Nothing happening but painting, so there's not a lot to write about. Every room is painted, although when I left at 6.45, the bathroom needed at least one more coat. Phil has an interview for a new job tomorrow, so one of us will give him a lift to that and then to the nearest station, as he's going back to London in the evening.
I haven't read the papers from last Friday onwards. I don't know if I'll ever have time to catch up. I suppose the world will be no better or worse for me reading about it.
I filled the car this evening (with petrol, that is). There was probably the better part of a gallon and a half still in it, and it cost £63.74. In April two years ago, it cost the low £40s to fill it; a year ago it was £50 and three months ago, £60. Shops are the sufferers, I'm afraid, as I no longer visit them except for essentials. I've been shopping twice in Norwich this year; once for Squiffany's birthday present and once for clothes for me in a smaller size.
Have I mentioned our rabbit problem this year? They have eaten two lots of runner bean plants, but almost ignored the french beans. When we first moved here, there were a huge number of rabbits, but they got myxomatosis, twice, and then some foxes got most of the survivors, so the rabbit-proof netting around the veggie garden gradually got done away with as it was enlarged. We plan to get the wall built this year, which will sort out one and a half sides of the patch and greenhouses deal with all but one side. The Sage, who is a crack shot (he used to shoot at Bisley), got one, but hasn't time to sit in wait. Actually, he only enjoys target shooting; he is no hunter at all and prefers to see wildlife going about its business, but some things are classed as vermin, including squirrels. He loves birds and is upset to see them taking eggs and babies from their nests. We don't mind rabbits at all, as long as they restrict themselves to eating grass and flowers. They're welcome. But not when they take the radishes and beans...we didn't even bother to try lettuces this year.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Monday, 23 June 2008
Bee is for blog
I asked if I might link, but I haven't had a reply yet, so I'll put the link in and take it out again if they say no. The bee blog is Al's final descent into the baleful influence of his mother. He may kick, he may scream, but he has become a blogger. Heh heh heh.
Buzz if you like but don't sting me
All went smoothly with the bees.
I'm off to start painting again now. See you later.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
If a picture paints a thousand words, then it's no wonder this house has a lot of bookcases, because Z can write and read, but is no artist
I should be working. I've been reading blogs. I'm sorry if I haven't visited you recently, or if it's been a flying visit with no comment, but I've not got much time at the moment - I've still got three days' newspapers to catch up on, apart from the work (did I mention that I've got to finish some tonight?)
Having said that, as priorities go, all is fine. I spent the day with Phil and his dad Dave (have you noticed that almost everyone is called Dave?) painting the house. It would have gone easier if the room designated for the baby had not been painted a quite intrusive shade of blue, rather dominating a small room. So far, it's had 5 coats of white paint and is down to ice-blue. Two or three more coats and it may lose the bluety. Ironically, Weeza and Phil's room has been painted en elegant grey-blue.
Dave had to leave at 6 pm for the 4-hour drive home, ready to be up at 6 for work the next morning. I carried on an extra hour and recommended to Phil that he call it a day too. One has to pace oneself. I'll go back tomorrow morning and we'll see how much more we can get done. 3 bedrooms, bathroom, landing stairs and hall, sitting room, dining room, kitchen. Doable in 4 days, if not for this wretched blue bedroom. I hope we'll get the second coat of the hall etc, plus the living and dining rooms done tomorrow, then (apart from at least 2 more goes at baby's room), only the bathroom and kitchen to do. Phil also wants to mow the grass with his new lawnmower. I expect he'll have done that this evening.
Having said that, as priorities go, all is fine. I spent the day with Phil and his dad Dave (have you noticed that almost everyone is called Dave?) painting the house. It would have gone easier if the room designated for the baby had not been painted a quite intrusive shade of blue, rather dominating a small room. So far, it's had 5 coats of white paint and is down to ice-blue. Two or three more coats and it may lose the bluety. Ironically, Weeza and Phil's room has been painted en elegant grey-blue.
Dave had to leave at 6 pm for the 4-hour drive home, ready to be up at 6 for work the next morning. I carried on an extra hour and recommended to Phil that he call it a day too. One has to pace oneself. I'll go back tomorrow morning and we'll see how much more we can get done. 3 bedrooms, bathroom, landing stairs and hall, sitting room, dining room, kitchen. Doable in 4 days, if not for this wretched blue bedroom. I hope we'll get the second coat of the hall etc, plus the living and dining rooms done tomorrow, then (apart from at least 2 more goes at baby's room), only the bathroom and kitchen to do. Phil also wants to mow the grass with his new lawnmower. I expect he'll have done that this evening.
Saturday, 21 June 2008
Z went on the Motorway!!(!)
113 miles, door to door, in 2 1/2 hours. All went well and on our return we bought the paint and I left Phil and his dad ready for an evening of painting ceilings. I hadn't taken suitable clothes to be bespattered so came home, promising to return promptly the following morning.
The bees have had a cheerfully busy day exploring their new territory. I only looked at them briefly, as I'd been with the children for a couple of hours. I went in at 8 o'clock, bearing breakfast, make-up and contact lens. Dilly asked if I could pop into the shop quickly, as Al had gone off with her car keys in his pocket. I stuck the lens in the general direction of my eye, it lodged in an appropriate place and a few minutes I returned - as I drove slowly past the shop, Al chucked the keys through the window; couldn't have been quicker.
Children were adorable of course. Pugsley is just starting to string words together on the way to sentences; a new thing in the last two or three weeks. It had been one word sentences, even if connected. "Elephant. Huge. Huge. Enormous. Elephant." has given way to "Where Squiffany gone? Daddy? Not bed. Where?" - he had woken up to find that his sister had absconded to their parents' bed, but Al's head was under the bedclothes so he was not visible.
Off again early, more suitably dressed, to help with painting.
The bees have had a cheerfully busy day exploring their new territory. I only looked at them briefly, as I'd been with the children for a couple of hours. I went in at 8 o'clock, bearing breakfast, make-up and contact lens. Dilly asked if I could pop into the shop quickly, as Al had gone off with her car keys in his pocket. I stuck the lens in the general direction of my eye, it lodged in an appropriate place and a few minutes I returned - as I drove slowly past the shop, Al chucked the keys through the window; couldn't have been quicker.
Children were adorable of course. Pugsley is just starting to string words together on the way to sentences; a new thing in the last two or three weeks. It had been one word sentences, even if connected. "Elephant. Huge. Huge. Enormous. Elephant." has given way to "Where Squiffany gone? Daddy? Not bed. Where?" - he had woken up to find that his sister had absconded to their parents' bed, but Al's head was under the bedclothes so he was not visible.
Off again early, more suitably dressed, to help with painting.
