Since I started to use a feed reader, I've used Bloglines. However, not all blogs update in it - some are several days late and some don't update at all. Google Reader is much quicker and more reliable - but is this because Bloglines isn't efficient, or is it being unfairly squeezed out? Sometimes I can help things by unsubscribing and then resubscribing with a different link, but not always.
Recently, several bloggers have moved servers and the matter has become worse. Now, I have nothing against google except that it's so damn big. I like to support someone other than the market leader - but I often miss updates because I've got a good many blogs marked and I don't get around to clicking onto them on the offchance that I haven't been notified of a new post. it's got to the stage that I have a number of blogs marked in both readers, which takes a whole lot more time to sort through.
One thing I'm not fond of in Google is that one has to scroll through every post or mark all as read, or else they remain highlighted, even if I've clicked through to the blog - which I usually do - I like to read a post in its proper setting. Otherwise, I don't much care about the details. But if I change completely I've got an awful lot of blogs to change the settings on. Some of them haven't been updated for ages and may never be - but I don't want to lose them, just in case.
Sorry, this is something of a non-post. But advice or explanation gratefully received.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Z has not taken a photo of the lawn today
Weeza sent me a link to this website, which gave me a fine chortle. Who knew that minimalism made you so solemn?
If anyone is hoping for a photograph of a lovely lawn, I should explain that very little has happened to the area since. I have two relatively free months of the year - February and August - and so they are good times for a project. The year after the lawn was enlarged by clearing the scrub, the Sage was left to mow it. Inexplicably, he only mowed the original area and left the cleared part - I explained that mowing would kill the weeds, especially ground elder which was all around the roots of the laurel, but he seemed incapable of doing so. So last year, I bought a lawnmower of my own so that I could do it.
I should explain that the Sage has no objection to my using his lawnmower, but it has a pull start and the cord is so long that I can barely manage it. One has to put a foot on the mower to steady it as you pull, and it is not designed for a short woman. I used to manage, just, but last year I didn't have the strength in my leg to balance while I hauled.
Only trouble now was that - well, there was more than one trouble. One was that the brambles were starting to grow back, although I'd cut them down several times. I just mowed them and I daresay they'll die back in a few years time. Another was that there were several clumps of plants that I don't really want to lose, but I don't quite want to dig up and transplant, in case there's any ground elder in the roots. I know that what I have to do is take cuttings or root small pieces, keep them in a pot until I'm sure there's no ground elder and then transplant them, and I will - but in the meantime, I'm just mowing around them. The third thing is that the small patch of evening primrose has spread mightily. It's a biennial and so evidently, the first year, it seeded well and the second year there were lots of plants (that I couldn't dig up and transplant because of the ground elder roots) but that I didn't want to mow down. So it all still looked quite scruffy.
I saved seed from the evening primrose, by the way. Pity I've no idea what I did with it.
It snowed steadily for quite some time this morning. It's still snowing lightly, but starting to thaw as well. I'm staying indoors today. Far too lazy to brave the elements. Brrr.
If anyone is hoping for a photograph of a lovely lawn, I should explain that very little has happened to the area since. I have two relatively free months of the year - February and August - and so they are good times for a project. The year after the lawn was enlarged by clearing the scrub, the Sage was left to mow it. Inexplicably, he only mowed the original area and left the cleared part - I explained that mowing would kill the weeds, especially ground elder which was all around the roots of the laurel, but he seemed incapable of doing so. So last year, I bought a lawnmower of my own so that I could do it.
I should explain that the Sage has no objection to my using his lawnmower, but it has a pull start and the cord is so long that I can barely manage it. One has to put a foot on the mower to steady it as you pull, and it is not designed for a short woman. I used to manage, just, but last year I didn't have the strength in my leg to balance while I hauled.
Only trouble now was that - well, there was more than one trouble. One was that the brambles were starting to grow back, although I'd cut them down several times. I just mowed them and I daresay they'll die back in a few years time. Another was that there were several clumps of plants that I don't really want to lose, but I don't quite want to dig up and transplant, in case there's any ground elder in the roots. I know that what I have to do is take cuttings or root small pieces, keep them in a pot until I'm sure there's no ground elder and then transplant them, and I will - but in the meantime, I'm just mowing around them. The third thing is that the small patch of evening primrose has spread mightily. It's a biennial and so evidently, the first year, it seeded well and the second year there were lots of plants (that I couldn't dig up and transplant because of the ground elder roots) but that I didn't want to mow down. So it all still looked quite scruffy.
I saved seed from the evening primrose, by the way. Pity I've no idea what I did with it.
It snowed steadily for quite some time this morning. It's still snowing lightly, but starting to thaw as well. I'm staying indoors today. Far too lazy to brave the elements. Brrr.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Never too late
It seems that these pictures date from August 07. I mentioned the work in progress at the time, but by the time it was all finished, it seemed too late to put up pictures of diminishing undergrowth. Not for the first time, it seems I was wrong.
It's an odd garden, with no cohesiveness about it. There are some beds in a gravelled area in front of the house, a smallish lawn (for the size of the garden overall) at the side, separated by the drive from the beds, and the kitchen garden is the other side of the lawn and separated from that by the other side of the drive, which encircles the lawn (more of a tear-drop shape than a circle). Then there are various barns and a rough grassed area, and a scrubby shrubbery - it could be made beautiful I daresay, if you threw enough time and money at it, but we quite like living in the middle of a bit of wilderness and we'd sit uneasily in elegance and beauty.
Nevertheless, once in a while, one realises that something drastic needs to be done. The growth around the lawn had got quite out of hand, and trimming only showed that there was a whole lot of rubbish behind, which had been planted in front of rather than being cleared out properly (bad grammar? Indeed. Makes sense though). I had, the previous winter, cut the much-disliked laurel hedge to about 3 foot in height, but it had only made me realise that it had to come out altogether. It was so thick that it needed 15 or 20 feet of height to give balance, and it overshadowed everything and encroached on that side of the lawn. On the other side of the lawn, some lilacs would have to come out, which was a pity, but they were a thin border in front of a lot of dead wood.
This is the sort of thing I mean. Much of the wreckage was only visible once we'd cut down the lilacs. I cut them down with my trusty pruning saw and a helpful friend dug them out. The pictures showing the old fence were taken from the drive side. We were sorry to lose the old laburnum, which was ailing, but when it was cut down we realised that it wouldn't have lived much longer anyway.
In one of the pictures, you can see the granite blocks that now edge some of the paths in Dave's garden. You can also see the footings of the wall, which were put in a long time before we started building last May.
In another, you can see some dead elm saplings - the big elm tree fell victim to disease years ago, and since then suckers keep growing and then dying when they start to become trees, which is the fate of all English elms now. You can also see the wire we took out, remains of various fencing - the earliest, the Sage thinks, dates from before the drive was put in as when his parents bought this house in 1928, there was only a wire and a hawthorn hedge separating it from the field. The hawthorn was completely dead and almost rock-hard.
I left a fringe of lilac between the lawn and the field, which has thickened up in the past couple of years, and the little pightle at the pointed end of the tear-drop remains (a pightle is, in Norfolk, a small remnant of land, usually triangular in shape), which Weeza and Al remembered playing in when they were small, visiting their grandparents.
Stripped of ivy, the trunks of the wild plum trees are smooth and twisted.
That August wasn't all work - we went with the family to Southwold one day.
While I was having fun hacking and chopping, the Sage was busy preparing for the next auction.
It's an odd garden, with no cohesiveness about it. There are some beds in a gravelled area in front of the house, a smallish lawn (for the size of the garden overall) at the side, separated by the drive from the beds, and the kitchen garden is the other side of the lawn and separated from that by the other side of the drive, which encircles the lawn (more of a tear-drop shape than a circle). Then there are various barns and a rough grassed area, and a scrubby shrubbery - it could be made beautiful I daresay, if you threw enough time and money at it, but we quite like living in the middle of a bit of wilderness and we'd sit uneasily in elegance and beauty.
