The Sage has left home

Yes, he's packed his bag and gone. It was his decision but I've agreed with it. Not that I won't miss him of course, but sometimes you just have to state your case, make your mind up and leave.

Tilly and I are having a little cuddle right now.

Dancing along with the Untroubled Diva

Oh dear Lord, do tell me that you have this site bookmarked.

And congratulations to Fabulous Diva Mike for his dancing on the plinth. I had to explain to the Sage, when he arrived home at ten to seven, that I couldn't possibly start preparing dinner until after the hour was up. He took it very well - as soon as I mentioned the words "someone whose blog I read" he knew there was nothing to say, but that I had my priorities right.

Z accepts the situation

So, is it good news or bad to know that I haven't just been making a fuss, and that my own evaluation, that I don't feel I can wait until I'm over 60 for a new hip, is probably correct?

After a long consultation with the consultant - yeah, does what he says - although I can't do a balanced evaluation without hearing the other side, I'm accepting his advice of caution and not going to pursue the option of hip resurfacing. I'm not going to tell you all we said, because he was quite open with me (which goes down so well with me, I like to be treated straightforwardly even if I don't like what I'm hearing) and it would be no more right of me to say what he said than for him to talk about me. So, sadly, that's a closed book for me. I am a closet risk-taker by nature, but not against clearly explained advice from an expert in his field.

I wonder what my doctor said in his covering letter actually. Not that I'd ask to see it, I also trust my doctor.

Anyway, the x-ray shows considerable wear in my hip. The consultant said that I walk well and have good balance and movement considering how bad it is. If I asked for a replacement right away, he'd agree to do it. As to when I do ask, that will be my own decision. I said that many people have told me that they know when the time has come, and although it is considerably hampering me from doing what I would like to do, I know I don't want it yet. He agreed.

So in short, I got on fine with him, I liked him in a professional sense - that is, he instilled respect and confidence and was straight with me - and when I need an operation I'll be happy for him to do it. When asked, and I am aware that it isn't a fair question, he said he thinks I won't be back within a year but that I will be before I'm 60. It's something of a relief to know that I won't have to argue my case when the time comes and that it is as bad as it feels. I'm sure you can appreciate how depressing it is to be relieved to know it's as bad as I think.

I also asked him if he could see any reason for the arthritis - he said that the socket of the hip bone is slightly shallower than that of my left hip and so perhaps there has been more movement in that hip since birth. That's fair enough and reassuring - there's no sign of arthritis in my left hip and no particular reason for me to expect it - or not - that is, it may come with age but not yet.

Anyway, now I know, I'm sort of relaxed. It's already bad so doing whatever I'm capable of won't make it appreciably worse. I'm okay with pain and don't think it matters in this regard - please, if you suffer from something agonising don't think I'm making light of it - my point is that I'm well within my own pain threshold and it's more a nuisance than anything else. I'm fine with toughing it out until it would be silly to do so any longer and then I'll ask for a new hip. Isn't it lucky to have something so curable? And not to have to be braver than I want to be?

And not to have the prospect of paying £12,000+ for elective surgery in January.

Yup, on balance I'm okay with this and I'm glad I went and, because now I know where I am, it's worth the money I've spent today. Whatever that turns out to be, Astonishingly, when I offered to pay at once, they airily said they'd send the bill.

X

Briefly the reasons that this painting caused so much scandal to the reputations of both the artist and the sitter were the dress - evening dresses at the time were pretty low-cut, but this was more so than most, as it was cut to look as if she wasn't wearing corsets. Indeed, she wasn't, but the dress itself was heavily boned. Then there was her complexion. She valued her pale, almost luminescent skin and actually dusted her face and decolletage with rice flour, which gave her an almost lavender paleness. She also rouged the tips of her ears as a contrast! But 'painting' was not what respectable women did, not visibly so at any rate. Another thing that was daring was the lack of jewellery on show, for a rich Society lady. She wore none but her wedding ring and a gold ornament in her hair, which has recently been observed to be Diana's (the Huntress) crescent.

It was a bold and provocative pose, and this would not have been so remarkable in an artist's model - Manet's considerably more explicit Olympia had been painted 20 years before - but this was a respectable married lady. But the clincher was something that, later, Sargent painted out of the picture. Her right shoulder strap was originally painted off her shoulder. Again, acceptable in a courtesan or model's painting, but incredibly provocative, especially bearing in mind the sophisticated dress and haughty pose. Her reputation never recovered, both she and Sargent were horrified by the (to them) unexpected furore and he moved to England where, funnily enough, he was more kindly received and never put the painting on show again until after the lady died, when he sold it to an American museum (another version is in this country) with the proviso that, since she had been so upset and from respect, it should not bear her name but be labelled Madame X.

