Bringing on the wall, Day 30 - East is East and Z is Z ...

... and the twain met. This was very cheering. We've done sections that met before, obviously, but this is the very first time that Dave has started at one end of the row and I have started at the other and we've carried on until there was just one brick separating us, at which point I went to get my camera and Dave slapped on the mortar.

Dave would like it to be pointed out that this part of the wall runs north to south so he doesn't think the heading is accurate. I would like to point out that his surname is East and my name, here at any rate, is Z, so it is.

Here is Dave getting ready to lay that last brick. I'm the one at the start sounding like Boris Johnson (actually, Boris models himself on me, or so I've heard) and the Sage is the encouraging one at the end. The picture is of Dave.

And here are other photos of that brick, and of the wall as a whole.





And it really is a whole (yes, it has holes too) now, although there is still a course to lay before the top goes on. I thought it would be too tall for me today, but whereas from the kitchen garden side it comes up to my eyebrows, from the drive side it is hardly to my chin and still manageable. We have scaffold boards (and a Risk Assessment in place) for the final layers. I am tremendously excited; a few weeks ago Dave saw me lose my rag somewhat with the absent Sage (I had time to recover my temper before he arrived home) and today he saw me in excited mood.

When we'd finished, I went to make tea and while the kettle was boiling I took the plates, mugs and cake out on to the lawn. Three bantams came rushing hopefully to meet me. I was tremendously flattered as they usually only do that to the Sage. I had already planned to bring bread, so dumped everything on a convenient barbecue and went back to fetch it, and the tea. Dave, who is a Man of Steel, didn't flinch once as, from a couple of feet away, I kept flinging handfuls of breadcrumbs to hopeful chickens. I did, at least, throw overarm and not like a girlie. One chicken, a charming 4-year-old, ate from my hand.

Today I received the bill from the heating engineer for the London boiler, the bill from the hospital for the x-ray and the bill from the consultant. The Sage received one eBay purchase, an email to say another had been posted and he's already got his other two purchases. We've both spent about the same amount. I will revert to my practice of thinking of all money spent in terms of something not routine. Like, I want to buy a new fridge - that's about a Lowestoft sparrowbeak jug. Or a computer - that's a teapot in generally good order, if not in an exciting pattern. Going by that, the boiler cost a rather special teabowl and saucer and looking at my hip cost a Victorian vesta.

Actually, I was not dismayed by that bill. I told Al, when I'd posted off the cheque and phoned with my credit card for the x-ray. "That doesn't seem too bad," he said. "When I think what I paid the dentist this year, and what I paid the plumber." I agreed.

Adding a video to a post takes ages, but at least I could type in the meantime, and now I've just got to insert the rest of the photos. Well, soon. It's finished uploading and is now processing.

Ho hum. *Twiddles fingers*

We've had time to watch an eBay item finish and chuckle at the high price, especially in view of the fact that it was somewhat misdescribed as enamelled instead of a wrap-around. Buyer might be disappointed, we think.

Oh hooray. It took 35 minutes to upload that video.

Bringing on the wall, Day 29 - Pillar of the -um-wall

A short afternoon's work today, and I wasn't sorry, from my own point of view. I woke up at 3 am, couldn't sleep again and eventually got up, and was stiff and achy all day. Still, Dave built to the top of the end pillar, except for the capping which we'll do in one go next week and/or the week after.

A treat today, a little glimpse of the Man Himself in action. Here you are.

Perfection...

And a couple of photos -


Dave is due to come back tomorrow afternoon (the Sage has found out that there's a chance I'll make cakes for tea if we're building in the afternoon, so he's encouraging that) but we're not sure there's much I'll be able to do. It's getting to a height I can only just manage, though I expect I can still do a dozen or so bricks before I'm sent back to the kitchen where I belong.

The installing of the new London boiler seems to have been sorted out okay, but as at any time when something is taken out and replaced, the fittings aren't quite the same, which means some making good will be required. I can't bother the tenant again - he's sent some photos which are useful, but I don't feel able to ask him to take measurements as he's put himself out enough already, and besides one just has to see and evaluate it. So I think I'll go down next week, do some preliminary work and measure up and the Sage will go down after that and do the carpentry. I want to go to several exhibitions this autumn so it will be no hardship as long as the trains don't get delayed or cancelled.

The Sage has been shopping again, both from a dealer and privately. He's spent about as much as I have on the boiler and gas checks etc. He's had more fun. I think I'll have to have a mini-spree myself. Mind you, I'm enjoying the music Ro passed on to me. For the last few days I've been obsessed with Tom Waits' Alice, which is fabulous. Yes, I know it came out in 2002 or something. That doesn't mean I have to have heard it before, does it? I'm usually at least a decade behind-hand, this is rather efficient for me. I'll see Ro at the weekend, I'll thank him again. Of the music he gave me, I still have to learn to love Nick Cave.

