. I am mindful that, this week, I need to pay for Al's holiday.

There were quite a lot of lovely ripe plum tomatoes that were going a bit at the stalk end - good but unsaleable. I cooked red onions, red pepper, red chilli, red tomatoes and (green) parsley and served it with lamb chops, baked potatoes and purple sprouting broccoli. And, as I might have mentioned before, red wine.

Finished the wine, time to get to work*****

*I don't mention the size of the glass

**that looks wrong but isn't - 'mound' is another word entirely

***Whole lots, for he is a Pensioner

****I am not set in my ways at all, and he hardly is, except that he will not go on holiday so I have to go alone

*****Looking up stuff on Bonhams (the auctioneers) website, Lot 12. This counts as work in our business

The Crop Shop

It was so windy today. I put the shelf out this morning and started to arrange the crates underneath, on which go various veggie goodies to attract the customers. I had to chase them down the road. I found it was simplest to have baskets of vegetables ready to weight them down until I was ready to arrange the display.

I made an early start, so that Eileen didn't have all the fresh produce to put out before the customers started to come, as I had a meeting to go to and had to leave her alone for the morning. I was a little concerned that she would be rushed off her feet, but she said it had been all right; she was constantly busy but "the line of customers didn't reach the door". Most people take a basket (real ones, not wire) and wander round helping themselves until it is their turn to be served.

An uneventful day. We sold lots of root vegetables and cabbages. The weather made everyone think of stews and soups. We also sold salad stuff, as people want crunchy and colourful food too. I am always fond of young people and am vastly cheered when 20-somethings come and buy 'real' veg; swedes and carrots and sprouting broccoli. I have never known English purple sprouting to be this early - one can get a bit in the autumn for a week or two when plants that have gone early to seed are picked over before being rooted out, but normally it's a March/April delicacy.

Old Ron hovered around as usual in the afternoon, hoping for a lift home. He hobbles up on his walking frame to each car that parks in the road outside the shop and asks if the driver is going his way. He doesn't have too many takers; unfortunately he smells of wee, rather. Sooner or later, someone usually takes pity and good-naturedly takes him home. He occasionally buys a banana, but otherwise only comes into the shop to ask for a tissue. Yesterday, he needed help with the zip on his anorak.

The photo was not taken today; it was an autumnal scene, as you have probably noticed. You might also have observed that the doorway is not shown. The reason is that Al was standing in it and he is too modest to show his face to the Public.

Z turns an Honest Penny

I was cooking dinner this evening when Ro came into the kitchen and stood behind me. After a minute I turned, having a sense that he didn't just happen to be standing there.

"Hug" he said. And we did. "I'm tired," he said "and I didn't work nearly such a long day as you."

I meant to close the shop at 5, but I was still busy and the last customer left at 5.40. By the time I'd taken the display in, cashed up, worked out tomorrow's order and phoned it in, a further hour had passed.

I had a great day. I have been given a recipe for Seville orange gin, given one out for marmalade*, explained why you cannot make pineapple jelly with uncooked pineapple, made a £10 fruit gift box, flirted delicately, made friends with several dogs, including a terrier who licked all over my face while my hands were full, carried a 25 kilo (55 pound) bag of potatoes to a customer's car, taken a huge order for Friday (the receipts will be impressive on Friday and not had time to read a word of any of the three books I had taken in to occupy my afternoon. I also ate a maple and pecan Danish pastry in the afternoon, to keep my strength up.

Tonight, I cooked a simple and encouraging supper of bangers and mash, with tomatoes and (close your eyes, Wendz) lots of small green fart-bombs. Followed by a few chocolates.

Tomorrow morning I will go in early to set up as I have a Meeting to go to in Norwich. I hope Eileen isn't as busy as we were today, as she will be alone from 9-1, although the Sage will go in to offer encouragement. He will also deliver Meals on Wheels for me.

*to a young man who made his first pots of strawberry jam in the summer and, fired with zeal, wishes to repeat the feat with marmalade now.