Fruity & mellow

One of the compensations for the end of summer is the early autumn fruits. Al has had a lot of fresh figs brought in, and someone has had a fabulous crop of peaches this year - huge and juicy and really delicious. A few weeks ago, the Kent cob nuts were ripe and Al still has the last of those for sale, but today I ignored them, because he had something even better - fresh "wet" walnuts. I've come home with a big bagful. I've also come home with a punnet of autumn raspberries - I do have some autumn raspberry canes in the garden but they're a bit overwhelmed by nettles and I'm leaving them to the birds. Yes, think of me what you will, but I can't do much gardening at present.

This morning was the inaugural lecture of a new branch of this society - I've just come off the committee of one of its branches in Norwich. It was held in the local theatre and there was a very good turn-out, they had to bring in an extra row of chairs. It was an excellent lecture too - she'd come in at short notice as the original lecturer booked became ill and they had to scout around. It was about this picture, the subject and artist and why it caused such a scandal on being exhibited for the first time in Paris.

Oh, by the way, how do you pronounce 'eccentric'? "Essentric" or "excentric"?

Anyway, if enough people want to join it'll start up in January. I've come home and asked the Sage if he would join too and (once I mentioned a friend of his who was there whose wife is on the committee) he agreed. So that will be something we do together, which will be something of a novelty. Well, something that we go out and do together, that is.

A little love story

You know, the loveliest thing of all, this past year or so, has been seeing Weeza enjoy so much being a mother - and also being a daughter. We've had our ups and downs over the years, and have long since put the downs behind us - we're both straightforward and emotionally honest people and we have agreed to differ if necessary and back away from disagreements before they become rows. If one were to develop, we'd talk it through and reach a conclusion and move right on. Neither of us bring up old quarrels. We don't sulk. Our relationship developed once I stepped back and acknowledged, as I should have done earlier, that she is capable of reaching her own decisions and is better let go. Likewise, she learned not to be defensive. Many was the time that we recognised an edge and changed the subject or one of us found a reason for leaving the room for a few minutes.

I suspect that she's forgiven me a lot in the last year, now that she knows how difficult it is to be a mother. Maybe especially a mother of a daughter? - I don't know. I do know that she does better than I did in the first year. I was only 20 mind you, and I'd never held a little baby before her. I'm not sure if ante-natal classes existed, I certainly never went to one and I learned mainly through getting it wrong. Zerlina visibly adores her mother and the feeling is mutual. And yet she's a determined little girl. She doesn't cry unless there's something wrong, and stops when it's put right - this usually means food or a nap - but she can certainly shout with temper. Weeza is equally determined and doesn't let her get away with it, but gets the balance of firmness, kindness and love just right.

She also gets things just right with me. We love spending time in each other's company and really miss each other if we don't meet up every week. And she loves it that I do the same with Zerlina as I used to do with her - give quick darting kisses all over her face and neck until we're giggling and breathless. It was Weeza's favourite thing as a little one, she used to shut her eyes, open her mouth and hold her breath.

Hm. Excuse me. I'm getting soppy. But we should count our blessings, shouldn't we?

Bringing on the wall, Day 27 - and Squiffany starts school

I went downstairs early and started baking. By the time Dave arrived at 20 past 9, the cakes were out of the oven and I made tea for us all. It felt quite strange to get back to bricklaying, as I’ve done so little of it for the last weeks, but I soon got into the swing of it. It seemed to go quickly too, as I was simply filling in between two sections and could slap enough mortar along for several bricks at a time. The weather started cool and cloudy, briefly rained (really briefly; a few big drops for just 10 seconds or so, then it stopped) and later the sun came out and made us unexpectedly warm.
Dave's bit

My bit

From the other side. I don't stand up straight so most pictures lurch slightly to the right.

I think the Sage and Dave were puzzled at the time I took to prepare lunch, as I’d said I was cooking omelettes. Of course, I was also icing and decorating a dozen fairy cakes. Since it's not his birthday until tomorrow, he begged me not to sing to him. Of course, if ever he heard me sing he would implore me never to do it again. I tried to light the candle, but it was too windy, so here is the best I could do.
Observe the bantams strolling across the lawn.

The other exciting event of the day was Squiffany starting school. As she’s only just four and a half, she will only go half days for the first term. She was smiling and happy when I hurried out with my camera to wave her on her way and posed for me outside her house.