Best beehiviour
I went into town to fill the car up for my journey to London tomorrow and called in at the shop for empty boxes, to be filled at Weeza and Phil's flat. The phone rang; it was Dilly, saying that the bee man had rung to say he'd bring the nucleus of Al's hive during the evening. Al looked harassed. "I haven't started shutting up, I haven't done the order list; I won't be home until at least 7 o'clock" he protested. They were all ready. They were coming, ready or not.
I offered to shut up shop, but after some discussion we agreed that I'd do Al's deliveries and then go home and start scything the long grass. Al arrived home by 6.30, leaving much of the clearing up to be done later. He was quite surprised at the inroads I'd made into the sea of nettles and docks. I'd said grass, but there was little of that. It was a large area that had been occupied by chickens for several years and only the inedible weeds were left. Blue Witch had given me advice last year on a good area to put the beehive (her first choice, which I rejected, was the tennis court) so I knew roughly where to cut. Nettles over 4 feet high are placed just right to catch you as they fall. Both arms and, through my teeshirt, much of my front were tingling within moments and I was itching from the clouds of gnats that rose from the greenery. The Sage got stung by a horse-fly in the same area the other day; his arm is still swollen.
The Sage was sent off for fish and chips, as I no longer felt like cooking. We all trooped out to see the bees being put into place later. They are in a box - about 2,000 of them with their queen - and as soon as the plug was taken out, they started to come out to investigate their new surroundings. If the weather is good, Al will transfer them into the hive, which he will put in the same place as the box is now. It's all very exciting. I will not be here, I'll have to get someone to take photos. If I can find the lead for the camera, that is. I've got the part that plugs into the computer, but the one that recharges it wasn't where I expected it to be.
I offered to shut up shop, but after some discussion we agreed that I'd do Al's deliveries and then go home and start scything the long grass. Al arrived home by 6.30, leaving much of the clearing up to be done later. He was quite surprised at the inroads I'd made into the sea of nettles and docks. I'd said grass, but there was little of that. It was a large area that had been occupied by chickens for several years and only the inedible weeds were left. Blue Witch had given me advice last year on a good area to put the beehive (her first choice, which I rejected, was the tennis court) so I knew roughly where to cut. Nettles over 4 feet high are placed just right to catch you as they fall. Both arms and, through my teeshirt, much of my front were tingling within moments and I was itching from the clouds of gnats that rose from the greenery. The Sage got stung by a horse-fly in the same area the other day; his arm is still swollen.
The Sage was sent off for fish and chips, as I no longer felt like cooking. We all trooped out to see the bees being put into place later. They are in a box - about 2,000 of them with their queen - and as soon as the plug was taken out, they started to come out to investigate their new surroundings. If the weather is good, Al will transfer them into the hive, which he will put in the same place as the box is now. It's all very exciting. I will not be here, I'll have to get someone to take photos. If I can find the lead for the camera, that is. I've got the part that plugs into the computer, but the one that recharges it wasn't where I expected it to be.
Friday, 20 June 2008
How Ronan strangled Bobby
Did I ever tell you about Great-Uncle Ronan? He was my paternal grandfather's elder brother and he was the District Commissioner for Nairobi about 100 years ago. He's our family hero and we have the leopard to prove it.
Like many people in the Colonial service, he became devoted to the country he was sent to. He lived as one of the ruling classes of course, as was normal at that time. I'm not making any judgment, comment or anything else on British or any other colonialism - that was then, this is now, it would not be appropriate now for an Englishman to rule an area with a load of African servants and I'm not justifying it. But he did care about the people under his care and felt them to be his responsibility, personally as well as professionally.
One evening, he was going out to dinner so had given all his staff the evening off. He was putting on his evening clothes when he heard screams coming from the kitchen. He ran down and found a leopard attacking his house boy, the only other person in the house. Ronan had a revolver in his room, but if he fetched it, the man would be dead by the time he returned. He grabbed the leopard by the throat.
It was a fight to the death.
Once he was better, he carried on with the programme of getting wells dug, to bring fresh and clean water to outlying areas. Unfortunately, he had to drink the local water in the meantime, he caught cholera and he died. In the attic, we've got the series of telegrams telling his mother of his illness, finishing with the black-bordered envelope. There is also a scrapbook of press cuttings, including the ones of his funeral. A colleague of my stepfather went to the cemetery in Nairobi and found his memorial some years ago, don't know if it still exists.
I don't know a lot else about him. His name is Gaelic, chosen by his Scottish mother. He was married, but divorced his wife on the grounds of her adultery. It was a bit startling, browsing through the Times archives, to find the court case of their divorce. He had no children and died in 1913. We named our second son after him - sorry, Ro, it's never been easy, having a name everyone gets wrong.
Bobby, the leopard, is in the rafters in one of the garages. I've been meaning for a long time to get him hauled down. If he's rotted away, he'll be burnt. If not, he'll be fumigated and brought indoors. I've known him all my life, he lived on the landing in my family home and I used to say goodnight to him when I went to bed.
Like many people in the Colonial service, he became devoted to the country he was sent to. He lived as one of the ruling classes of course, as was normal at that time. I'm not making any judgment, comment or anything else on British or any other colonialism - that was then, this is now, it would not be appropriate now for an Englishman to rule an area with a load of African servants and I'm not justifying it. But he did care about the people under his care and felt them to be his responsibility, personally as well as professionally.
One evening, he was going out to dinner so had given all his staff the evening off. He was putting on his evening clothes when he heard screams coming from the kitchen. He ran down and found a leopard attacking his house boy, the only other person in the house. Ronan had a revolver in his room, but if he fetched it, the man would be dead by the time he returned. He grabbed the leopard by the throat.
It was a fight to the death.
Once he was better, he carried on with the programme of getting wells dug, to bring fresh and clean water to outlying areas. Unfortunately, he had to drink the local water in the meantime, he caught cholera and he died. In the attic, we've got the series of telegrams telling his mother of his illness, finishing with the black-bordered envelope. There is also a scrapbook of press cuttings, including the ones of his funeral. A colleague of my stepfather went to the cemetery in Nairobi and found his memorial some years ago, don't know if it still exists.
I don't know a lot else about him. His name is Gaelic, chosen by his Scottish mother. He was married, but divorced his wife on the grounds of her adultery. It was a bit startling, browsing through the Times archives, to find the court case of their divorce. He had no children and died in 1913. We named our second son after him - sorry, Ro, it's never been easy, having a name everyone gets wrong.
Bobby, the leopard, is in the rafters in one of the garages. I've been meaning for a long time to get him hauled down. If he's rotted away, he'll be burnt. If not, he'll be fumigated and brought indoors. I've known him all my life, he lived on the landing in my family home and I used to say goodnight to him when I went to bed.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Z is a touch euphoric.
The happiest discovery of the day, thanks to Dave, was how to do an apple. - like this. It has, sad little woman that I am, become my signature du jour.