Z doesn't hang about

I had such a good time yesterday afternoon. The children came to visit while their mother was at the hairdressser and they were charming. I'd bought some stickers for them the other day, mildly monsterish faces with googly eyes and they were thrilled with them, rather more than the gift warranted in truth. Squiffany decorated her wellies with them and Pugsley arranged them on a sheet of paper. He said several times how much his mother would admire them. We did a jigsaw, played a game. went and bounced on my bed (I didn't) and Squiffany and I dressed up for my wedding. I wore a sari, which rather impressed her, and went and got out all my rings so she could put them on my fingers. Pugsley took a shine to a couple of rings and wore them while he rummaged around under the duvet on the floor, but I remembered to reclaim them.

Once Dilly was home and Al had shut up the shop, we went down to the new village school, which was holding an open afternoon from 4-6 so that anyone who wanted to could look around. It's wonderful. I felt quite emotional - look, you know me, this is hardly a surprise - as we'd all worked so hard for so long to get the funding and arrangements for the building to be built. When I left the governing body three years ago it was all agreed, but it's taken all this time for everything to be finalised. The former school is one of those lovely little Victorian purpose-built village schools, where 100 or more pupils from ages 5 upwards sat in rows, all in one room. It's been much altered from that - indoor lavatories were added about 22 years ago, an inner courtyard was turned into a library about 15 years ago and only 4 years ago walk-in cupboards were turned into extra teaching areas. Every inch of space in that little school was used. A third class was housed in a mobile classroom. The village church leased an area of field and fenced it for a playing field. It worked damn well too, Ro was well taught there and, most of all, it's a place for children to grow up happy and secure, with a good grounding for life as well as in education. But it was cramped and awkward and, however good-humoured the staff were about it, it wasn't easy to deliver a full curriculum. Indeed, we were told at more than one Ofsted inspection that, because of the limitations of the building, it was not possible to be given the highest rating.

So now it's got, or is going to have, everything we could wish for. There's still some fitting out to do in one room, with cookers and science equipment, and not everything is complete outside. The school will use the playing field for another year, all being well (we've got to ask to continue renting it yet) while theirs is levelled and seeded, but that doesn't matter. 18 years I put in at that school and I still sort of belong there. The Bishop is coming to open it officially next month and I'm very pleased to have been invited to the ceremony.

Anyway, I saw lots of people I knew, who were also having a look round, including former pupils and a former Head and his wife who also worked there for some years, although they weren't married to each other then. And someone else who I had a chat with about being a governor at the high school - when she agreed to stand for election I came home and wrote at once to the head and chairman of governors and have had a reply saying nomination forms for parent governors will go out today.

Z holds a conversation with the Sage (which would actually fit on Twitter)

"You know I'm not difficult, darling, don't you?" "Nyah." "What?" "Nyah." "Well, exactly."

Z writes a letter and has nothing for lunch

Half past one. The Sage arrives home. "Have you had any lunch?" I asked. "Not yet," he replied - what a world of expectancy in those two words. Pity. "Um. There's no cheese left." "I'll go out and get some cheese." "Or there's eggs, but there isn't any bread." "I'll get a loaf. And post your parcel." I wondered whether to mention that I have nothing planned for dinner. I decided that's a disappointment too far, as yet. Anyway, there's always food, if one uses a bit of imagination. It's just a question of how well you can bluff.

The children are coming through soon for a couple of hours, or else I'd go and do some shopping myself. Apparently, they're looking forward to bouncing on our bed. They're not allowed to do that at home. I think it's one of the things that Grannies should allow - after all, when you don't have to deal with the consequences, there's a lot of fun to be had from being over-indulgent with children.

I've just written a long letter, a rarity nowadays. It is an actual letter, not an email, but it doesn't really count as a proper personal thing because I typed it. I know. This is not a good thing at all. However, I hand-write so little nowadays that much more than a signature is beyond my powers of legibility. Besides, as we only write to each other occasionally, I only know what I've said if I keep a record - otherwise I'll say the same thing several times and leave something vital out altogether. Conveniently, our birthdays are a fortnight apart and so my thank-you letter can go in with my present to her. This year, I've given her a hip flask. I have no idea whether this is a good present or a peculiar one, for one middle-aged woman to give another, but I'd not mind being given one myself, so I hope it's the former. She and I were at school together and still are friends, although we don't see each other for years on end.

Bringing on the wall, Day 28 - Dave keeps his feet on the ground, but the Swiss rolls

Dave put in the last ornamental brick on the side of the wall we hope to finish this autumn, and I continued round the corner, building up towards the pillar. I can't go higher than 9 courses until I know where the first ornamental brick will go on that side, so I'll do another section next time.

This is my bit
And here is Dave's
Sorry the pictures only show the small sections we were working on. Next time, Dave will go back to building the pillar and I'll fill in between the bit he was doing today and the pillar at the end of the wall. After that, there are a couple of final courses to do along most of the wall, and then we can finish with the capping. We need to do that before the frosty weather, as if we leave it over the winter it'll have to all be protected from winter frosts and rain getting into and damaging the unprotected brickwork.