Later this afternoon, I went to the hairdresser and called in on the way home for fruit from Al's shop. "How did she get on?" I asked (he'd been home for a couple of hours this morning). Weeza and Zerlina had come over for the day and had gone, with Dilly and Pugsley, to fetch her home. "She came stomping in before them muttering 'all this work to do' and went straight to her room. When I went in she was at her desk looking for something. I asked how she got on and she said 'I've got to do my homework, hundreds of work. Can you lend me a pencil, please?'" "She enjoyed it then?" "Oh yes, she had a great time. She said to Pugsley that she'd missed him and picked him up and gave him a big hug and he hugged her back and said he'd missed her too" Later, she was quite tired and cuddled up with Mummy and P on the sofa, and then, with Weeza, they made gingerbread men. So the day went rather well.

Happy birthday for Tuesday, Dave

Z counts on her fingers

My brief explanation has confused you more, so here's a fuller one. Today's real post (which includes pictures of the wall!) will come later this evening.

Right. Let's say that there is £100 to pay and there are six groups to pay it; they equally share the service it provides. To start with, because group A has more money than the others, it agrees to help out by paying most of it, but after two or three years (the composition of the group having changed somewhat) a new member points out that A pays £80 and each other group is paying £4, and this in no way reflects the relative incomes, nor is it fair. So she suggests that A should pay £50 and the others each pay £10; that is, that A pays half. She appreciates that this is a large jump and proposes that the amount that A pays should reduce over a period of 6 years, so that in year 1 they pay £75, year 2 £70 etc. At the same time, the other groups each pay the rest; that is, in year 1 they each pay £5, in year 2 £6 etc. This is agreed to be reasonable and is agreed.

After 5 years, a representative of the other 5 groups points out that they had expected to pay an increase of 5% each year, but it has always been a lot more than that. They start to feel hard done by and suggest that they pay the same amount as they did the previous year, although there is a contract to pay the full £100. They are too polite to say so, but clearly it's believed that it's Group A's problem, although by now Group A, whose income stays the same although other expenses have gone up, is finding it hard to pay its own bills by now and needs the full contribution.

The thing is, the total bill (100%) is being shared out differently each year, in that A's share reduces by 5% of the total each year and each other group's share increases by 5% of the total each year. But that doesn't mean that the actual money increases or reduces by 5% each year, because the percentage increase or decrease starts at a different number.

That is, A pays £80 (which is 100% of A's contribution) one year and £75 the next, which is (roughly, if anyone cares to do the sum it'd be great, but I can only do simple sums) 6.5% reduction on £80, whereas each other group pays £4 (100% of their contribution) one year and £5 the next. This is a simple sum - it's a 25% increase. Looks massive, doesn't it? - but they're still paying only 5% of the whole, even though it's 25% more than they did the previous year.

The actual sum involved is several thousand pounds and there's a cost of living increase each year, but the sum paid by each is still paid in the agreed proportion.

Z has had a long day

I was very disappointed, a few minutes ago, to discover it was only 6 o'clock. I'd thought it was nearer 7 and I could cook dinner, eat it and consider another early night (lights out by 10 last night). Not that going to bed early is much use to me. I fall asleep early and wake up a few hours later; I must have woken up 4 times for half an hour or more.

Anyway, the good thing about it being 6 o'clock is that it's time to open a bottle of wine. The Sage and I are sitting in a companionable manner, having eaten a cheese straw and everything - gosh, we know how to live.

I've been spending half an hour or so writing a letter to explain how, if one *person or organisation* pays 80% of a total and 5 others, jointly, pay 20%, then altering this percentage share by 5% a year until the first one pays 50% and each other pays 10%, there is never at any time an increase to the payment anyone actually pays of 5%. Being considerably less mathematically- or financially-minded than any of 6 treasurers, it's a wonder that no one else has actually understood the system but me. I'm simple, you see - I have to work it out to something I can understand in a small way rather than deal in big sums that confuse me. But that means I actually do it, because I need to understand it, whereas someone else will just work out their percentage increase and complain that it's 9% (this being several years into the arrangement) when he or she had expected it to be 5%.

If your head aches already, think of a bill of £100 and one person paying £80 while 5 others pay £4 each, and the next year one pays £75 and the others pay £5 each - the only place 5% comes in is the percentage of the whole, not to anyone's increased or decreased payment.

Anyway. Head aching more? Drink a glass of wine. Unless you don't drink wine, of course, in which case I suggest you eat a nice crisp apple or a piece of delicious chocolate. One of those appeals, surely?