I'm feeling pretty good today, in fact. All those things that have been hanging over my head for weeks - they're done. Not that I've not got a lot still on, but there are no more deadlines. No more speeches. No more performances. No more meetings to chair until September. They've all happened. It feels wonderful. I don't care whether they were done well or badly; they were done. When I arrived home today, there was a message asking me to play the organ at a funeral next Thursday. I will say 'no'. Unless the weather is nasty, I shall go to the Norfolk (and good) Show. This Saturday, I will go to London to fetch boxes of Stuff as well as Phil, who will be delivered to Norwich as he will spend the next four days painting. I'll go and help (though I've been forbidden to go up ladders; I'm sturdy and sensible on ladders, but I obey my daughter and am glad she cares) and have said I won't be available for church. I've done it, I don't have to do it.
Family promises, babysitting and the like are a joy. Paperwork has been building up and must be completed, but will be. The garden is a disaster because we are plagued with rabbits at present, but never mind. It's nature. We may swear but we can't completely control and that's not at all a bad thing.
What a lovely evening. I must go and close the doors to the greenhouses. The green wheelie bins must be wheeled down to the gate (they are chocker; no one did it a fortnight ago). Then, a delicious ripe peach. And a pear. Then coffee. Yes. It's good. The Sage will be happy later; I'll be charming to him. The darling man went to a funeral today, in Northamptonshire, which is a long way (anywhere out of Norfolk and Suffolk takes half a day to drive to). It was someone whom he had known for over 60 years and her husband was so pleased to see him. He had been a schoolteacher at the Sage's prep school and she had been Matron. They were both lovely people and I'd have gone too, if it hadn't been for the last of my obligations.
Have a good evening, darlings.
I'm feeling pretty good today, in fact. All those things that have been hanging over my head for weeks - they're done. Not that I've not got a lot still on, but there are no more deadlines. No more speeches. No more performances. No more meetings to chair until September. They've all happened. It feels wonderful. I don't care whether they were done well or badly; they were done. When I arrived home today, there was a message asking me to play the organ at a funeral next Thursday. I will say 'no'. Unless the weather is nasty, I shall go to the Norfolk (and good) Show. This Saturday, I will go to London to fetch boxes of Stuff as well as Phil, who will be delivered to Norwich as he will spend the next four days painting. I'll go and help (though I've been forbidden to go up ladders; I'm sturdy and sensible on ladders, but I obey my daughter and am glad she cares) and have said I won't be available for church. I've done it, I don't have to do it.
Family promises, babysitting and the like are a joy. Paperwork has been building up and must be completed, but will be. The garden is a disaster because we are plagued with rabbits at present, but never mind. It's nature. We may swear but we can't completely control and that's not at all a bad thing.
What a lovely evening. I must go and close the doors to the greenhouses. The green wheelie bins must be wheeled down to the gate (they are chocker; no one did it a fortnight ago). Then, a delicious ripe peach. And a pear. Then coffee. Yes. It's good. The Sage will be happy later; I'll be charming to him. The darling man went to a funeral today, in Northamptonshire, which is a long way (anywhere out of Norfolk and Suffolk takes half a day to drive to). It was someone whom he had known for over 60 years and her husband was so pleased to see him. He had been a schoolteacher at the Sage's prep school and she had been Matron. They were both lovely people and I'd have gone too, if it hadn't been for the last of my obligations.
Have a good evening, darlings.
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
Ab scone ded?
I did my SEN governor duty today and spent the morning in the Learning Support department. They have recently bought a new program for helping children who have difficulties with reading, or with literacy generally. This one. It's very good and has engaged the pupils' interest. There is plenty of supplementary work as well as what they do on the computer - there were two boys reading a book about POW camp escapes afterwards and, with the teaching assistant, we all talked about it with interest. All the pupils doing the program have increased their reading and spelling scores; one lad's spelling age has gone up by 2 years in a matter of weeks!
Afterwards, I had lunch at school and stayed for a meeting, which led to another one, and we finally rolled out at 6 o'clock. At least there had been buttered scones with cream and strawberries to keep our spirits up. The Sage, however, rather wondered what had happened to me and whether I was coming home at all.
This evening, I watched 'The Lives of Others', with Ulrich Mühe and Sebastian Koch. Mühe died not long after the film was completed; he was only 3 months older than me. Good film. I'm not too clever at watching films with subtitles as I find it hard not to read while I watch television, so I put it on the computer where I am more likely to concentrate.
A friend phoned a while ago, asking to come and stay tomorrow night, which will be a pleasure. She's giving a friend, over from California to visit her elderly mother, a lift to Lowestoft and she'll come on over here after that.
I'm dismayed that I was stupid enough not to buy a ticket for me when I bought Ro's for the Latitude festival in July. The splendid Okkervil River will be playing. Now the tickets are all sold out. Woe.
Afterwards, I had lunch at school and stayed for a meeting, which led to another one, and we finally rolled out at 6 o'clock. At least there had been buttered scones with cream and strawberries to keep our spirits up. The Sage, however, rather wondered what had happened to me and whether I was coming home at all.
This evening, I watched 'The Lives of Others', with Ulrich Mühe and Sebastian Koch. Mühe died not long after the film was completed; he was only 3 months older than me. Good film. I'm not too clever at watching films with subtitles as I find it hard not to read while I watch television, so I put it on the computer where I am more likely to concentrate.
A friend phoned a while ago, asking to come and stay tomorrow night, which will be a pleasure. She's giving a friend, over from California to visit her elderly mother, a lift to Lowestoft and she'll come on over here after that.
I'm dismayed that I was stupid enough not to buy a ticket for me when I bought Ro's for the Latitude festival in July. The splendid Okkervil River will be playing. Now the tickets are all sold out. Woe.
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
manrod
Random facts about me - I've been thinking about this for a couple of days, which gave me time to forget a couple of them. Inspiration is sure to strike as I write.
The rules
1. Link to the person who tagged you - that's lovely Stegbeetle
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.
N. I remember, when I was a child - maybe 7 or 8 - tinned celery hearts being served as a vegetable. This didn't exactly strike me with glee, as I've never been that fond of cooked celery, but that wasn't to say it was not edible and I generally ate what I was given, albeit in small quantities. For some reason, my mother and I were alone (no doubt the reason she hadn't prepared fresh veg) and she had to leave the room for a couple of minutes at just the time I sliced my celery heart open. In the centre was a slug. A very dead, cooked slug. I pondered briefly. My mother wouldn't care for that at all. She would be quite revolted. We were eating (this was indeed rare, and was again because we were alone) in a small back room that had been a scullery and was later turned into a little sitting room, with a coke-burning stove. I opened the stove door, chucked in the slug and heard it sizzle. Then, for what else could I do?, I ate the celery. I figured that the canning process had removed any germs.