Nevertheless, once in a while, one realises that something drastic needs to be done. The growth around the lawn had got quite out of hand, and trimming only showed that there was a whole lot of rubbish behind, which had been planted in front of rather than being cleared out properly (bad grammar? Indeed. Makes sense though). I had, the previous winter, cut the much-disliked laurel hedge to about 3 foot in height, but it had only made me realise that it had to come out altogether. It was so thick that it needed 15 or 20 feet of height to give balance, and it overshadowed everything and encroached on that side of the lawn. On the other side of the lawn, some lilacs would have to come out, which was a pity, but they were a thin border in front of a lot of dead wood.
This is the sort of thing I mean. Much of the wreckage was only visible once we'd cut down the lilacs. I cut them down with my trusty pruning saw and a helpful friend dug them out. The pictures showing the old fence were taken from the drive side. We were sorry to lose the old laburnum, which was ailing, but when it was cut down we realised that it wouldn't have lived much longer anyway.
In one of the pictures, you can see the granite blocks that now edge some of the paths in Dave's garden. You can also see the footings of the wall, which were put in a long time before we started building last May.
In another, you can see some dead elm saplings - the big elm tree fell victim to disease years ago, and since then suckers keep growing and then dying when they start to become trees, which is the fate of all English elms now. You can also see the wire we took out, remains of various fencing - the earliest, the Sage thinks, dates from before the drive was put in as when his parents bought this house in 1928, there was only a wire and a hawthorn hedge separating it from the field. The hawthorn was completely dead and almost rock-hard.
I left a fringe of lilac between the lawn and the field, which has thickened up in the past couple of years, and the little pightle at the pointed end of the tear-drop remains (a pightle is, in Norfolk, a small remnant of land, usually triangular in shape), which Weeza and Al remembered playing in when they were small, visiting their grandparents.
Stripped of ivy, the trunks of the wild plum trees are smooth and twisted.
That August wasn't all work - we went with the family to Southwold one day.
While I was having fun hacking and chopping, the Sage was busy preparing for the next auction.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
The Sage kisses Z
he slept badly last night. He wants me to sleep in our own bed tonight. He would rather be kept awake by me than stay awake without me because he misses me so much.
Honestly, we're like newlyweds (apart from the sex, obv, because it is specifically forbidden*), but we're being all sweet and appreciative and loving all the time we're alone.
Quite sickening to be around us. So we put on a polite façade for visitors.
*Equally obv, because we're far too old for that sort of thing**.
**This reassurance is for my younger and more easily freaked out readers. Obv.
Honestly, we're like newlyweds (apart from the sex, obv, because it is specifically forbidden*), but we're being all sweet and appreciative and loving all the time we're alone.
Quite sickening to be around us. So we put on a polite façade for visitors.
*Equally obv, because we're far too old for that sort of thing**.
**This reassurance is for my younger and more easily freaked out readers. Obv.
Zanus
The Sage has gone off to an antiques fair in Norwich. he wasn't sure whether to bother, but I encouraged him. I also suggested he should look out for something for himself as a treat, from me. I have my cheque book poised in case he succeeds.
I've only been in the greenhouse once this year, and that was to cast a dismayed look at the clearing up to be done before I can start sowing seeds next month. I used to start things off in the propagator very early, but I've not done so in the past few years - it's a lot more work, with my improvised heating system, and a mild spell at the end of winter followed by a cold snap in spring could make it very tricky to keep everything alive and well. I'll start by getting some of the hardy vegetable seeds in and leave the tender ones for a couple of weeks. By the time everything needs to be planted out, I'll be able to kneel and do everything necessary - mind you, the beds out in the veg garden haven't been prepared yet. We really could do with some regular help in the garden, but it's not easy to find someone suitable. My daughter thinks I should have help with the housework, but I'd rather spend the money on a gardener, if only we knew someone who is happy to get on with the heavy work. And the boring work. I only do things I want to, unfortunately. Consistently, that is. I'll do weeding and tidying once in a while, but I'd much rather nurture seedlings, attack with my pruning saw and encourage daisies to grow in the lawn.
If you've known me long enough, you may remember that I took out a lot of overgrown rough shrubbery around the lawn, which was probably about 18 months ago now. I might find some pictures if I put my mind to it. I found a lot of dead hawthorn, which had been a hedge back about 80 years ago when my in-laws originally bought this house. It was a lot of work to remove it, but I enjoyed it - there was also a tall laurel hedge which I'd disliked for many years - we had it cut back to ground level twice and I'd tried to keep it in check, but it was too vigorous. So we got in a pal with a JCB and had it hoiked out. The cleared area was intended to become part of the lawn, but the bantams keep scratching the ground up and they have got rid of all the grass. On the whole, I think their needs are more important than a bit of grass, so I don't mind. The other side of the lawn, where I took out the hawthorn, there is now an open space where the lawn faces (across the drive) the wall, which will have a flower bed in front of it. The bantams tend not to venture across that way very much, it's just beyond their comfortable range, so I don't think they will give me any problems.
I don't think I put up many of the photos at the time. I have looked them out now, and am pleased all over again with what we did - and a lot of it, I did myself. Just think, it won't be long before I can be all keen and energetic again. Do you mind if I post some of them tomorrow, in a self-encouraging sort of way? Of course, if you prefer, I can just tell you what the weather is like or something just as enthralling.
The Sage is home again. He didn't buy anything.
I've only been in the greenhouse once this year, and that was to cast a dismayed look at the clearing up to be done before I can start sowing seeds next month. I used to start things off in the propagator very early, but I've not done so in the past few years - it's a lot more work, with my improvised heating system, and a mild spell at the end of winter followed by a cold snap in spring could make it very tricky to keep everything alive and well. I'll start by getting some of the hardy vegetable seeds in and leave the tender ones for a couple of weeks. By the time everything needs to be planted out, I'll be able to kneel and do everything necessary - mind you, the beds out in the veg garden haven't been prepared yet. We really could do with some regular help in the garden, but it's not easy to find someone suitable. My daughter thinks I should have help with the housework, but I'd rather spend the money on a gardener, if only we knew someone who is happy to get on with the heavy work. And the boring work. I only do things I want to, unfortunately. Consistently, that is. I'll do weeding and tidying once in a while, but I'd much rather nurture seedlings, attack with my pruning saw and encourage daisies to grow in the lawn.
If you've known me long enough, you may remember that I took out a lot of overgrown rough shrubbery around the lawn, which was probably about 18 months ago now. I might find some pictures if I put my mind to it. I found a lot of dead hawthorn, which had been a hedge back about 80 years ago when my in-laws originally bought this house. It was a lot of work to remove it, but I enjoyed it - there was also a tall laurel hedge which I'd disliked for many years - we had it cut back to ground level twice and I'd tried to keep it in check, but it was too vigorous. So we got in a pal with a JCB and had it hoiked out. The cleared area was intended to become part of the lawn, but the bantams keep scratching the ground up and they have got rid of all the grass. On the whole, I think their needs are more important than a bit of grass, so I don't mind. The other side of the lawn, where I took out the hawthorn, there is now an open space where the lawn faces (across the drive) the wall, which will have a flower bed in front of it. The bantams tend not to venture across that way very much, it's just beyond their comfortable range, so I don't think they will give me any problems.
I don't think I put up many of the photos at the time. I have looked them out now, and am pleased all over again with what we did - and a lot of it, I did myself. Just think, it won't be long before I can be all keen and energetic again. Do you mind if I post some of them tomorrow, in a self-encouraging sort of way? Of course, if you prefer, I can just tell you what the weather is like or something just as enthralling.
The Sage is home again. He didn't buy anything.
Friday, 19 February 2010
Moving swiftly on
The bed has been moved upstairs. Boooo. I loved having a bed in my drawing room. It turned out to be NVG for sleeping in all night, but it made the wakeful small hours very pleasant, with the Winter Olympics being on until 5 am and all.
Disappointment reigns, as Wink isn't able to come for the weekend after all. However, Ro came over with Weeza today, the first time I'd seen him for nearly a month, so that was most jolly.
There is to be a meeting here in half an hour. There will be six of us, will two bottles of wine be enough? Obviously not. Fortunately, I have already had a glassful from a third part-drunk bottle, and there's some rosé in the fridge too, now I come to think of it. I think we'll be fine. I take the notes at these meetings - since I have to sit in a chair by the computer (the only chair high enough), I might as well write them as I go along, straight on to the old ones - which I just update each time, I don't do proper minutes for this particular group. We organise the village festival each year, so a lot of it follows the same pattern, and much of the notes form an aide memoire.