Right, I promised you a few photos of the lovely Norfolk countryside. And its churches. A photo of Phil has crept in, and some of Zerlina's bike buggy. In addition, you can see that we grow sugar beet and maize in Norfolk. I can't be bothered to label them all, but you might also spot a pub, a glass of beer and an ice-cream. Sadly, for she adores ice-cream (no, she hasn't tried beer, what do you take us for?) Zerlina slept through this bit.














The pictures are in no particular order because, as you'll know if you use Blogger, they upload photos in reverse order (the last shall be first and all that) and I did it in several sets (they appear at the top of the post and you can just cut'n'paste).

A flavour of the day. The flavour of this afternoon has been lounging on the sofa, with first the Grand Prix and then Dave (the channel, not the friend) on TV. And now it's quarter to seven and time to start cooking dinner. Happy Sunday evening, darlings.

Le Tour de Norfolk

Well, a bit of it. We've all had a lovely day, the weather was perfect, hot and sunny but with a sufficient cool breeze for us not to feel overheated, and we decided on a route that would take us round several villages on quiet country roads, dropping at a very nice pub on the way back. I had various things to do this morning, including setting up our own church for visitors, and Weeza and Phil's time is rather governed by Zerlina's nap and feed times, so it was about 12.15 by the time we set out.

I was slowest from the start, and after about 3 miles I suggested that perhaps my bike tyres were a bit low. When we stopped at the next church, which was the delightful round-towered one at Little Plumstead, we decided to eat our picnic in the churchyard and Phil got his pump out and pumped up my bike's tyres. When he came to the rear tyre, he said "hm, it reads 8 psi." "What should it read?" I asked. "Between 50 and 60." Afterwards, I felt every bump in the road but cycling was a whole lot easier. The church was unmanned and locked, with a friendly note of apology and squash and biscuits left out. I wrote a note of thanks for the lovely peanut biscuits.

We continued on our way. A few other churches were unmanned but open (you sign their sheet to show you've been there and write on your own sponsorship paper the place and time), and the people at the other churches were friendly and welcoming. We were plied with drinks and biscuits. The countryside was delightful. Zerlina was well-cushioned in her bike trailer and perfectly well-behaved, Phil was patient and showed no annoyance at Weeza's and my slower progress and Weeza said several times what a lovely time she was having.

We stopped for beer and icecream at the splendid pub attached to the fine brewery at Woodbastwick, by which time I was aching rather. Just one more church to go and we headed for home, getting there at about quarter to five, just right for Zerlina's tea.

We only visited 8 churches as they were mostly rather spread about (I started at my own village church so had 9 marked) and went nearly 19 miles, about 30 km. This isn't much more than Phil cycles every day as the non-train part of his commute, but was a long way for Weeza and me. We visited Little Plumstead, Rackheath, Hemblington, South Walsham, which had 2 churches next door to each other, Ranworth, Salhouse and Woodbastwick, which are all villages north east of Norwich. Phil took photos and if he gets around to sending them to me, I'll post some tomorrow.

We had fun and will certainly do it again.

He's just sent the pictures of Zerlina - here's one of her eating her biscuit (not the peanut one), with her foot in the air like she don't care

Friday already?

I've been thinking it's Monday all day. I guess it's because I was in school first thing this morning for a couple of hours, so it feels like the beginning of the week. I arrived home to find a present and letter from a friend - we were at school together and, although I've re-met some people from school in the past few years, she's the only one I've kept up with all this time. Her birthday is a fortnight after mine. We've been pretty poor correspondents the last couple of years, so I didn't know she's had a pretty rubbish summer in one way and another. I've sometimes wondered whether to tell her about this blog so that she can, if she wants, keep up with what's happening to me, but I hesitate. It would feel a bit odd. I make no secret, though nor do I talk openly, about this blog; a couple of people have asked its name and others have asked about blogging - they find it particularly peculiar that I've met fellow bloggers by way of it. Whereas we, of course, know that this is perfectly sensible and simply friendly. Anyway, I don't think I'll volunteer the information to Lynn at this stage,

Tomorrow, I shall load my bike in the car and drive to Norwich for the annual Churches Trust cycle ride/walk. Last year, I walked round Norwich and went to some fabulous churches - one doesn't have to have a religion or it to be Christianity, to appreciate a church, temple or any religious building for its beauty and history. The most stunningly powerful in its sense of goodness (really, I'm not in the least sensitive to atmosphere normally but that one almost took my breath away) was the Quaker meeting hall, the most fascinating historically was a little church I'd never noticed, where French refugees from the Revolution worshipped, and the most interesting was an octagonal Nonconformist chapel. This year, either Weeza and I will bike round Norwich or, if Phil wants to join us, we'll put Zerlina in her bike trailer and go round the villages near them. It's a sponsored thing, but I'm not one to look for sponsors so I'll simply send a cheque myself to the charity. Before going, I'll go and get the village church ready - there's a rota of people manning it all day to greet cyclists and offer them drinks and use of the loo - but I'll unlock the kitchen and put the paperwork out. Conveniently, we're lending various things - cafétières, cups and saucers and so on - this weekend so I can put things ready for collection and return.