O. I learned numbers from watching the football results on television. On a Saturday evening, my mother left me watching tv while she prepared my tea after my bath. I would have been 2 or 3 at that time. After a few weeks, she was surprised to find that I could recognise numbers. I suppose I didn't learn how much they represented, but i could match the sound to the shape.
R. When in doubt, I say yes. This doesn't mean I can't and don't say no, but I'm far more inclined to go for it.
M. I never put my iPod on shuffle, as I prefer to listen to the whole album.
A. Horses like me. They find me soothing.
D. As a child I had a sardonic, blackish sense of humour. I loved Saki, Tom Lehrer and the Addams Family cartoons. I have never been cute or adorable - that is, I am because hey, I can't help radiating sweetness, but I resist it. My most disliked nursery rhyme was the dreadful 'sugar and spice and all things nice' for little girls, while the boys had the much cooler slugs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails. Not that I wanted to be a little boy.
Rules 4, 5 and 6 - I'm rubbish at tagging. I never remember who hates tags and who likes them. If you do it, let me know please?
The rules
1. Link to the person who tagged you - that's lovely Stegbeetle
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.
N. I remember, when I was a child - maybe 7 or 8 - tinned celery hearts being served as a vegetable. This didn't exactly strike me with glee, as I've never been that fond of cooked celery, but that wasn't to say it was not edible and I generally ate what I was given, albeit in small quantities. For some reason, my mother and I were alone (no doubt the reason she hadn't prepared fresh veg) and she had to leave the room for a couple of minutes at just the time I sliced my celery heart open. In the centre was a slug. A very dead, cooked slug. I pondered briefly. My mother wouldn't care for that at all. She would be quite revolted. We were eating (this was indeed rare, and was again because we were alone) in a small back room that had been a scullery and was later turned into a little sitting room, with a coke-burning stove. I opened the stove door, chucked in the slug and heard it sizzle. Then, for what else could I do?, I ate the celery. I figured that the canning process had removed any germs.
O. I learned numbers from watching the football results on television. On a Saturday evening, my mother left me watching tv while she prepared my tea after my bath. I would have been 2 or 3 at that time. After a few weeks, she was surprised to find that I could recognise numbers. I suppose I didn't learn how much they represented, but i could match the sound to the shape.
R. When in doubt, I say yes. This doesn't mean I can't and don't say no, but I'm far more inclined to go for it.
M. I never put my iPod on shuffle, as I prefer to listen to the whole album.
A. Horses like me. They find me soothing.
D. As a child I had a sardonic, blackish sense of humour. I loved Saki, Tom Lehrer and the Addams Family cartoons. I have never been cute or adorable - that is, I am because hey, I can't help radiating sweetness, but I resist it. My most disliked nursery rhyme was the dreadful 'sugar and spice and all things nice' for little girls, while the boys had the much cooler slugs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails. Not that I wanted to be a little boy.
Rules 4, 5 and 6 - I'm rubbish at tagging. I never remember who hates tags and who likes them. If you do it, let me know please?
Pretentious? Zoi?
Oh dear. I got a bit carried away by enthusiasm for today's lecture and didn't resist the temptation to quote poetry. At least it wasn't too well known, so if I made any mistakes it's not that likely anyone noticed. It was a damn fine lecture about the history of photography, and I do love really old photos. I don't mean so much the staged ones of the awkward -looking Victorian people being snapped, very slowly, for posterity, but the ones taken by early enthusiasts, many of whom had the artist's eye as well. There was a very early one by Fox Talbot which I loved - the back of a house with an open shed door and a besom broom leaning against it, and a picture, taken from a low angle, of several flights of worn stone steps, curving and converging, at Wells Cathedral. There was a poignant one of the Valley of Death (sorry to be melodramatic), bare and bleak except for scattered cannonballs, a picture of Abraham Lincoln during the American Civil War, a cheerful Rossini and a pair of Scottish fisher girls from a century and a half ago. Fascinating. I'd love to have them in a book to stare at and study.
Anyhoo, I duly did my speech, all 3 pages of it - yes, I wrote it out verbatim although I didn't actually read it out, but there were too many people to thank and too many specific things to say, to just do bullet points and hope. Well, so I claim. It was a formalish annual review. Enough excuses.
Afterwards, we took the speaker for lunch, which was a pleasure.
And now, as the sun still shines, I'm going to ride statelily into town to fetch vegetables for dinner. I don't know what we're having for dinner yet - doesn't bother me, I had lunch out. Heh heh.
three-quarters of an hour later Oops! It's the Sage's birthday. I'd forgotten. *heads out for the freezer to find something easy to defrost and delicious*.
Anyhoo, I duly did my speech, all 3 pages of it - yes, I wrote it out verbatim although I didn't actually read it out, but there were too many people to thank and too many specific things to say, to just do bullet points and hope. Well, so I claim. It was a formalish annual review. Enough excuses.
Afterwards, we took the speaker for lunch, which was a pleasure.
And now, as the sun still shines, I'm going to ride statelily into town to fetch vegetables for dinner. I don't know what we're having for dinner yet - doesn't bother me, I had lunch out. Heh heh.
three-quarters of an hour later Oops! It's the Sage's birthday. I'd forgotten. *heads out for the freezer to find something easy to defrost and delicious*.
Monday, 16 June 2008
Whether or not
I wrote this on 15th April. The lecturer today couldn't find where he was supposed to park because it's a little side road leading to a private car park, and his SatNav didn't recognise it. Although he had written instructions, he's not the first person I've found to rely so heavily on SatNav that they can't follow any other directions. A friend was amused when he was given a lift and his directions to his own house were ignored in favour of the satnav's. Which got them there quite satisfactorily, he reported. I suppose this sort of thing was at the heart of my resistance.
Anyway, the weather. Dave's absolutely right, it's awfully changeable round here from one place to another. We used, as you know, to live in Lowestoft and my in-laws then lived in this house, half an hour's drive away. We used, often, to have Sunday lunch with my mother and stepfather and then come over to Pa and Ma for tea. It was noticeable, in the winter (in those days, snow came more reliably each year) that the depth of snow increased as we came inland; between L'toft and Beccles and between Beccles and here. On the other hand, the spring was earlier as we came inland in equal measure. It was much windier, as you'd expect, on the coast and, once we'd moved, we'd set off for a day by the sea and find that we should have remembered the woolly cardies. Where we used to live, on P@kef1e1d cliff, if there was a beautiful sunny day, it was often followed by days of unremitting fog, whereas a mile or two inland the sun broke through and it was hot again.
It was the bands of rain that we always remarked upon though. I think it's because of all the rivers around here. Generally speaking, it's the driest area of the country in terms of rainfall, although as so much water flows through, it's one area that has never had a hosepipe ban in summer. Household water comes from underground aquifers rather than reservoirs. Around the rivers, there are often broad areas of water-meadows or marshland, used for grazing animals, to soak up floodwater. These are unsuitable for building on or cultivation and farmers receive grants for keeping them in good order for wildlife and the environment - for example, by not using nitrate fertiliser.