Feeling quite cheery and cookery-minded this morning, I decided to make a cake. Of course, Dave watches his waistline (well, as do all the girls too, trim and fit as he is) so I made a fat-free sponge cake; a swiss roll to be filled with homemade strawberry jam. I'd just put the sugar in a bowl and cracked into it several eggs when Weeza arrived. We hadn't known she was coming this morning, so it was a lovely surprise. I'd just made myself a pot of coffee so poured her a cup and then went back to my cake.

After we'd finished bricklaying, I made tea in my best teapot and took it out to the lawn with the cake, which Dave judged to be quite edible. Certainly, the bantams were quite happy with their slice and wiped their beaks neatly afterwards on the grass.

This evening, I babysat next door while Al and Dilly were at the bee society. The phone rang. It was the heating engineer who's been installing the new boiler at the downstairs London flat. He and the tenant have fallen out somewhat and he wanted to get his point of view over to me. When I came home, I had an email from my tenant. I feel a bit helpless and could only say soothing things all round, but it has driven me to chocolate. Two squares. Yes, you heard me - two entire squares.

When I go to have a bath, I shall light a soothing scented candle.

I've got a horrid feeling that I or the Sage will have to go and see to it ourselves.

Discharged

Something that Dave said about the chap whose poem he has on his blog today reminded me of this.

When I was in my teens, among the people I knew was a family of several brothers - we used to all meet up at dances and suchlike. They were all at public school so I only saw them in the holidays. There was one younger than I, one about the same age and the rest were older - as time went by and one tended to pair up rather than get together in a gang, I saw them less.

One of the oldest boys had a serious illness in his teens and had to have brain surgery, and ended up with a metal plate in his skull, but he fortunately made a good recovery. Afterwards he dropped out somewhat, (in the sense that he became a drop-out as we tended to do back in the 60s. Some of us), and the next thing was that he vanished and we heard eventually that he'd run away and joined the Foreign Legion. A few weeks of the discipline there and he realised that maybe it wasn't the best move he'd ever made. However, he'd signed up and he wasn't allowed to resign, that had been made clear.

So he started to suffer from dreadful headaches. He put on a very good show and the doctor saw him, and the headaches got worse. Eventually, they were concerned enough to order an x-ray, and there was a piece of metal in his skull. He professed complete ignorance of it - he must have been good and they must have been pretty gullible - in the end they couldn't bundle him out fast enough.

Anyway. After church, a friend asked me out for lunch. I said that the Sage had been away and if he had arrived home in time for lunch I'd better be there. So we left it that if he wasn't home, I'd go and join the friend. I went back, the Sage wasn't there, I hung around until after 1 o'clock, then left a note and went. I cooked him dinner tonight though and he was not unhappy. Or maybe he hides it well... Anyway, he bought himself a present while he was away, so he's feeling cheerful about that.

Most peculiar - I'd put together a playlist on iTunes not long ago which I hadn't got around to labelling and, when I downloaded Mike's plinth mix, I found that everything had changed order on that untitled playlist. And now I can't alter it - that is, I can list it in alphabetical order by name, artist, album etc, but not in the random but carefully chosen order I'd put it in. I suppose I'll work it out sooner or later. Even if I have to do a new playlist and delete this one.

Z speaks to Al

I need money. Cash, that is, right now, and more than I can get out of the cash machine on one day. I phoned Al and asked if he could let me have £700 if he hadn't banked yesterday's takings yet. "What, now?" he asked. "Well, this morning." "Um, okay, I can do that." I explained, briefly, "just so you don't think I'm being blackmailed or something." "Ve haff your husband and the ransom is £700?" "Hm, indeed, be a bit of an insult really, wouldn't it?"

Z has a social life of her own

Yes, much to my surprise. A friend rang up this evening to invite us round for dinner tomorrow night. I said that the Sage is away. Seems they'd like my company anyway. They live less than a mile away, so I'll bike there, just in case I'd like more than one glass of wine.

I spent the morning at the school in a music lesson, lunchtime (not that we got around to eating any) chatting to the chairman of governors about matters of considerable interest and the afternoon engaging Year 11 students in conversational French. A very engaging bunch and afterwards, to them and the teacher, I thanked and praised them. Not that easy for 15-year-olds to hold a conversation in another language with a stranger, out of the blue with the rest of them listening. Mind you, I never talk French myself. I was braver than they knew. Not as brave as I was to practise German with a previous class last spring, when I actually speak no German at all and don't necessarily know how to pronounce what I read. I bluff horribly.

Anyway, last night I woke early, as I do almost every morning at present and tried not to wriggle around too restlessly, but after a while the Sage woke up anyway. He took me in his arms for a cuddle, which was delightfully comforting. I still got up silly early, as I only dozed for a few minutes more. So I think I'll have an early night now.

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.