Z has been made much of and is sleepy as a consequence

Ooh, birthdays should come more than once a year, although I suppose one has to be the Queen or Paddington Bear. I have been properly pampered and am slightly worse for wear - only slightly, because I'm not correcting typos as I type; that necessity being an ominous sign of non-sobriety.

Seriously, I wonder what teetotallers do to let their hair down? I don't doubt that they can and do, I'm just not sure how.

My internet connection is dreadfully slow tonight, after several weeks of being very well-behaved. Maybe everyone else is blogging at this very minute.

Um. I'm quite relaxedly cheerful and not capable of coherent thought. I'm due in a music lesson tomorrow, where the pupils will be invited to start work on an arrangement of Coldplay's 'Clocks' or the Kaiser Chiefs' 'I predict a riot'. Yes indeed. Neither of them a favourite of mine. I am sorry to have moved away from Cameo's 'Word Up', which I like. Anyway, I'm off for a bath. I've new stuff to use, including a fabulously soft and long bathrobe and I am too tired to type more.

Oh, when you've got something stuck in your throat, it's true that dry bread takes it down, even if it hurts to swallow. My throat is still sore, but recognisably as an after-effect, not because something's still there.

Goodnight, darlings, You are lovely.

Z is no longer a slave to duty (not that she was ever a pirate of Penzance)

The trouble is with writing a post in the morning that things happen during the day and I have the twitch to write in the evening. Of course, the trouble with writing late at night is that I'm tired out or I've written the post in my mind already, so don't have to actually put it down on virtual paper, or have forgotten all about it already. But 7.20 in the evening when, unusually, we've already had dinner, should come somewhere in between - if we disregard that I've already written today's post that is, and you indulge me. You don't have to indulge me of course, and I won't even know if you haven't, unless you write me a forthright note to tell me so.

Jonathan rang to say that he would be taking one cow back and bringing another to keep Big Pinkie company. If they happened to be on the Ups and Downs, could I put the gate across the beck, please, to keep them there? I went out. They weren't there. I went back to fetch a few apples to attract them and returned - they were there, 50 yards away on the field. I moved the barrier and went to give them their apples. They were both awfully pleased and stuck their big rasping tongues out as I held the apple halves on my palm. I know not to leave a finger sticking up for them to bite accidentally, but they drool a whole lot more than horses. They weren't inclined to follow me, but, as I looked back, 169 was licking Pinkie's shoulder affectionately, a move that Pinkie reciprocated a minute later,

Jonathan and Brian arrived and the cows thundered over the field to greet them. I fetched another apple and some carrots. 169 is expecting her calf in a few weeks, so she's going back to the farm, and we'll miss her. "She used to be a bit wild, you've gentled her" observed Jonathan. I gave Pinkie the credit. 169 obediently went into the truck as 202 came out. Pinkie and she looked at each other and were not at all pleased to see each other. They both lowered their heads and I took a few more steps back. I'd already recommended to Tilly that she wait outside the field. Pinkie and 202 weren't happy. We watched as they went towards each other and pushed heads and necks against each other. Then 202 moved away and Pinkie followed, sniffing 202's bottom. I think this was asserting her authority. Then they both started to graze, still tense but no longer actively unfriendly. It was interesting.

I did have my relax on the sofa, but the Sage took an earlier train home than he'd booked (you can usually do that, as long as you okay it with the inspector or the office) as he'd not bought anything. The description of damage in the catalogue was not incorrect but didn't quite tell the full extent, so he didn't bid. He went back into town to pay money back into the bank. Having run it past him, I rang the hospital to confirm my appointment. "There's your x-ray at 2.30" she said. "Really? That isn't mentioned on the appointment, only the consultant at 3" I said. "It should have been," she said apologetically. It's still all right, I can leave my lunch a bit early. I rang my friends to tell them I could take them but not take them home afterwards. That's all right, they can take the bus. I feel nervous already. I already regret doing this - yes sure, right thing to do and all that.