I've gone off the point, sorry. Rain. Yes, it's not unusual to drive into a band of rain across the road which, a few miles later, vanishes again. A while ago, I was with Dilly, north of Norwich and we drove in and out of black clouds and pouring rain, alternately with a blue sky, fluffy clouds and bright sunshine. It was odd.
There are particular villages where, if it's going to rain, that's where it starts. This one tends to be dry. It always rains at Barnby. Boringland (which starts with a P, but sometimes has its initial altered, to general hilarity) is likely to be wet. A thunderstorm sometimes rolls round the Waveney Valley for hours, seemingly trapped by the curve of the waterways.
The North Norfolk coast is supposed to be particularly sunny. Cromer, on the North-East corner, is said to be sunniest of all - I daresay there are records to back this up but, I have to say, this has never been my experience. Every time I visit my sister-in-law there, it has been dull and often drizzly.
The sun is shining now. I'm going to put washing on the line.
Anyway, the weather. Dave's absolutely right, it's awfully changeable round here from one place to another. We used, as you know, to live in Lowestoft and my in-laws then lived in this house, half an hour's drive away. We used, often, to have Sunday lunch with my mother and stepfather and then come over to Pa and Ma for tea. It was noticeable, in the winter (in those days, snow came more reliably each year) that the depth of snow increased as we came inland; between L'toft and Beccles and between Beccles and here. On the other hand, the spring was earlier as we came inland in equal measure. It was much windier, as you'd expect, on the coast and, once we'd moved, we'd set off for a day by the sea and find that we should have remembered the woolly cardies. Where we used to live, on P@kef1e1d cliff, if there was a beautiful sunny day, it was often followed by days of unremitting fog, whereas a mile or two inland the sun broke through and it was hot again.
It was the bands of rain that we always remarked upon though. I think it's because of all the rivers around here. Generally speaking, it's the driest area of the country in terms of rainfall, although as so much water flows through, it's one area that has never had a hosepipe ban in summer. Household water comes from underground aquifers rather than reservoirs. Around the rivers, there are often broad areas of water-meadows or marshland, used for grazing animals, to soak up floodwater. These are unsuitable for building on or cultivation and farmers receive grants for keeping them in good order for wildlife and the environment - for example, by not using nitrate fertiliser.
I've gone off the point, sorry. Rain. Yes, it's not unusual to drive into a band of rain across the road which, a few miles later, vanishes again. A while ago, I was with Dilly, north of Norwich and we drove in and out of black clouds and pouring rain, alternately with a blue sky, fluffy clouds and bright sunshine. It was odd.
There are particular villages where, if it's going to rain, that's where it starts. This one tends to be dry. It always rains at Barnby. Boringland (which starts with a P, but sometimes has its initial altered, to general hilarity) is likely to be wet. A thunderstorm sometimes rolls round the Waveney Valley for hours, seemingly trapped by the curve of the waterways.
The North Norfolk coast is supposed to be particularly sunny. Cromer, on the North-East corner, is said to be sunniest of all - I daresay there are records to back this up but, I have to say, this has never been my experience. Every time I visit my sister-in-law there, it has been dull and often drizzly.
The sun is shining now. I'm going to put washing on the line.
Sunday, 15 June 2008
Z is told where to go
So, Weeza and Phil have chosen carpets and other flooring and paint colours, and booked fittings. Furthermore, their tenant has moved out, so the house is properly theirs. I started to feel excited as soon as I walked in again from waving her goodbye, but it took a while for the slow big grin to spread above Weeza's face, as it started to sink in. She's still pacing herself though; it'll be a few weeks yet before she finishes work and moves here, leaving Phil to finish packing up and loading the heavy stuff and leaving the London flat empty. I will so miss my overnight London visits - I usually go up on a Friday, spend a day doing this and that, meet them for dinner - El is a whiz at finding good restaurants with half-price offers - and then we have a day together before I come home on Saturday evenings - but the pleasure and excitement of having her within 20 miles and the prospect of the baby to come more than makes up for it; indeed, it doesn't matter at all.
We thought a barbecue last night. Sadly, the weather forecast was accurate and it rained, until I served up steak in the west-facing dining room, whereupon the sunlight streamed in again. Today, another lovely morning, but it rained at lunchtime, so it was just as well that we hadn't tried again with the outdoor eating. We drove over to the house and then to the station for a cup of tea before the train came in, and it started to tip down yet again as I was about to leave them. It wasn't that far to the car, but I was wet through and my hair was dripping, so that I had to comb it back and the unaccustomed sight of my pale bare forehead startled me.
I tried out the new satnav and am a happy convert. I am a Luddite at heart, rejecting most innovations, but I rather liked the unnagging tone of the directions and, although I ignored the voice at one stage and went my own way, there was no fuss but a few seconds of quiet reconfiguration and then a polite suggestion of the next turning, which was the one I wanted to take all along. On the way home, it was entirely good-natured and caused no dissent at all, unlike Dilly's sister's, which tried to send her several miles the other way to the main Lowestoft to Norwich road, quite unnecessarily. Next weekend, I'll be driving to their London flat and I've got lost doing that before (on a rainy November night; the only other time I've driven there I was all right) and I just don't want the anxiety: which is the reason for the satnav.
We thought a barbecue last night. Sadly, the weather forecast was accurate and it rained, until I served up steak in the west-facing dining room, whereupon the sunlight streamed in again. Today, another lovely morning, but it rained at lunchtime, so it was just as well that we hadn't tried again with the outdoor eating. We drove over to the house and then to the station for a cup of tea before the train came in, and it started to tip down yet again as I was about to leave them. It wasn't that far to the car, but I was wet through and my hair was dripping, so that I had to comb it back and the unaccustomed sight of my pale bare forehead startled me.
I tried out the new satnav and am a happy convert. I am a Luddite at heart, rejecting most innovations, but I rather liked the unnagging tone of the directions and, although I ignored the voice at one stage and went my own way, there was no fuss but a few seconds of quiet reconfiguration and then a polite suggestion of the next turning, which was the one I wanted to take all along. On the way home, it was entirely good-natured and caused no dissent at all, unlike Dilly's sister's, which tried to send her several miles the other way to the main Lowestoft to Norwich road, quite unnecessarily. Next weekend, I'll be driving to their London flat and I've got lost doing that before (on a rainy November night; the only other time I've driven there I was all right) and I just don't want the anxiety: which is the reason for the satnav.