Anyway, ignore the previous post. I resolutely drank a draught of sherry - ooh, do you think they still make schooners, in a glassware sense? - and ate G&B cherry chocolate until I felt cheery and we finished the condition report and Weeza has taken it away to get to work on the layout of the catalogue.
Christopher made me think of Tom Lehrer. I shall put on a CD later and hum along.
Disappointment reigns, as Wink isn't able to come for the weekend after all. However, Ro came over with Weeza today, the first time I'd seen him for nearly a month, so that was most jolly.
There is to be a meeting here in half an hour. There will be six of us, will two bottles of wine be enough? Obviously not. Fortunately, I have already had a glassful from a third part-drunk bottle, and there's some rosé in the fridge too, now I come to think of it. I think we'll be fine. I take the notes at these meetings - since I have to sit in a chair by the computer (the only chair high enough), I might as well write them as I go along, straight on to the old ones - which I just update each time, I don't do proper minutes for this particular group. We organise the village festival each year, so a lot of it follows the same pattern, and much of the notes form an aide memoire.
Anyway, ignore the previous post. I resolutely drank a draught of sherry - ooh, do you think they still make schooners, in a glassware sense? - and ate G&B cherry chocolate until I felt cheery and we finished the condition report and Weeza has taken it away to get to work on the layout of the catalogue.
Christopher made me think of Tom Lehrer. I shall put on a CD later and hum along.
Z talks herself out of a low spot
I took more care with pillows last night - to sleep comfortably on my back, I need 6 pillows arranged behind me (as I found in hospital, raising the back of the bed is not the same thing, I'm better with pillows), another pillow under my knees and a cushion under my feet to save me from sore heels. The Sage took the small area of bed remaining. I was very comfortable. Didn't mean that I slept later than 5 o'clock, though. 4 or so hours sleep a night isn't enough, and I'm very tired today. Unfortunately, so is the Sage, who has admitted (only when I asked him for complete frankness) that sleeping next to someone banked around with pillows is not too restful in itself. So, vastly regretfully, we've agreed that I'll sleep in another room for a while.
All in all, I feel a bit low today, and keep wanting to cry. This isn't like me, but I've sort of been expecting something like this because one always has a downswing sooner or later, and I think the best thing is to explain to the family why I may be a bit snappy or overreact to a small perceived problem. Today, we're doing the condition report for the sale, but we've a break at present as the Sage had a funeral to go to (a friend has died of cancer at the age of 48 - please don't think I'm complaining about my situation, I have nothing at all to complain of and everything to be grateful for) so Weeza has gone to call on a friend in the village. Her lovely mother-in-law is over for a few days, so is looking after both Phil, who has taken a day off work, and Zerlina - they'll all be loving that time together, whilst Weeza is enjoying a few hours of freedom, even if we are making her work!
Actually, just writing that last bit has done me good. I feel okay. Do you think a small glass of sherry would complete the cheering process? Or possibly a smidgen of chocolate. Hmm. Sherry, chocolate, which is better?
There's only one way to find out. Chaaarge............
All in all, I feel a bit low today, and keep wanting to cry. This isn't like me, but I've sort of been expecting something like this because one always has a downswing sooner or later, and I think the best thing is to explain to the family why I may be a bit snappy or overreact to a small perceived problem. Today, we're doing the condition report for the sale, but we've a break at present as the Sage had a funeral to go to (a friend has died of cancer at the age of 48 - please don't think I'm complaining about my situation, I have nothing at all to complain of and everything to be grateful for) so Weeza has gone to call on a friend in the village. Her lovely mother-in-law is over for a few days, so is looking after both Phil, who has taken a day off work, and Zerlina - they'll all be loving that time together, whilst Weeza is enjoying a few hours of freedom, even if we are making her work!
Actually, just writing that last bit has done me good. I feel okay. Do you think a small glass of sherry would complete the cheering process? Or possibly a smidgen of chocolate. Hmm. Sherry, chocolate, which is better?
There's only one way to find out. Chaaarge............
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Z is up early
Well, that wasn't a total success. We happily snuggled up to each other, went to sleep - and half an hour or so later, the Sage started chasing rabbits or something in his sleep and his twitching woke me up. And then I wasn't very comfortable and we both moved around, him half-asleep and me awake, until I dozed off again. Then I woke with an aching back at 5 o'clock and read for a while until discomfort forced me out of bed.
There was a study last year that found that couples sleep better in separate beds. Years ago, I couldn't sleep without the Sage - if he was away, the only way I could finally drop off was by cuddling his pillow in my arms. But I have to admit that now I sleep like a top when he's away. I like sleeping with him next to me, it's just that we wake each other every time we move, and it isn't conducive to a sound night's sleep for either of us.
Just as well I was up early, however, I've got a lot to do today.
There was a study last year that found that couples sleep better in separate beds. Years ago, I couldn't sleep without the Sage - if he was away, the only way I could finally drop off was by cuddling his pillow in my arms. But I have to admit that now I sleep like a top when he's away. I like sleeping with him next to me, it's just that we wake each other every time we move, and it isn't conducive to a sound night's sleep for either of us.
Just as well I was up early, however, I've got a lot to do today.
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
Z crumbles
What does a woman do to show her appreciation for a man on such an occasion? I'd normally cook him a lovely meal, but he's master of the lovely meals at present. I thought that maybe a cake would fit the bill, but then I saw the beautiful pink forced rhubarb. So I made a crumble. And he's happy. I expect he'll give me a kiss later...
It's a bit awful to admit, but I've continued to sleep downstairs all this time. I was going to have the bed moved upstairs ten days ago, but Wink counselled against, and then again last weekend but Weeza advised me to keep it down here for my afternoon rest - and I was going to sleep in our own bed, but as I was so tired yesterday I couldn't quite summon the energy to sort it all out. But tonight's the night. I'm a bit doubtful, actually - I really wanted the bed to go up so that I could have a night or two in it before braving sleeping with my husband - for the last six weeks before the operation we disturbed each other quite a lot, and not in a good way, and I'm also a bit anxious that I'll automatically cuddle up to him and turn on my side in a forbidden manner. Still, I miss him a lot and it'll be wonderful to hold on to him as I go to sleep, even if it is with a pillow between my knees. *Sigh*.
In fact, I think I've blurred too much the space between being up and being in bed and it's affecting how long it takes for me to get to sleep. In the first place, my trouble was being cold, but the nights are getting milder now and it's not a problem. But I watch television, listen to music, fiddle with apps (currently working on national flags, which I find incredibly difficult to remember, as my brain learns by words, not pictures) and read when I wake during the night, and then if I've had a disturbed night, I get up late.
I've downloaded a book reading programme on to my phone - Weeza said that she tried one but didn't like it, as she doesn't like the back-lit print. But I don't mind. It's not like reading a book of course, but it's a very useful substitute, especially when travelling. It's often very inconvenient - I can't bear to be caught without a book and, especially on holiday, have been found frantically searching for anything in English (or French, at a pinch) because I have read everything I've taken. I'll usually take 6 or 8 books for a week's holiday and always run out. Even for a train journey, I want two books, just to be on the safe side. The books on this app are all out of copyright, of course - at present, I'm reading Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier and Benjamin Franklin's autobiography, but it's very good for reading in bed under the covers.
I've a feeling that you book-lovers are frowning at me.
It's a bit awful to admit, but I've continued to sleep downstairs all this time. I was going to have the bed moved upstairs ten days ago, but Wink counselled against, and then again last weekend but Weeza advised me to keep it down here for my afternoon rest - and I was going to sleep in our own bed, but as I was so tired yesterday I couldn't quite summon the energy to sort it all out. But tonight's the night. I'm a bit doubtful, actually - I really wanted the bed to go up so that I could have a night or two in it before braving sleeping with my husband - for the last six weeks before the operation we disturbed each other quite a lot, and not in a good way, and I'm also a bit anxious that I'll automatically cuddle up to him and turn on my side in a forbidden manner. Still, I miss him a lot and it'll be wonderful to hold on to him as I go to sleep, even if it is with a pillow between my knees. *Sigh*.