I screwed up somewhat yesterday (as every day as you know). I emailed my apologies for a meeting tomorrow, as we're going to Weeza's. It was a jocular apology, explaining that I'd had a better offer for my birthday. Only after I'd sent it did I realise that it went to every school in the pyramid - 15 or so - as well as the people on the committee. I had to follow up with a 'whoops' after-message. I will put a brave 'pfft' face on it and just sigh heavily in the background. Anyway, giving apologies for a meeting in favour of fun is a step forward for me and a sign that duty won't come first all the time in future.

Z is alone

I peer disconsolately into the mirror. I'm looking tired, which at my time of life equates with old. I try a smile. The Frankie Howerd jowls turn into thick creases round my eyes, which remain flat and unamused. I reflect that I will never look at my face without make-up on again, ever.

I'm not feeling entirely at my best. On Saturday, I got a bit of carrot stuck in my throat, which is the result of eating a lot of raw food and never properly chewing. The bit of carrot is still there. It's not moved up or down, and for the last couple of days has given me a sore throat and, since last night, a headache. This seems an unlikely side-effect, but I rarely have a headache and I went to bed with one, woke with it in the night, hadn't shed it by this morning and it all seems connected with the general throat-hurtiness.

However, today's post cheered me somewhat, as it contained several birthday cards and a present, and a postcard/birthday card from Dave. It also brought an appointment at the hospital in Norwich for next week, with a requirement for me to phone to confirm or change it. Ominously, they want my credit card number at the same time so that I won't have to trouble to pay the bill before I leave. Although the consultant will send me a bill separately. Lovely. At least I have a name now, so I can look him up before I go.

I'm all alone for the day, which is quite unusual. Even if I don't see Dilly and the children, they're usually there and so is the Sage, bustling in and out - he's always busy. But he left early this morning for London, and Dilly came in happily a couple of hours ago, saying that she'd decided to take the children back to the coast for the rest of the week, because the weather's so lovely. Her parents went to visit them and they stayed on in the tent, so it's still up and this (for Dilly is immensely polite) will save them having to take it down. Pugsley will have nursery school tomorrow and so she's planning to come back early, spend most of the day here, then go back again. Additionally, Squiffany is going to be visited at home by her teacher tomorrow afternoon, so they do need to be here. And, as Dilly said charmingly, they want to see me on my birthday.

Feeling stale, flat and unprofitable as I am, I'm most inclined to curl up on the sofa all day with an array of books and a big bowl of fruit, but the sun is shining and I mustn't succumb to this sort of self-indulgence. At least, not before lunch.

Z is very warm

Al and Dilly and the children had a lovely time in North Norfolk. When they left on Thursday, it was extremely windy and they had a lot of difficulty putting up their tent, which rather worried Pugsley, who imagined losing it in the Wash, like an odd sock or the Crown Jewels. However, after a day or so things improved and they've had fine weather. Al said that he never remembers being on Holkham beach in such perfect sunshine before.

It's been even hotter today. Still is. People have started picking the sloes on our hedge by the road, which is good to see. I like to think of the quantities of sloe gin being made in the village. There's not a lot else you can do with sloes, after all, because they're splendidly astringent. Al shut up shop early and was home by 4 o'clock, having been shut altogether yesterday; that having been his summer holiday. The Sage was in town when someone stopped and looked at the closed door in dismay. "He's not closed down for good, has he?" Not having just spent several thousand pounds on doing the outside of the shop up, he hasn't. I've put - just this moment - my camera in my bag and will take a photo if I'm in town tomorrow.

Tomorrow, the Sage is going to an auction in London so I'll do ... well, probably not a lot. Not if it's sunny. I'll pretend it's still the summer holidays and lounge around, once I've done essentials. Essentials don't comprise a lot, if I'm honest.

The phantam prepares to flit

Tomorrow, the Sage is going to release the phantam. Here's a picture of her - I put one of her up when she was a chick, which I'll look for and link to if you like, although it was much like any other chick. Not a good photo, but she was very frightened and was running back and forth along the further corner of her run. Her foster mother went back with the other bantams a while ago, because she was taking most of the food but she hasn't become very tame, even with the Sage, and she's anxious to get out. She does look much more like a young hen pheasant than a bantam, but she's definitely a hybrid. We don't think she'll settle with her aunts and she'll be best simply let go, and hope that she'll come back to roost and feed to the extent she's comfortable with. The cock pheasant has been keeping her company from outside the run already and, since she's far too young to interest him as a mate, he evidently recognises her as a fellow pheasant.