Saturday, 14 June 2008
Where everyone knows your name
Hard not to snap back to good humour when you go into Yagnub. Helped by the westerly wind behind me, I pedalled hard up the hill by the post office and was puffing a bit as Penny crossed the road in front of me. "I'm slow, you've plenty of time," I called. "Mind that hip!" she returned. I went into the butcher and asked for thick sirloin steaks. Adrian remarked that the Sage had enjoyed the meat he'd bought himself for his lunch the other day (he'd been eating fish or veggie all week and maybe felt a little deprived). I said that he'd offered to share, but I'd already cut a lovely artichoke from the garden. Tracy in the bakery started to put my rolls in a bag and then said "Ooh, better not, Alex wouldn't like it!" I agreed, and said I'd get the blame. "Mind you don't drop them as you cross the road." "If I do, that'll be Al's fault."
I went along to the library - I forgot that I'd been in last time on a Friday, so I had a 75p fine to pay - and stocked up on canvas bags for Al, who sells them at cost price in the shop. Then I went back and picked up some lovely local lettuces, Webbs Wonder and Cos, for tonight and chatted to several customers, including Penny who had worked her way round town and was getting her heavy vegetables last. An elderly car was parked on the yellow line and the traffic warden was standing there. "That's Bill's car," said Al. "I know," he said. "Go on, then, give 'im a ticket!" The warden grinned. "I've warned him often enough." "He's in the butcher, he'll be out as soon as he spots you." Bill saw him and he shot out and into the car. "I have told you, you know, this'll have to be a final warning." Bill didn't believe him, you could see. "You're parked on the pavement drop too, for wheelchairs, that's worse than just the yellow line," I said and, to the warden, "You're a good, kind man." "Hm, up to a point..." he replied. "I'm not buttering you up, I'm on my bike," and he grinned at me.
There's a link I want to put in to a newspaper article, but the EDP's search is really quite poor and I've never found out how to find a particular thing I need to find. The town and the person and the date doesn't do it - I'll have to have another try later. I must go now to fetch my girly and her chap from the station.
Later The local paper only puts in headline news on the day, you have to pay for an e-edition to get the whole of the paper's contents, which is all right, because the article was in yesterday. But it doesn't seem to be there yet. Maybe they don't update at weekends.
I went along to the library - I forgot that I'd been in last time on a Friday, so I had a 75p fine to pay - and stocked up on canvas bags for Al, who sells them at cost price in the shop. Then I went back and picked up some lovely local lettuces, Webbs Wonder and Cos, for tonight and chatted to several customers, including Penny who had worked her way round town and was getting her heavy vegetables last. An elderly car was parked on the yellow line and the traffic warden was standing there. "That's Bill's car," said Al. "I know," he said. "Go on, then, give 'im a ticket!" The warden grinned. "I've warned him often enough." "He's in the butcher, he'll be out as soon as he spots you." Bill saw him and he shot out and into the car. "I have told you, you know, this'll have to be a final warning." Bill didn't believe him, you could see. "You're parked on the pavement drop too, for wheelchairs, that's worse than just the yellow line," I said and, to the warden, "You're a good, kind man." "Hm, up to a point..." he replied. "I'm not buttering you up, I'm on my bike," and he grinned at me.
There's a link I want to put in to a newspaper article, but the EDP's search is really quite poor and I've never found out how to find a particular thing I need to find. The town and the person and the date doesn't do it - I'll have to have another try later. I must go now to fetch my girly and her chap from the station.
Later The local paper only puts in headline news on the day, you have to pay for an e-edition to get the whole of the paper's contents, which is all right, because the article was in yesterday. But it doesn't seem to be there yet. Maybe they don't update at weekends.
Friday, 13 June 2008
There's always the weekend to look forward to
The Year 9 music pupils in today's lesson were having their work recorded, for playing back and evaluating at the next lesson. It's been an ambitious project - each class was split into small groups, usually of 4 or 5, and they had to write, arrange and play a piece of music in their chosen style. Some of the groups tackled this with a lot more confidence than others, but I've been impressed by the work they've all put in and the results. It's not the way we were taught music when I was at school.
I was tired and had to walk up the hill to the school. I knew I looked drawn and miserable and I couldn't help it - it was all right when I was with someone and had an animated expression, but in repose my face drooped. On the way home, I noticed the gardener in the churchyard mowing the grass and I went along to tell him the date of the festival, so that he could cut the grass and tidy up in the week before. As I came back, an old lady was walking through the side gateway followed by her granddaughter (I suppose) who had driven her there. They were both carrying flowers. The older woman's were bright, pretty colours of summery flowers and it made me cry, to think of her visiting her husband, with nothing to express herself with but pointless blossoms that he wouldn't see her carefully arrange and lovingly water.
This afternoon's meeting, which was to confirm or disallow the permanent exclusion of a school pupil, was straightforward, but depressing.
Tomorrow, Weeza and Phil are coming up to meet the carpet fitter at their house in Norwich, to where they are moving next month. The train service has been horribly delayed by track problems all week and the lastest thing was a derailed goods train yesterday. They will be bused from Colchester to Ipswich and the journey will take nearly an hour longer each way. I'll ferry them around to do some shopping - paint and the like - take them to the house and also buy the Sage a birthday present for next week. We'll celebrate on Saturday evening, while we're all here.
Al panicked this morning when he discovered an order on the board for stuff he didn't have - lollo rosso lettuces, endives, several pineapples, 20lbs of tomatoes, herbs, 15 lbs of strawberries --- it went on. He rang and there was no reply, so the Sage went out to visit the customer and see whether they were for today or tomorrow. Her husband was there. "Um, no," he said, "the order's for next week." The Sage went back and reported to Al who had, by then, noticed the date clearly written and who has meekly accepted the description of 'plonker.'
I was tired and had to walk up the hill to the school. I knew I looked drawn and miserable and I couldn't help it - it was all right when I was with someone and had an animated expression, but in repose my face drooped. On the way home, I noticed the gardener in the churchyard mowing the grass and I went along to tell him the date of the festival, so that he could cut the grass and tidy up in the week before. As I came back, an old lady was walking through the side gateway followed by her granddaughter (I suppose) who had driven her there. They were both carrying flowers. The older woman's were bright, pretty colours of summery flowers and it made me cry, to think of her visiting her husband, with nothing to express herself with but pointless blossoms that he wouldn't see her carefully arrange and lovingly water.
This afternoon's meeting, which was to confirm or disallow the permanent exclusion of a school pupil, was straightforward, but depressing.
Tomorrow, Weeza and Phil are coming up to meet the carpet fitter at their house in Norwich, to where they are moving next month. The train service has been horribly delayed by track problems all week and the lastest thing was a derailed goods train yesterday. They will be bused from Colchester to Ipswich and the journey will take nearly an hour longer each way. I'll ferry them around to do some shopping - paint and the like - take them to the house and also buy the Sage a birthday present for next week. We'll celebrate on Saturday evening, while we're all here.