In fact, I think I've blurred too much the space between being up and being in bed and it's affecting how long it takes for me to get to sleep. In the first place, my trouble was being cold, but the nights are getting milder now and it's not a problem. But I watch television, listen to music, fiddle with apps (currently working on national flags, which I find incredibly difficult to remember, as my brain learns by words, not pictures) and read when I wake during the night, and then if I've had a disturbed night, I get up late.
I've downloaded a book reading programme on to my phone - Weeza said that she tried one but didn't like it, as she doesn't like the back-lit print. But I don't mind. It's not like reading a book of course, but it's a very useful substitute, especially when travelling. It's often very inconvenient - I can't bear to be caught without a book and, especially on holiday, have been found frantically searching for anything in English (or French, at a pinch) because I have read everything I've taken. I'll usually take 6 or 8 books for a week's holiday and always run out. Even for a train journey, I want two books, just to be on the safe side. The books on this app are all out of copyright, of course - at present, I'm reading Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier and Benjamin Franklin's autobiography, but it's very good for reading in bed under the covers.
I've a feeling that you book-lovers are frowning at me.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Z goes back to bed
Excellent to see so many friends today, really lovely. It was a meeting of the society I used to chair, so everyone knows me and it's all very enjoyable. Afterwards, I did a very small amount of shopping - half a pound of tea from a most excellent shop, Wilkinson's, which is the only place in Norwich I know that I can buy Rose Pouchong, as well as various interesting other teas and coffees. They have a huge choice and lovely staff.
After that, a brief errand for the Sage and I walked down to the cathedral, where he was picking me up, and we came home. This afternoon, however, I was exhausted. I went to bed for a nap and slept for two hours. Actually, I then had supper in bed and have only just got up in time to get undressed and go right back there. I know I'm going to sleep badly tonight though as a consequence.
I'm sure it's anaemia, exacerbated by the anticoagulants - I feel full of energy until I actually do anything much. This morning, I stood chatting for about half an hour - not in one place, I was moving around to see different people - but by the end, I was glad to sit down. Then I sat for an hour, then walked half a mile, tops. It really isn't much to lay me low so thoroughly. But when my HB level was down around 9, many years ago, I was given iron injections, though I felt much worse then and at least now I don't feel in the least low or depressed (I don't know what it is now, but it dropped from 12.8 to 9.2 following the operation). I've been guiltily admitting laziness, but maybe I'm just not quite up to more than I'm doing. Well, not much more, anyway ;-) At least I cooked the Sage's lunch - it was only scrambled eggs, but a gesture, anyway.
I want to make marmalade next week, while Al still has Seville oranges. We're on our last pot from two years ago - I made enough then to not have to bother last winter. I've always done it by squeezing the oranges, slicing the raw peel etc, but I'm wondering whether to have a go at cooking the oranges whole and then cutting them up afterwards. It seems as though it would be quicker and less effort, but a great deal messier because of fishing out all the pips from the sticky fruit. Anyone got a view on the subject? I've tried using the food processor to slice the peel but I haven't found it entirely satisfactory, and I don't want to chop it as I like shreds of peel and clear, not cloudy, marmalade.
Random shoe in Tombland (this is the road outside the cathedral, there are no visible tombs)
After that, a brief errand for the Sage and I walked down to the cathedral, where he was picking me up, and we came home. This afternoon, however, I was exhausted. I went to bed for a nap and slept for two hours. Actually, I then had supper in bed and have only just got up in time to get undressed and go right back there. I know I'm going to sleep badly tonight though as a consequence.
I'm sure it's anaemia, exacerbated by the anticoagulants - I feel full of energy until I actually do anything much. This morning, I stood chatting for about half an hour - not in one place, I was moving around to see different people - but by the end, I was glad to sit down. Then I sat for an hour, then walked half a mile, tops. It really isn't much to lay me low so thoroughly. But when my HB level was down around 9, many years ago, I was given iron injections, though I felt much worse then and at least now I don't feel in the least low or depressed (I don't know what it is now, but it dropped from 12.8 to 9.2 following the operation). I've been guiltily admitting laziness, but maybe I'm just not quite up to more than I'm doing. Well, not much more, anyway ;-) At least I cooked the Sage's lunch - it was only scrambled eggs, but a gesture, anyway.
I want to make marmalade next week, while Al still has Seville oranges. We're on our last pot from two years ago - I made enough then to not have to bother last winter. I've always done it by squeezing the oranges, slicing the raw peel etc, but I'm wondering whether to have a go at cooking the oranges whole and then cutting them up afterwards. It seems as though it would be quicker and less effort, but a great deal messier because of fishing out all the pips from the sticky fruit. Anyone got a view on the subject? I've tried using the food processor to slice the peel but I haven't found it entirely satisfactory, and I don't want to chop it as I like shreds of peel and clear, not cloudy, marmalade.
Random shoe in Tombland (this is the road outside the cathedral, there are no visible tombs)
Monday, 15 February 2010
Z gets to work on a Social Life
Today, I've mostly been arranging transport. I want to go to Norwich tomorrow, so friends are taking me and the Sage will fetch me home. On Thursday, I have a lunch engagement, and another friend who lives nearby and is going to the same lunch will do the driving. I've still got another month to go before seeing the consultant again - I'm not going to drive until then. A friend told me the other day that she started driving a month after having her new hip - all I can say to that is that it's a good job she didn't have an accident, however irrelevant her operation might be to its cause, because her insurance would not have been valid. I didn't say it to her, however.
I had my insurance renewal quote today. I spent ages looking online last year for it and I was rather hoping that I wouldn't have to bother this year. However, it's 20% higher and has a £50 greater excess and a £25 greater windscreen excess, which I think is too much, so I'm going to have to go through all that miserable form-filling again. I'm wondering if it's worth paying for a protected no-claim bonus again - if they overcharge for renewals and you have to shop around each year, it may hardly be worth it, as obviously a protected no-claim bonus won't work if you get a quote from anyone else. Anyone got any advice here, please?
I'm not in the least frustrated by not being able to drive. At present, I'm just getting used to the pleasure of walking freely. I went round the village today, down to the post box and home by a different way, and I enjoyed striding along briskly instead of being jarred at every step. I've asked the Sage to take me into the town on Wednesday - there are various things we're getting low on and it's easier to get them myself than make out a list for him - for example, I want washing powder, and I don't mind which brand I have to an extent, but there are a couple that my sister is allergic to and among the rest I'll see what the prices are - if you're used to doing it, it's straightforward, but if not then it must seem randomly picky - "you can buy X, Y or Z, unless they happen to have W, which is normally the most expensive, on offer, in which case I'll have that. Otherwise, buy the cheapest but not A or B. Oh, and I know I call it washing powder, but get the liquid as powder doesn't always dissolve and I have to de-clag the dispenser. Remember to check how much you get for your money as least money may mean a smaller pack." Easier to just go myself, isn't it?
Yesterday, I woke up early. Some nights, I can't get to sleep for ages - I think it's because I'm unused to being this relaxed and rested - but a couple of nights ago I was, as a consequence, really tired and was asleep soon after 10pm. Of course, I woke at 5.30 and didn't sleep again. So in the end I decided to make myself useful in the kitchen by preparing soup for lunch. The Sage doesn't keep as many vegetables in hand as I do, but I found an onion, a shallot, some garlic, three carrots and two potatoes, and this became the basis for the soup, with the addition of a couple of rashers of bacon. I thought I might add some tomatoes, but we didn't have any, tinned, juiced or even puréed. Nor fresh. The store cupboard looks quite bare. However, the soup was good and lasted two lunches. The Sage is cooking fish tonight.
After weeks of talking about my hip, to an extent that even bored me, and then (as nothing else was happening to write about) reminiscing, I've quite lost my usual blogging rhythm. I wonder if there was a halcyon time when my writing was good. But I rather doubt it.
By the way, as I'd used all the vegetables, we had chips and peas with our pork chops last night. The Sage was very good-natured when I told him there weren't any left.
I had my insurance renewal quote today. I spent ages looking online last year for it and I was rather hoping that I wouldn't have to bother this year. However, it's 20% higher and has a £50 greater excess and a £25 greater windscreen excess, which I think is too much, so I'm going to have to go through all that miserable form-filling again. I'm wondering if it's worth paying for a protected no-claim bonus again - if they overcharge for renewals and you have to shop around each year, it may hardly be worth it, as obviously a protected no-claim bonus won't work if you get a quote from anyone else. Anyone got any advice here, please?