The new village school opened today. Squiffany will be a pupil, but as one among those of the new reception year who will go part time to start with, she will start next week. It's very exciting for everyone concerned; this school has been a twinkle in everyone's eye for a long time. I really thought it would be built in my time as a governor, it having been considerably delayed by then, and I left three years ago.

I have to say, from the road at any rate, it is not an attractive building. An odd mix of different coloured bricks or wooden cladding in its various sections, it doesn't look very welcoming as a school or very modern as a design. More a product of the 1970s, perhaps, which is no great compliment. I haven't walked across the fields to see what it looks like from the other side, and at least the classrooms will look out onto playing fields and a farmer's field. The pretty Victorian school building it replaces was far too small however, with a small playground and no playing field at all (the church has rented a playing field for them) and it's wonderful to have been given the funding for this new school. Whatever it looks like from the outside, I'm absolutely sure - knowing the staff, governors, and children - that Squiffany will have a fine education and be very happy there.

What Z wore today

What Belgian Waffle wants, Belgian Waffle should get. I hope she didn't mean I should upload it to Flickr



I've been in jeans most of the week, but today I wore a skirt. The teeshirt and pattern on my skirt are black not grey but I couldn't find a black felt-tip pen and it's too blunt to show the pattern, and the brown is too dark, so here's a picture of it. I absent-mindedly coloured in down to the wrist on my left but I deliberately didn't try to do my hands - I'd made enough hash of my shoulders. My sandals are brown, which I forgot to colour. I'm not sure what went wrong with my right lower arm.

There. Other than that, it's the image of me.

Z overeats - or, the proof of the pudding...

It's an interesting thing - Victoria sponges or Bakewell tarts (or puddings, if you're from Derbyshire) each taste different, but a cherry cake is a cherry cake and one tastes much like another. That was the hardest - the first two tasted almost exactly alike, the third tasted the same but was slightly drier. All - there were 7 or 8 entries - tasted similar but in all but 2, all the fruit had sunk to the bottom. One was beautifully distributed and one was reasonably so. Sadly, the best looking wasn't the best tasting. This was the hardest decision of all. Marie and I deliberated, and finally gave it to the perfect looking one - it was still a good cake to eat and was, visibly, by far the best.

Anne had rather wanted us to share the items between us - one to do baking and one to do preserves, but neither of us fancied that, and we promised to hurry up and be decisive. Even so, we were diligent and examined jellies (preserves, that is, not gelatine desserts) for clarity and cakes for density and lightness of crumb before our careful tasting. Usually, we were able to decide swiftly on the top three or four, although we usually had to taste again before deciding on the final order. Marie would have overlooked the less than ideal looking entries, but I insisted on tasting everything, and indeed the best looking often wasn't the best to eat. After it was over and, having tasted 10 or 12 pickles and chutneys, faintly churny of stomach, we had a final swig of water and went for lunch - I left the ham and cheese and ate home-made onion quiche and salad, including a particularly good, fleshy yellow tomato I'm not familiar with - I'll have to ask around and see if I can find out the variety.

When all the names had been put out, I looked to see who we'd given prizes to. I was interested to see that De had won first prize for her drink for the third year. She's helped me judge for the last two years and stepped back, leaving it to me, for the class she'd entered in. She gave me no hint and I had no idea, but she won. This year, there was an elderflower cordial, two elderflower and lemon and one lemon and raspberry. The lemon and raspberry was deliciously tart, an elderflower and lemon was slightly sparkling and delicious and we tasted them a couple of times, before deciding that the lemon overpowered the raspberry and it was slightly too sour with raw lemon juice. The other was marginally sweet, but otherwise perfect and we gave it to that. Having once gained 19/20 points for my lemonade in an Area WI class, I reckon I know my soft drinks - anyway, as I say, De's was the winner as it transpired.

Ro was out on my bike (he had asked) when I arrived home. He'd gone to visit various friends, one of whose mother has just died. Another friend, who gave him a lift home from Norwich on Friday, lost his father to cancer a year ago - tough on these young men. My father died suddenly when I was 16; I miss him still, and it will be 40 years in January - and the centenary of his birth next July.

Anyway, we had an early meal of bacon (local), eggs (home-laid) and tomatoes (home grown) and I took him back to Norwich. I brought back a boxful of shot lettuces from his landladies' garden, for the bantams.