Al panicked this morning when he discovered an order on the board for stuff he didn't have - lollo rosso lettuces, endives, several pineapples, 20lbs of tomatoes, herbs, 15 lbs of strawberries --- it went on. He rang and there was no reply, so the Sage went out to visit the customer and see whether they were for today or tomorrow. Her husband was there. "Um, no," he said, "the order's for next week." The Sage went back and reported to Al who had, by then, noticed the date clearly written and who has meekly accepted the description of 'plonker.'
Z's had enough
Another day over, thank goodness. Tomorrow won't be an easy one either. Today, that is, as it's after midnight again. And one piece of upsetting news after another this week - nothing personal to me, you understand, but affecting friends. Though I did just find a rather cold and withdrawing sort of email from someone, out of the blue which, as I was already low, has upset me. I sent a slightly too polite reply, rather formal - if I'd left it until tomorrow I might written in a different style but fuck it, why should I? I'm always the smoother over and the one who absorbs other people's moodiness and I don't feel like it tonight. I can't be bothered.
Oh damn, I'm going to go and have a lovely hot bath and then I'll wake up my husband and he will cuddle me and I'll feel all right again. Sorry darlings, I'll be better once tomorrow afternoon is over.
xx
Oh damn, I'm going to go and have a lovely hot bath and then I'll wake up my husband and he will cuddle me and I'll feel all right again. Sorry darlings, I'll be better once tomorrow afternoon is over.
xx
Thursday, 12 June 2008
English scones (since you ask)
Plain Scones
These are not very sweet or rich, but if I'm putting jam and cream or butter on, there's no need for them to be.
8 oz self raising flour (or plain flour with baking powder* as recommended on the pack)
1 ½ oz butter at room temperature
1 ½ tablespoons white sugar
pinch of salt
5 fluid ounces milk
A little extra flour for rolling out.
Sift the flour into a bowl and rub the butter in until it resembles fine breadcrumbs, ad the sugar and the salt, then add the milk, stirring in with a knife and then making a dough with your fingers.
Turn the dough onto a floured board and roll out gently to about ¾ of an inch – don’t make them too thin, but thicker is all right. Cut out with a pastry cutter or knife, put on a floured baking dish, bake for about 12 minutes, depending on size, at gas 7, 425F or 220C (not sure what you use!). When cooked, they will be golden brown and look cooked underneath too. Cook on a wire rack, eat while slightly warm.
Fruit scones
6 oz self raising flour (or 3 oz white SR flour, 3 oz plain wholemeal and 1 teasp baking powder*)
½ teaspoon powdered cinnamon
1 oz soft brown sugar
1 oz butter
1 ½ oz mixed dried fruit, or just raisins
1 large egg
2 – 2 ½ tablesp. milk
Make as before, adding the cinnamon and fruit before the egg and milk, which you beat together.
They take 15 -20 minutes to cook.
Cheese scones
6 oz SR flour (or as in previous recipe)
½ teasp dry mustard powder – if you don't have that, a little prepared mustard mixed with the milk.
½ teasp salt if you wish
1 oz butter
3 oz grated strong Cheddar or similar cheese
1 large egg
2-3 tablesp milk
Mix dry ingredients, rub in butter, add most of the cheese (reserve about 1 tablespoonful), mix to a dough with the egg and milk beaten together.
Cut out the scones – it’ll make 6 – 8 – and brush the tops with milk and sprinkle on the reserved cheese.
Bake (same temp as before) for 15-20 minutes, serve warm with more butter if you like.
Exact proportions don't matter with any of these, I just chuck it all together until it feels and looks right. You can't go far wrong, just don't roll them too thin and if you accidentally do, call them rusks.
*Baking powder is a mixture of cream of tartar and bicarbonate of soda – for half a pound of flour you'd need 1 level tablesp., which is 15 ml (sorry to switch to metric suddenly) baking powder. If you're mixing your own, it's 2/3 cream of tartar to 1/3 bicarb. I said to Yoga Gal that I replace some of the milk with buttermilk or plain yoghurt, but I didn't mention that, if I don't, I might add another teaspoon of baking powder, even if I've used SR flour.
These are not very sweet or rich, but if I'm putting jam and cream or butter on, there's no need for them to be.
8 oz self raising flour (or plain flour with baking powder* as recommended on the pack)
1 ½ oz butter at room temperature
1 ½ tablespoons white sugar
pinch of salt
5 fluid ounces milk
A little extra flour for rolling out.
Sift the flour into a bowl and rub the butter in until it resembles fine breadcrumbs, ad the sugar and the salt, then add the milk, stirring in with a knife and then making a dough with your fingers.
Turn the dough onto a floured board and roll out gently to about ¾ of an inch – don’t make them too thin, but thicker is all right. Cut out with a pastry cutter or knife, put on a floured baking dish, bake for about 12 minutes, depending on size, at gas 7, 425F or 220C (not sure what you use!). When cooked, they will be golden brown and look cooked underneath too. Cook on a wire rack, eat while slightly warm.
Fruit scones
6 oz self raising flour (or 3 oz white SR flour, 3 oz plain wholemeal and 1 teasp baking powder*)
½ teaspoon powdered cinnamon
1 oz soft brown sugar
1 oz butter
1 ½ oz mixed dried fruit, or just raisins
1 large egg
2 – 2 ½ tablesp. milk
Make as before, adding the cinnamon and fruit before the egg and milk, which you beat together.
They take 15 -20 minutes to cook.
Cheese scones
6 oz SR flour (or as in previous recipe)
½ teasp dry mustard powder – if you don't have that, a little prepared mustard mixed with the milk.
½ teasp salt if you wish
1 oz butter
3 oz grated strong Cheddar or similar cheese
1 large egg
2-3 tablesp milk
Mix dry ingredients, rub in butter, add most of the cheese (reserve about 1 tablespoonful), mix to a dough with the egg and milk beaten together.
Cut out the scones – it’ll make 6 – 8 – and brush the tops with milk and sprinkle on the reserved cheese.
Bake (same temp as before) for 15-20 minutes, serve warm with more butter if you like.
Exact proportions don't matter with any of these, I just chuck it all together until it feels and looks right. You can't go far wrong, just don't roll them too thin and if you accidentally do, call them rusks.
*Baking powder is a mixture of cream of tartar and bicarbonate of soda – for half a pound of flour you'd need 1 level tablesp., which is 15 ml (sorry to switch to metric suddenly) baking powder. If you're mixing your own, it's 2/3 cream of tartar to 1/3 bicarb. I said to Yoga Gal that I replace some of the milk with buttermilk or plain yoghurt, but I didn't mention that, if I don't, I might add another teaspoon of baking powder, even if I've used SR flour.