I'm not in the least frustrated by not being able to drive. At present, I'm just getting used to the pleasure of walking freely. I went round the village today, down to the post box and home by a different way, and I enjoyed striding along briskly instead of being jarred at every step. I've asked the Sage to take me into the town on Wednesday - there are various things we're getting low on and it's easier to get them myself than make out a list for him - for example, I want washing powder, and I don't mind which brand I have to an extent, but there are a couple that my sister is allergic to and among the rest I'll see what the prices are - if you're used to doing it, it's straightforward, but if not then it must seem randomly picky - "you can buy X, Y or Z, unless they happen to have W, which is normally the most expensive, on offer, in which case I'll have that. Otherwise, buy the cheapest but not A or B. Oh, and I know I call it washing powder, but get the liquid as powder doesn't always dissolve and I have to de-clag the dispenser. Remember to check how much you get for your money as least money may mean a smaller pack." Easier to just go myself, isn't it?
Yesterday, I woke up early. Some nights, I can't get to sleep for ages - I think it's because I'm unused to being this relaxed and rested - but a couple of nights ago I was, as a consequence, really tired and was asleep soon after 10pm. Of course, I woke at 5.30 and didn't sleep again. So in the end I decided to make myself useful in the kitchen by preparing soup for lunch. The Sage doesn't keep as many vegetables in hand as I do, but I found an onion, a shallot, some garlic, three carrots and two potatoes, and this became the basis for the soup, with the addition of a couple of rashers of bacon. I thought I might add some tomatoes, but we didn't have any, tinned, juiced or even puréed. Nor fresh. The store cupboard looks quite bare. However, the soup was good and lasted two lunches. The Sage is cooking fish tonight.
After weeks of talking about my hip, to an extent that even bored me, and then (as nothing else was happening to write about) reminiscing, I've quite lost my usual blogging rhythm. I wonder if there was a halcyon time when my writing was good. But I rather doubt it.
By the way, as I'd used all the vegetables, we had chips and peas with our pork chops last night. The Sage was very good-natured when I told him there weren't any left.
Sunday, 14 February 2010
Z was a Pretty Star
I was terribly impressed. It reinforced my certainty that I was on the right track.
Yes, it's genuine Victorian. And I knew quite enough, even then, to appreciate that he'd ruined its monetary value by writing in it (not shown), and that this indicated True Love.
I'm not expecting flowers, a card or the like today. He's been showing quite enough love, for better, for worse etc, to take him through the rest of our lives, whatever happens. It's a lot of work, marriage - however, in the long run ...
... it's worth the effort.
And, in other news, Winter Olympics! Yay (except for curling and speed skating)!!(!)
Yes, it's genuine Victorian. And I knew quite enough, even then, to appreciate that he'd ruined its monetary value by writing in it (not shown), and that this indicated True Love.
I'm not expecting flowers, a card or the like today. He's been showing quite enough love, for better, for worse etc, to take him through the rest of our lives, whatever happens. It's a lot of work, marriage - however, in the long run ...
... it's worth the effort.
And, in other news, Winter Olympics! Yay (except for curling and speed skating)!!(!)
Saturday, 13 February 2010
She sees Seychelles on the sea shore
The thing I remember most about the flight is flying over Egypt and being terribly excited to see the Nile. I prodded the Sage, who was asleep, and told him. He made a sleepily polite *pretending to be interested* sound and went back to sleep. He was awake when we arrive at Addis Ababa airport, however, and we all filed out on to the tarmac while the plane was refuelled. This is still the only time that I have stood on the African mainland. A small plane lay crumpled a little way away - apparently, it had overshot the runway some days previously, crash-landed and they'd not got around to moving it yet. I still appreciate that relaxed attitude.
We landed again, can't remember where - presumably it was in Mozambique or South Africa, and a number of South Africans embarked. The landing at Mahé was interesting - the airport, which had only been opened the previous year (replacing a much smaller one) was built parallel to the shore so that you felt that you were approaching a narrow landing strip by the sea. Which you were, come to think of it, though I'm sure it has been widened since. We were sprayed with insecticide before landing - apparently, there were no poisonous creatures in the Seychelles and no malarial mosquitoes, and they wanted to keep it that way.
The Sage's brother had visited the islands the previous year - he had a friend who had moved there and had gone to see him - and recommended it as the most wonderful honeymoon destination he could imagine. And indeed, it was gorgeous. From the moment you stepped off the plane into the warm tropical air, it was a delight.
Many jumbled memories here, and maybe I'll write them down one day. But for now, there it is - the story of when the Sage and Z were first married.
Tomorrow, something for Valentine's day, and then normal service (ie general wittering on) will be resumed.
We landed again, can't remember where - presumably it was in Mozambique or South Africa, and a number of South Africans embarked. The landing at Mahé was interesting - the airport, which had only been opened the previous year (replacing a much smaller one) was built parallel to the shore so that you felt that you were approaching a narrow landing strip by the sea. Which you were, come to think of it, though I'm sure it has been widened since. We were sprayed with insecticide before landing - apparently, there were no poisonous creatures in the Seychelles and no malarial mosquitoes, and they wanted to keep it that way.
The Sage's brother had visited the islands the previous year - he had a friend who had moved there and had gone to see him - and recommended it as the most wonderful honeymoon destination he could imagine. And indeed, it was gorgeous. From the moment you stepped off the plane into the warm tropical air, it was a delight.
Many jumbled memories here, and maybe I'll write them down one day. But for now, there it is - the story of when the Sage and Z were first married.
Tomorrow, something for Valentine's day, and then normal service (ie general wittering on) will be resumed.
Z is not tweeting - but is alarmingly close to it
The Sage is completely happy. He's sitting in an armchair, laptop in front of him, watching today's auction at Acle online, live.
I'm going to go and make him a cup of tea and make his day complete by adding to the tray a chocolate biscuit.
I'm going to go and make him a cup of tea and make his day complete by adding to the tray a chocolate biscuit.
Friday, 12 February 2010
Leglog - 3 weeks
As an aside from the story of my three-month wedding celebration (honeymoon coming along tomorrow - the actual honeymoon, that is, not the undirty weekend), a quick update on how things are going.
Put simply, fine. It's been steadily improving all week and, last night, I walked across the room without a stick and, the Sage confirmed, I didn't limp at all. My right leg still is a shade longer than my left, but either that is lessening or I'm getting used to it, because I hardly notice it. When doing exercises, which I do standing at the bar of the Aga, I can't freely move my right leg as my foot catches on the ground, so I stand on tiptoe on the left foot, which is fine.
I've not been getting out much and walking as far as I should, because the weather has been iffy and I don't want to slip on frosty ground, and when the weather has been fine, I've been busy. However, today I walked to see Kenny and Muriel - I suppose that's about 350 yards each way and it was quite all right. Further, next week. I'm supposed to walk quite a lot. I've got completely out of the way of it, the last few years, because then I wasn't supposed to have too much weight-bearing exercise.
Talking about weight, I'm still eating enough chocolate.
Put simply, fine. It's been steadily improving all week and, last night, I walked across the room without a stick and, the Sage confirmed, I didn't limp at all. My right leg still is a shade longer than my left, but either that is lessening or I'm getting used to it, because I hardly notice it. When doing exercises, which I do standing at the bar of the Aga, I can't freely move my right leg as my foot catches on the ground, so I stand on tiptoe on the left foot, which is fine.
I've not been getting out much and walking as far as I should, because the weather has been iffy and I don't want to slip on frosty ground, and when the weather has been fine, I've been busy. However, today I walked to see Kenny and Muriel - I suppose that's about 350 yards each way and it was quite all right. Further, next week. I'm supposed to walk quite a lot. I've got completely out of the way of it, the last few years, because then I wasn't supposed to have too much weight-bearing exercise.
Talking about weight, I'm still eating enough chocolate.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Pyjama party
I spent much of my time in the next few weeks in preparation for our wedding party - sending invitations, booking this and that, choosing stuff - but the pressure was off, as far as I was concerned. Funnily enough, I didn't mind the thought of being the centre of attention at the party, it was the actual wedding ceremony that had seemed so off-putting.