Today, there was a car treasure hunt and tea at the Rectory. I thought it my absolute duty as a good guest to eat as much as possible, since Brenda and Gill had cooked so much delicious food. I ate sandwiches, scones with jam and cream, sponge cake and fruit cake. Back to a redoubled diet tomorrow. Size 10 (English, darling American friends) has been determinedly re-won and will not be lost again.

The village show

Today, I'm going to one of the next villages to judge the Domestic classes in their annual Gardening Club show. It's the third consecutive year - I have to say that I'm terribly flattered to have been asked again. I know what a dismal old woman this makes me but I don't care in the least. I also know why they asked me back - it's because I do the judging in the spirit of the show.

I'd done it before, some years ago, with a friend. Now she took it on with the air of a professional, which she was. She used to be a home economist, worked on various glossy magazines, with well-known food writers/cooks and has written a number of cookery books herself. So she took the schedule seriously, and if it said a 7" cake, she wouldn't even taste the 6" one, but wrote 'not as scheduled' and passed it by. Similarly, if she cut it open and it was a bit underdone in the middle, she wouldn't taste it. After a couple of years, they quietly didn't ask her. She moved away some time ago so there's no question of offending her by asking me without her.

I taste everything, even if it smells funny. Even if there are 20 chocolate cakes or 17 jars of pickle, I have a go at all of them, then go back to the best few to finalise my decision. I know nothing, but we all know good food when we taste it; enthusiastic amateur describes me as a judge just as well as it does the entrants.

This year, they've cut down the number of classes somewhat, which is just as well, though I see that they've removed many of the savoury classes and left the sweet ones and pickles. When I arrive, the first thing I do is check the schedule for tasting order - more or less, savoury, followed by sweet as you'd expect - but the savoury pickles tend to be left to the end in case they spoil my palate, hem hem. The gentlemen's class is usually keenly contested. Last year or the year before, it was lemon cake. I hardly knew how to choose between the final two absolutely delicious ones, they were gorgeous. Much as I'd already eaten, I had to taste each of them several times.

So think of me from noon onwards (not for the whole rest of the day, darlings, let your minds cast a glancing blow any time between 12 and 2 pm). I will be tasting, in approximately this order, cheese scones, cottage loaf, sweet biscuits, cherry cake, victoria sandwich cake with butter cream filling, Bakewell tart, jars of jelly, lemon curd, chutney and pickles, non-alcoholic summer drink and evaluating new-laid eggs.

Stuffed and slightly nauseated, I'll then be given a delicious lunch.

Family matters

Dilly and the children have gone away camping for a few days. It was blowing a gale yesterday, but they didn't leave until 4 o'clock, when Al shut the shop early and went to help them set up the tent. I had a text from Dilly later to say they were all tucked up warmly. Al will go and join them again on Saturday evening.

Ro is coming home this evening, just for a day. He's got various things to look out and take back, including his passport. He thought he knew where it was and asked me to look, but it wasn't in the drawer he keeps that sort of thing - he probably needed it for ID sometime and just put it somewhere afterwards - he'll find it easier than I would, I certainly don't want to start looking through all his stuff.

And Weeza and Phil have asked us round for dinner next week, for my birthday. Ro will join us, and we'll go early in time to play with Zerlina first. Weeza, who finds that routine suits her baby best, asked that we arrive before 6 or after 7, as if we arrive during the run-down to bed time, Zerlina won't want to go to bed when she usually does, and then she'll have a restless night. So we'll pick up Ro from work and go then.

Both Weeza and Dilly had the babycare thing sussed so much more effectively than I ever did. Mind you, I was only 20 when Weeza was born, and getting into a steady routine was certainly something I resisted. A bit more organised when Al came along a couple of years later for practical reasons, but I didn't want our life restricted by fixed times for a baby - you have to remember I was a 'child of the Sixties' and whilst I was by no means a hippy (too young, too sensible, and, though still so far in the closet that I didn't even know it myself yet, too control-freakish), I had something of the relaxed attitude to life and still do. It is restricting for Weeza and Phil, who will rarely stay out past Zerlina's getting-ready-for-bed time, but they are rewarded by a child who welcomes and enjoys going to sleep. When it's getting near nap time during the day, Weeza will get out Barry the Bear and little z reaches for him and gives him a cuddle. Then Weeza gets out the little pillow that someone just gave them from New Zealand, and z takes it and snuggles her face into it. Off they go upstairs to read a book, z goes into her cot and, though she may not go to sleep for a while, she rarely fusses but just lies there happily talking to herself before drifting off. It's remarkable. Well, it is to me. I love it that my daughter is a better mother than I was!