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
Z is sad
Oh, I thought I'd written a post - I just came on to alter the date to just before midnight; but I haven't. It was typing out those recipes for Yoga Gal.
Right. Um, I didn't do a lot today - just a meeting this morning, for which I have to write up notes ...that reminds me, I've got some from last week too because the secretary forgot the meeting and so I did minutes. I looked after Pugsley this afternoon, cycled in for fruit and veg - I'd asked the Sage to take my car this morning and fill it with petrol as Weeza and Phil are coming for the weekend and need to use it - and then biked in again for a new intake evening at school. One father seems to be interested in becoming a governor and I gave him my email. One of the other governors came in at about 20 to 9 and said it was just started to rain, so I hastened home (yes, provident woman that I am, there was a raincoat in the pannier and -AND- I'd remembered to put new batteries in the front light.
Actually, I'm a bit gloomy at present, because I heard today of a third friend who has died. None of these were young; one was just 86, one was 70 (that's pretty young really) and this one was 85. She and her husband (an old teacher of the Sage's) live some 120 miles away and the Sage is pondering whether he'll manage to go to the funeral. I can't, I've got an engagement that day.
In addition to that, two friends have just found they have cancer - both of them are around 80 - worrying news.
But, to finish on a happier note, a hen pheasant has been proudly bringing her babies to show us. She has nine of them and they've had several fine days to give them a good start in life. The rain this evening was only a shower - but it gave me a good excuse to get home in time to watch the final of The Apprentice. As ever, Siralun chose unwisely and will deserve all he gets.
(A few minutes later) - back again to backdate this to yesterday - it's 1 am, but you wouldn't want two posts on a Thursday, would you?
Right. Um, I didn't do a lot today - just a meeting this morning, for which I have to write up notes ...that reminds me, I've got some from last week too because the secretary forgot the meeting and so I did minutes. I looked after Pugsley this afternoon, cycled in for fruit and veg - I'd asked the Sage to take my car this morning and fill it with petrol as Weeza and Phil are coming for the weekend and need to use it - and then biked in again for a new intake evening at school. One father seems to be interested in becoming a governor and I gave him my email. One of the other governors came in at about 20 to 9 and said it was just started to rain, so I hastened home (yes, provident woman that I am, there was a raincoat in the pannier and -AND- I'd remembered to put new batteries in the front light.
Actually, I'm a bit gloomy at present, because I heard today of a third friend who has died. None of these were young; one was just 86, one was 70 (that's pretty young really) and this one was 85. She and her husband (an old teacher of the Sage's) live some 120 miles away and the Sage is pondering whether he'll manage to go to the funeral. I can't, I've got an engagement that day.
In addition to that, two friends have just found they have cancer - both of them are around 80 - worrying news.
But, to finish on a happier note, a hen pheasant has been proudly bringing her babies to show us. She has nine of them and they've had several fine days to give them a good start in life. The rain this evening was only a shower - but it gave me a good excuse to get home in time to watch the final of The Apprentice. As ever, Siralun chose unwisely and will deserve all he gets.
(A few minutes later) - back again to backdate this to yesterday - it's 1 am, but you wouldn't want two posts on a Thursday, would you?
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Z did the washing up
I arrived at the shop at 8 this morning, which does help as there's a lot of plants to get out at this time of the year. I went out at 11.30 to do some shopping for the doo this evening, bought some chops for the Sage and Ro's dinner and a ham and salad roll for my lunch from the bakery. As my bike panniers were crammed full, I was glad to see the Sage (with car) outside the shop and handed it all over for him to take home. Dilly arrived soon after Tim left at 12.30 and she served while I bunched up asparagus (if you leave it loose, customers break it as they handle it and a lot is wasted) before my meeting.
We left the Chairman of governors with a lot to do, I'm afraid, but in a supportive sort of way ;-) and then I went back to the shop, advised Dilly (yes, she did ask first) on the contents of a regular fruit box and went home. Al was going in to help pack up and the Sage and Ro would look after the children, while I prepared food.
First, I put on eggs to hard-boil, then I made a batch of scones, then I sliced a cucumber into quarter-inch slices, then I whipped cream, then I took the eggs off the stove, then - nearly too late - I removed the scones from the oven. I decrusted and buttered a small loaf, mashed the eggs with seasoning and mayonnaise, packed panniers and left for the church. There, I switched on the water heater, topped bread with smoked salmon, more bread with egg mayonnaise, cucumber slices with Boursin cheese, scones with cream and strawberries and, as other food arrived, put it on plates. I'd brought biscuits, crisps etc, but didn't open them as there was loads.
The bit that nearly scuppered me was having been asked to play for a hymn at the start. But it did give me a sit-down, and I had a quick swig of port at Communion time and belted back to make coffee. I'd already put out cups and saucers. Sue and I put out the food - we had put that outside, as chairs were in the meeting room and the hall isn't big enough. I put milk outside too, to force people out.
45 people emptied 4 cafétières, 3 teapots and nearly a litre of milk. Afterwards. they went in for their meeting while I washed up. At the end, I stood bearing foil plates and plastic dishes and asked people to take more food with them. As it was a meeting of religious types, I pointed out that it would have to be thrown away otherwise, and by the end very little was left. I finished washing up and left for home at 10.15.
I'm glad I won't be doing it again tomorrow.
We left the Chairman of governors with a lot to do, I'm afraid, but in a supportive sort of way ;-) and then I went back to the shop, advised Dilly (yes, she did ask first) on the contents of a regular fruit box and went home. Al was going in to help pack up and the Sage and Ro would look after the children, while I prepared food.
First, I put on eggs to hard-boil, then I made a batch of scones, then I sliced a cucumber into quarter-inch slices, then I whipped cream, then I took the eggs off the stove, then - nearly too late - I removed the scones from the oven. I decrusted and buttered a small loaf, mashed the eggs with seasoning and mayonnaise, packed panniers and left for the church. There, I switched on the water heater, topped bread with smoked salmon, more bread with egg mayonnaise, cucumber slices with Boursin cheese, scones with cream and strawberries and, as other food arrived, put it on plates. I'd brought biscuits, crisps etc, but didn't open them as there was loads.
The bit that nearly scuppered me was having been asked to play for a hymn at the start. But it did give me a sit-down, and I had a quick swig of port at Communion time and belted back to make coffee. I'd already put out cups and saucers. Sue and I put out the food - we had put that outside, as chairs were in the meeting room and the hall isn't big enough. I put milk outside too, to force people out.
45 people emptied 4 cafétières, 3 teapots and nearly a litre of milk. Afterwards. they went in for their meeting while I washed up. At the end, I stood bearing foil plates and plastic dishes and asked people to take more food with them. As it was a meeting of religious types, I pointed out that it would have to be thrown away otherwise, and by the end very little was left. I finished washing up and left for home at 10.15.
I'm glad I won't be doing it again tomorrow.
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