I can't remember many specifics about the next three months - I know we had a trip up to Derbyshire to the Sage's school Gaudy, where former classmates were surprised to find this fairly confirmed bachelor with a very young wife in tow. He was quite roundly teased and I fielded that for him - for someone as shy as I was, I had pretty good social skills, I suppose because in a fairly impersonal social setting one can put on a façade and not have to reveal much of oneself. We stayed, on the way home, in a converted watermill. The next morning at breakfast, I heard an American woman say to her husband, "this is the best cup of coffee since we arrived in England." Since the coffee was of indifferent quality - as was most coffee in this country at that time - I felt for her, and also warmed to her good nature in putting the best spin on things.
We didn't have a wedding present list, something that was just becoming popular then. Sensible though they are, I don't really care for them. Pa and Ma bought us a china dinner service - after many years' use as 'best', it's now used all the time. My mother bought us Victorian silver flatware (cutlery, darlings), at an auction that the Sage was conducting. He became quite squeaky as the price rose. Again, that service used to be hauled out for best, but we now use it every day.
We never bothered to put the photos from the party in an album, though our parents did, so they're around somewhere. They were taken by a friend from childhood of my father's, who was a professional photographer. My father had been best man at his wedding. I have got one photo to show you, however, which my sister-in-law gave us on our 25th anniversary, in a silver frame. It's come out a bit fuzzy, but then so am I after all these years.
In order, Pa, Ma, the Sage, Z, Mummy, Wink. Only the other day, someone saw the picture and said "is that your two sisters with you?" She'd have been pleased to hear that! She was, in fact, 49 at the time. And the hair colour is natural.
As for pyjamas, which was asked about a few days ago - on discovering that everyone was going to be in DJs or long dresses, my sister-in-law, who didn't have a long dress, went shopping. She is a frugal shopper and was reluctant to spend much on a frock she didn't think she was likely to wear again. So she bought a pretty nightdress with long sleeves and a high neck and came to the party in that.
I can't remember many specifics about the next three months - I know we had a trip up to Derbyshire to the Sage's school Gaudy, where former classmates were surprised to find this fairly confirmed bachelor with a very young wife in tow. He was quite roundly teased and I fielded that for him - for someone as shy as I was, I had pretty good social skills, I suppose because in a fairly impersonal social setting one can put on a façade and not have to reveal much of oneself. We stayed, on the way home, in a converted watermill. The next morning at breakfast, I heard an American woman say to her husband, "this is the best cup of coffee since we arrived in England." Since the coffee was of indifferent quality - as was most coffee in this country at that time - I felt for her, and also warmed to her good nature in putting the best spin on things.
We didn't have a wedding present list, something that was just becoming popular then. Sensible though they are, I don't really care for them. Pa and Ma bought us a china dinner service - after many years' use as 'best', it's now used all the time. My mother bought us Victorian silver flatware (cutlery, darlings), at an auction that the Sage was conducting. He became quite squeaky as the price rose. Again, that service used to be hauled out for best, but we now use it every day.
We never bothered to put the photos from the party in an album, though our parents did, so they're around somewhere. They were taken by a friend from childhood of my father's, who was a professional photographer. My father had been best man at his wedding. I have got one photo to show you, however, which my sister-in-law gave us on our 25th anniversary, in a silver frame. It's come out a bit fuzzy, but then so am I after all these years.
In order, Pa, Ma, the Sage, Z, Mummy, Wink. Only the other day, someone saw the picture and said "is that your two sisters with you?" She'd have been pleased to hear that! She was, in fact, 49 at the time. And the hair colour is natural.
As for pyjamas, which was asked about a few days ago - on discovering that everyone was going to be in DJs or long dresses, my sister-in-law, who didn't have a long dress, went shopping. She is a frugal shopper and was reluctant to spend much on a frock she didn't think she was likely to wear again. So she bought a pretty nightdress with long sleeves and a high neck and came to the party in that.
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Before we go to Bannockburn by way of Beachy Head. Or whatever. I should look up quotations before using them.
It had been damp and drizzly when we left, but the sun came out and it became a beautiful day. I remember we stopped and sat in a field, maybe we had a picnic. We arrived in Settle and asked directions from a middle-aged traffic warden with, unsurprisingly, a fine Yorkshire accent. He explained that we should turn at the Cenotaph - funny the details that you remember - I enjoyed the relish of the short 'a' in 'Cenotaph', while musing that, at home, we'd be much more likely to say 'war memorial'. Because I remember this, I also remember the quiet appreciation with which he inoffensively eyed my cleavage.
We stopped at a pub with bedrooms to let advertised and a quite surprisingly camp young man showed us to an unsalubrious room. We made our excuses and left. We found another, much nicer place and booked in for the night.
The next morning, we did a tour of the local antique shops. The Sage bought several silver vesta cases. he was very pleased and said I was bringing him luck.
Later that day, he said in a casual way "You don't mind if we go home by way of Bristol, do you? There's a picture I want to look at." I was a bit startled. Bristol is the other side of the country from Lowestoft and both are quite some way from Yorkshire. I couldn't help wondering why we'd gone there - the Cotswolds or perhaps Wales might have been a more convenient choice. However, I didn't mind and the next day we drove south-west.
There were posters up, advertising that weekend's Cider Festival. It was mid-afternoon when we neared our destination and we started to look for a place to stay. There was not a room to be found. Everywhere had been booked for weeks. But I was to find out for the first time the full force of the Luck of the Sage. We stopped, unhopefully, at a charming little hotel by the bank of a pretty little river and went in to enquire. As we approached the desk, the proprietor, who was just dialling a number on the telephone, put the receiver down to answer our query. "I was just dialling the local Tourist Board," he said, "to say that a party of three haven't turned up, so I've got a double and a single room left." He reckoned that they could be the only rooms unoccupied in the area. It was a small hotel, I can't remember how many rooms, but two unoccupied when he had turned people away because of a prior booking can make a lot of difference to a small business. It's no wonder that many hotels take a credit card when you book nowadays and charge for no-shows.
We had a drink in the bar before dinner and chatted to an elderly resident - a retired chap of military bearing who lived at the hotel all year round. In conversation to the hotelier later, we gained the impression that this was a mixed blessing.
The Sage had made an appointment to see the painting, which belonged to an elderly couple. They started off on the wrong foot, poor things, when they assumed I was his daughter, which probably stood him in good stead, for their embarrassment factor, when a price was being negotiated. However, he did a fair valuation - he's an auctioneer, not a dealer, and doesn't take advantage of lack of knowledge - but, when a price was agreed, they then produced an odd little oil painting of an old man sitting at a table counting his gold coins greedily. It put me in mind of Molière's l'Avare, which I'd read the year before during my condensed French A Level course. The Sage didn't want it, but they were insistent, and in the end he said that he could only offer them £5 which, to his embarrassment, they accepted. Later, he told me that he hadn't been able to offer more or he wouldn't have had enough money for petrol to get home! I expect the lovely little hotel had been quite expensive.
And that was my first honeymoon.
We stopped at a pub with bedrooms to let advertised and a quite surprisingly camp young man showed us to an unsalubrious room. We made our excuses and left. We found another, much nicer place and booked in for the night.
The next morning, we did a tour of the local antique shops. The Sage bought several silver vesta cases. he was very pleased and said I was bringing him luck.
Later that day, he said in a casual way "You don't mind if we go home by way of Bristol, do you? There's a picture I want to look at." I was a bit startled. Bristol is the other side of the country from Lowestoft and both are quite some way from Yorkshire. I couldn't help wondering why we'd gone there - the Cotswolds or perhaps Wales might have been a more convenient choice. However, I didn't mind and the next day we drove south-west.
There were posters up, advertising that weekend's Cider Festival. It was mid-afternoon when we neared our destination and we started to look for a place to stay. There was not a room to be found. Everywhere had been booked for weeks. But I was to find out for the first time the full force of the Luck of the Sage. We stopped, unhopefully, at a charming little hotel by the bank of a pretty little river and went in to enquire. As we approached the desk, the proprietor, who was just dialling a number on the telephone, put the receiver down to answer our query. "I was just dialling the local Tourist Board," he said, "to say that a party of three haven't turned up, so I've got a double and a single room left." He reckoned that they could be the only rooms unoccupied in the area. It was a small hotel, I can't remember how many rooms, but two unoccupied when he had turned people away because of a prior booking can make a lot of difference to a small business. It's no wonder that many hotels take a credit card when you book nowadays and charge for no-shows.
We had a drink in the bar before dinner and chatted to an elderly resident - a retired chap of military bearing who lived at the hotel all year round. In conversation to the hotelier later, we gained the impression that this was a mixed blessing.
The Sage had made an appointment to see the painting, which belonged to an elderly couple. They started off on the wrong foot, poor things, when they assumed I was his daughter, which probably stood him in good stead, for their embarrassment factor, when a price was being negotiated. However, he did a fair valuation - he's an auctioneer, not a dealer, and doesn't take advantage of lack of knowledge - but, when a price was agreed, they then produced an odd little oil painting of an old man sitting at a table counting his gold coins greedily. It put me in mind of Molière's l'Avare, which I'd read the year before during my condensed French A Level course. The Sage didn't want it, but they were insistent, and in the end he said that he could only offer them £5 which, to his embarrassment, they accepted. Later, he told me that he hadn't been able to offer more or he wouldn't have had enough money for petrol to get home! I expect the lovely little hotel had been quite expensive.
And that was my first honeymoon.
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Sparks Fly
I'll just go back briefly to January - there was a big art exhibition in London called Fanfare Into Europe, to commemorate Britain's entry into the Common Market, as it was then called. The Sage and his friend Arthur, both very interested in pictures, decided to go and the Sage asked me if I'd like to come along - no ulterior motive, he was just being friendly. As I've said, he had been a good family friend for three years.
We got on really well and enjoyed the day, and next thing was, the Sage asked my mother if he could invite me out - he was being scrupulous here, not Victorian, as I was so much younger than him and he wouldn't want to behave inappropriately. I have to say, he was a wonderful change from the boys I had dated before. I say "boys' advisedly - although older than I, usually by about three years, he was the first man. And I was charmed to realise I was being courted. It wasn't long before we were besotted with each other - but there was a clear background of knowing and liking each other as 'just friends', so agreeing to marry him three weeks later wasn't quite as imprudent as it might seem. I wasn't bothered by the age gap - my father had been 13 years older than my mother and I was a bit impatient of convention - and yet, not in the way that was fashionable then. I'd not have been tempted to go off and "find myself" on the hippy trail, for example - I thought that was nothing but taking part in the then fashionable stereotype and that it was more interesting to know who you were, or at least not bore the pants off everyone with the discovery.
I was an odd girl. And a bit intolerant, but honestly, the earnestness of it all, as each of them expounded on philosophy and self-knowledge and the rejection of their parents' middle-class values, while accepting all the benefits of the middle-class lifestyle. I was already far too realistic for flower power.
Anyway, in mid-May, the wedding invitations had not yet gone out, and we rapidly decided to retain the reception, but to call it a Wedding Party (or something like that) instead, and changed the wording to invite people to a celebration of the marriage of... After all, the honeymoon was already booked and I'd made the cake.
My mother and I had already been to London in search of clothes and found nothing I liked. So we went off to Great Yarmouth and I shopped for all I wanted in a few hours. My wedding dress was short, yellow and white (big splodgy white flowers on a yellow background, I believe) with a big white collar and a deep V neck. I had an oatmeal-coloured coat. The dress cost £5 and the coat was quite cheap too.
And so we got married in Lowestoft Registry office, which is not the prettiest of places. The weather was overcast. My mother-in-law gave me a gold brooch in the shape of a dragonfly to wear on the coat. The Sage gave me a gold watch (which I still have, obviously) for a wedding present, and I gave him a portrait of myself - yes, honestly! - which I had painted by an artist and restorer who lived in Chedgrave,near Loddon. I wore my favourite evening dress, which was black velvet with a white collar - when added to my pensive expression, it looks like a portrait of a child in mourning! If you've been in my dining room (Blue Witch has, but I'm not sure that Dave has entered the room yet) it's hanging on the wall there.
We were married on a Thursday - as the Sage was a partner in his firm, he didn't need to ask for time off and it was not inconvenient for him to take a long weekend. Our honeymoon was booked for August, so we decided to have a few days in Yorkshire. Pa and Ma took my mother out for lunch, and we set off.
Roses wants the story in one go, but it can't be done. I have delighted you for long enough already. Anyway, I've got to remember what happened next.
We got on really well and enjoyed the day, and next thing was, the Sage asked my mother if he could invite me out - he was being scrupulous here, not Victorian, as I was so much younger than him and he wouldn't want to behave inappropriately. I have to say, he was a wonderful change from the boys I had dated before. I say "boys' advisedly - although older than I, usually by about three years, he was the first man. And I was charmed to realise I was being courted. It wasn't long before we were besotted with each other - but there was a clear background of knowing and liking each other as 'just friends', so agreeing to marry him three weeks later wasn't quite as imprudent as it might seem. I wasn't bothered by the age gap - my father had been 13 years older than my mother and I was a bit impatient of convention - and yet, not in the way that was fashionable then. I'd not have been tempted to go off and "find myself" on the hippy trail, for example - I thought that was nothing but taking part in the then fashionable stereotype and that it was more interesting to know who you were, or at least not bore the pants off everyone with the discovery.
I was an odd girl. And a bit intolerant, but honestly, the earnestness of it all, as each of them expounded on philosophy and self-knowledge and the rejection of their parents' middle-class values, while accepting all the benefits of the middle-class lifestyle. I was already far too realistic for flower power.
Anyway, in mid-May, the wedding invitations had not yet gone out, and we rapidly decided to retain the reception, but to call it a Wedding Party (or something like that) instead, and changed the wording to invite people to a celebration of the marriage of... After all, the honeymoon was already booked and I'd made the cake.
My mother and I had already been to London in search of clothes and found nothing I liked. So we went off to Great Yarmouth and I shopped for all I wanted in a few hours. My wedding dress was short, yellow and white (big splodgy white flowers on a yellow background, I believe) with a big white collar and a deep V neck. I had an oatmeal-coloured coat. The dress cost £5 and the coat was quite cheap too.
And so we got married in Lowestoft Registry office, which is not the prettiest of places. The weather was overcast. My mother-in-law gave me a gold brooch in the shape of a dragonfly to wear on the coat. The Sage gave me a gold watch (which I still have, obviously) for a wedding present, and I gave him a portrait of myself - yes, honestly! - which I had painted by an artist and restorer who lived in Chedgrave,near Loddon. I wore my favourite evening dress, which was black velvet with a white collar - when added to my pensive expression, it looks like a portrait of a child in mourning! If you've been in my dining room (Blue Witch has, but I'm not sure that Dave has entered the room yet) it's hanging on the wall there.
We were married on a Thursday - as the Sage was a partner in his firm, he didn't need to ask for time off and it was not inconvenient for him to take a long weekend. Our honeymoon was booked for August, so we decided to have a few days in Yorkshire. Pa and Ma took my mother out for lunch, and we set off.
Roses wants the story in one go, but it can't be done. I have delighted you for long enough already. Anyway, I've got to remember what happened next.
Monday, 8 February 2010
The Sprout becomes a Sage
The next day, Mummy (indeed, childish perhaps but it's what I called her) and I were invited over to Pa and Ma's house - right here, where we live now, in fact. We had visited before, we were asked over every so often for tea or a meal, but things were rather different now. I began to realise quite quickly that I was marrying into a whole family. The Sprout had a brother and a sister; she was married with two children, and there were numerous cousins who lived locally. In our family, there was my mother, my sister and me.
We soon started to consider all the necessary details for a wedding - booking the church, wording the invitation, thinking about the guest list and where the reception was to be held. We wanted it to be at the Yacht Club, which had been the main venue of our social life for so many years (apart from friends' houses and our own, of course). They hadn't done a wedding reception before, but the managers, a married couple whose names I can't remember right now, were very excited and pleased about the booking.
I was only 19 (sorry, that's a song, isn't it? Um, hang on ... that's right, it's the Old 97's - the apostrophe is in the name, it's not my idea). "Nineteen is not the age of reason." True, but I didn't have any doubts about getting married, although I was quite alarmed by the planning. I left as much as possible to my mother and Ma. I elected to make my own wedding cake and my sister arranged to get it iced at a bakery in Loddon, near where she worked. As far as I was concerned, however, I just wanted to marry the Sprout and I didn't see that it was anyone else's business. I was extremely shy and hated the thought of being watched as I walked down the aisle. However, we went along with it all, and the Sprout and I spent as much time as possible with each other. He lived in a large, three-storeyed terraced house in South Lowestoft, not far from the seafront. It had been in a poor state of repair when he bought it and he'd knocked through the two main rooms on the ground floor and put an arch between them, and filled the walls with his painting collection - mostly 19th century landscapes and and Dutch seascapes. It was always very tidy, which made me think I'd have to buck up my casual ideas when I moved in.
After three months, the planning started to get to the Sage too. He came to me and said I'd been right to want a quiet wedding and did I still want that? I certainly did - and as for my mother, she'd said from the start that, if we wanted to elope, she'd hold the ladder. But what about his parents? They were rather more conventional, and they were the ones looking forward to all this. The Sage brightly suggested that we get married the next Friday, on the 25th May. They were going on holiday to Scotland that day, and we could follow them up and give them a splendid surprise.
I wasn't convinced. A really bad shock, it seemed to me, and I didn't want to start a relationship with my in-laws in that way. So, I said that he'd have to tell them, and we'd make the wedding on the 24th instead. That meant we could invite them (as I said yesterday, they'd not attended or known about their other son's wedding, couldn't do that to them twice). However, I drew the line at inviting anyone else but Mummy. I knew that the Sprout's sister would insist on doing the whole confetti and tin can routine which I so hadn't wanted in the first place. I told Wink about it, but explained why she couldn't be there. She took it very well, considering.
The Sage went off to get a special licence and to tell his parents. My mother and I went to buy a wedding dress.
We soon started to consider all the necessary details for a wedding - booking the church, wording the invitation, thinking about the guest list and where the reception was to be held. We wanted it to be at the Yacht Club, which had been the main venue of our social life for so many years (apart from friends' houses and our own, of course). They hadn't done a wedding reception before, but the managers, a married couple whose names I can't remember right now, were very excited and pleased about the booking.
I was only 19 (sorry, that's a song, isn't it? Um, hang on ... that's right, it's the Old 97's - the apostrophe is in the name, it's not my idea). "Nineteen is not the age of reason." True, but I didn't have any doubts about getting married, although I was quite alarmed by the planning. I left as much as possible to my mother and Ma. I elected to make my own wedding cake and my sister arranged to get it iced at a bakery in Loddon, near where she worked. As far as I was concerned, however, I just wanted to marry the Sprout and I didn't see that it was anyone else's business. I was extremely shy and hated the thought of being watched as I walked down the aisle. However, we went along with it all, and the Sprout and I spent as much time as possible with each other. He lived in a large, three-storeyed terraced house in South Lowestoft, not far from the seafront. It had been in a poor state of repair when he bought it and he'd knocked through the two main rooms on the ground floor and put an arch between them, and filled the walls with his painting collection - mostly 19th century landscapes and and Dutch seascapes. It was always very tidy, which made me think I'd have to buck up my casual ideas when I moved in.
After three months, the planning started to get to the Sage too. He came to me and said I'd been right to want a quiet wedding and did I still want that? I certainly did - and as for my mother, she'd said from the start that, if we wanted to elope, she'd hold the ladder. But what about his parents? They were rather more conventional, and they were the ones looking forward to all this. The Sage brightly suggested that we get married the next Friday, on the 25th May. They were going on holiday to Scotland that day, and we could follow them up and give them a splendid surprise.
I wasn't convinced. A really bad shock, it seemed to me, and I didn't want to start a relationship with my in-laws in that way. So, I said that he'd have to tell them, and we'd make the wedding on the 24th instead. That meant we could invite them (as I said yesterday, they'd not attended or known about their other son's wedding, couldn't do that to them twice). However, I drew the line at inviting anyone else but Mummy. I knew that the Sprout's sister would insist on doing the whole confetti and tin can routine which I so hadn't wanted in the first place. I told Wink about it, but explained why she couldn't be there. She took it very well, considering.
The Sage went off to get a special licence and to tell his parents. My mother and I went to buy a wedding dress.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
Z received a Proposal
In the spirit of frivolity, I thought I'd tell you of when the Sage and I got married. I can't remember how much I've said before about this, but since no one generally reads archives anyway (except Mago - but surely not of blogs?), not even I in my own blog, I'll tell you anyway.
It's about now*, 37 years ago, that we got engaged. We'd been to a picture exhibition in a gallery at Long Melford and presumably had dinner either when coming or going. We'd been seeing each other regularly for quite three weeks so had, both of us being astute judges of character and more impulsive than we looked, become decidedly smitten. We stopped for some conversation on the way home, in the course of which the Sage proposed.
Well, he said "Will you?" and stopped. And I said "Yes." And he said "Will you?" and I said "yes". Third time lucky and he managed to pop the question. And I said "yes."
The next day was a Saturday and I went to work at the library, having arranged to meet each other in his office at lunch time. I didn't say anything at work, being the subtle and secretive type. When I got there, he asked me if I'd like to choose an engagement ring or if I'd like a family ring. I'd always rather have antique than new, so I chose the latter, whereupon he produced a box from his pocket, that contained a Victorian sapphire and diamond ring which he put on my finger. It fitted perfectly.
Afterwards, I went back to work and still didn't say anything, although after a while it was noticed...
Over lunchtime (I can't remember if we went to the Yacht Club just opposite for lunch or if we just stayed and talked), we talked about getting married. He owned his own house, which simplified matters, and neither of us was in favour of a long engagement. I preferred a quiet, simple wedding as soon as possible - I saw no point in waiting. Rather like making the decision to have my new hip, when I phoned the doctor the next day, I see no point in waiting once the decision is made, unless it's for a practical purpose. However, he was a bit worried about that. His brother had rather shocked their parents the previous year by suddenly getting married while travelling in Australia to a woman whom none of the family had met and about whom they'd heard little if anything, and he thought his mother should have an occasion to enjoy. We agreed that August would be a good month and it would be the full monty in church and all.
It was one brief anecdote I was going to tell you, of which I was reminded by the setting of tonight's Antiques Roadshow in Bath. But now I'm putting it in context, I'll inflict the whole story on you. Heh. It may take days.
* I've just looked up the dates for 1973. It was the 9th February when we became engaged. We've never marked it - we're not too bothered about anniversaries.
It's about now*, 37 years ago, that we got engaged. We'd been to a picture exhibition in a gallery at Long Melford and presumably had dinner either when coming or going. We'd been seeing each other regularly for quite three weeks so had, both of us being astute judges of character and more impulsive than we looked, become decidedly smitten. We stopped for some conversation on the way home, in the course of which the Sage proposed.
Well, he said "Will you?" and stopped. And I said "Yes." And he said "Will you?" and I said "yes". Third time lucky and he managed to pop the question. And I said "yes."
The next day was a Saturday and I went to work at the library, having arranged to meet each other in his office at lunch time. I didn't say anything at work, being the subtle and secretive type. When I got there, he asked me if I'd like to choose an engagement ring or if I'd like a family ring. I'd always rather have antique than new, so I chose the latter, whereupon he produced a box from his pocket, that contained a Victorian sapphire and diamond ring which he put on my finger. It fitted perfectly.
Afterwards, I went back to work and still didn't say anything, although after a while it was noticed...
Over lunchtime (I can't remember if we went to the Yacht Club just opposite for lunch or if we just stayed and talked), we talked about getting married. He owned his own house, which simplified matters, and neither of us was in favour of a long engagement. I preferred a quiet, simple wedding as soon as possible - I saw no point in waiting. Rather like making the decision to have my new hip, when I phoned the doctor the next day, I see no point in waiting once the decision is made, unless it's for a practical purpose. However, he was a bit worried about that. His brother had rather shocked their parents the previous year by suddenly getting married while travelling in Australia to a woman whom none of the family had met and about whom they'd heard little if anything, and he thought his mother should have an occasion to enjoy. We agreed that August would be a good month and it would be the full monty in church and all.
It was one brief anecdote I was going to tell you, of which I was reminded by the setting of tonight's Antiques Roadshow in Bath. But now I'm putting it in context, I'll inflict the whole story on you. Heh. It may take days.
* I've just looked up the dates for 1973. It was the 9th February when we became engaged. We've never marked it - we're not too bothered about anniversaries.
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