What a difference...

... a couple of days make.

Before.

And, with the addition of some well-rotted (and completely odourless) manure, afterwards.

The stuff on the left, with the exception, of course, of the tomatoes in the big pots, is available for the shop, as are peppers and aubergines on the right. The sweetcorn and several varieties of squashes and pumpkins are going to be planted when I get home.

I meant to take a photo of the veg garden too, with its rows of five sorts of beans, plus herbs, lettuce, spinach, chard and courgettes (and anything I've forgotten about) but I didn't get around to it as Tilly was hoping for her dinner. Well, I went out afterwards to pot up aubergines, but when I finished the Sage was hoping for his dinner, so it still didn't get done.

I'd promised to make a card for everyone with phone numbers on - it had seemed a good idea, at one stage, to put the National society logo on them, and I fiddled round for ages because I'm not very good at this sort of thing, finally got it done and then printed out a sheet - and the blue of the logo was streaky. I tested and cleaned the print head - all the other colours were fine, it was just the blue. So, I thought, it doesn't matter, I'll print it in black and white. it wouldn't. As the ink cartridge was nearing its end, I decided to change it. The new one was no better.

The Sage had his dinner late. I've emailed it to Dilly and she will print it out for me. I've had enough.

Z's back (aches, that is)

Golly, I'm tired. I woke up at 6 o'clock, quite unnecessarily early and didn't get up at once - checked my emails in bed however, so as not to waste time - and was out in the greenhouse by 7, getting everything ready for Al. By the time he came out, I had loaded up the car. Remembering to put my eye in, I shot inside and then followed him to the shop...a quick unload and I was back for the second load. Breakfast at 9, a look at the newspaper, off to church, where I'd put myself down as sidesman, for coffee and as organist - home again, quick lunch and then into the garden to start planting.

That's gone well, actually, and I've got broad beans, two sorts of french beans, runner beans, chard and spinach planted out, and the remainder ready for Al to sell. Tomorrow, the courgettes, haricot beans, some lettuce and herb seedlings to plant out and tomatoes to put into final pots, as well as aubergines to pot up. When I arrive home again, there will just be the squashes and sweet corn to plant out, plus anything in the aubergine, tomato and pepper line that there isn't room for in the greenhouse.

I was so anxious not to waste time that I decided on the time I could spare for each job and set the timer. It's a method I've used for years to get myself going - it's an illusionary time limit, of course, but it works for me. In fact, I was pretty accurate, and I was done within a minute or two either way each time. I've also restocked the trays of plants for Al for tomorrow - each variety of tomato is separate, and everything is clearly labelled. I'm out of outdoor cucumbers, but have been able to replenish his supply of beans and have potted up a few spinach and chard plants as well.

Al was quite indignant yesterday, on behalf of one of the wholesalers' driver. I was talking to an elderly lady customer whom I haven't seen for a long time, as she hasn't been well enough to get out - Al has been delivering to her - and I noticed a woman waiting to talk to him. I didn't hear any of the conversation, but afterwards he said he'd had a complaint. She had had to wait while his daily ordered was delivered at 7.30 that morning.

The road by the shop is narrow (and one-way), but there's just room for one vehicle to pass another. However, cars had been -illicitly - parked on the double yellow lines overnight so, when the van stopped in its usual place, cars couldn't pass to the left of it. She complained bitterly that she'd had to wait, and so had other drivers.

"Suffolk and what?" was my reaction, I admit - I know how quickly the deliveries are made, and how cheerfully, and I respect the hard work of the delivery men, who start their working day at some time before 3 am, loading their vans with the daily orders, in the right order for delivery, driving for several hours to do their rounds and never missing a day, whatever the weather - they've been late a few times during the snowy periods but they've never let Al down. "Too lazy to walk a few extra yards, that's his trouble", nagged the woman. I'd love to see her lift half-hundredweights (25 kilos), portly as she was, never mind carry them an inch further than necessary. A lazy person wouldn't turn up for the second day.

From his report of the conversation, although Al stuck up for the driver, he was more polite than I'd have been. I was indignant, and afterwards apologised to Al's Saturday boy (who is a pupil at the High School) for my outspoken language. He was more amused than offended.

Al is pretty unhappy at the thought of losing him after the summer. He's about to take his GCSEs (that is, the exams taken at the age of 16 at the end of compulsory education) and has gained an apprenticeship at Sizewell - one of 26 out of 170 applicants. He's going to do his initial training in Portsmouth, so has handed in his notice. Al has only once had a young employee so intelligent, reliable and good-natured. He'll be very hard to replace.

What ho!

"Pob says that honey production may not be my forte as a beekeeper, but I'm certainly good at expanding the bee population." "Well", I replied, "that's what you want, isn't it?"

It's true, he's always said that he is more interested in the honey bee than the honey. He and Dilly took classes for a year before getting a hive and still go to the local bee society talks and demonstrations (showing you how to do things, rather than protesting, darlings). He became interested because of all the news about the decline in the honey bee population. Pob also says that it takes at least five years to be able to say you know anything at all about beekeeping. He started at the age of 13, but only started to expand his apiary when he retired, and now has 150 hives. Al will be quite happy with 3 for now, so will sell his surplus colonies, which will help to recoup the money he's just laid out on several more nucs (only this afternoon, someone in Yagnub came into the shop to say there was a swarm in their garden - Al phoned Pob to get it, but he'd be quite happy to pick it up himself if he had somewhere to house it).

A swarm is not aggressive, by the way. There are a lot of bees, but they have gorged themselves on honey and are quite docile.

Today, at last, the weather has changed and was warm and sunny, as long as the sun was out. I took a lot of plants in to the shop for Al to sell and planted out more - there's a lot to do tomorrow as well. I think I'll get everything out except squashes, if I can - well, and except surplus aubergines and peppers, which I hope to plant against the wall. When the capping is put on it, that is. Although I suppose the ground will be extremely hard and need thorough digging - might put them in pots instead.

My back ached and I was tired out by the time I came in at half past six. The Sage had been looking after the children so hadn't made me a cup of tea (not that I expected him to, but he often does) and I suspected I was so exhausted partly because I was thirsty. "Will you have some tea now," enquired the Sage. "A bit late, I think I'll go straight on to wine." I had a big glass of water first though, being awfully good and sensible and everything. Then I poured the wine and took a sip. Honestly, I started to feel better at once. I remember that my mother, who had to stop drinking alcohol when it started to give her migraines, took a long time not to miss it. She would come in of an evening and say "I've had a hell of a day" and pour me a glass of wine. I had to drink for two for the rest of my teens.

That reminds me, I started preparations for my holiday today, taking the first and sensible precaution of getting used to daytime drinking again.

When I mentioned signing off emails yesterday, I should have started with the less thorny but equally quirky salutation at the top. So, how do you start? With the name, with Dear *name*, with Hi *name*, with Hello* name - or something else?

Ooh, and while I'm on the subject, how do you spell hello? I've got friends who write hallo, hello or hullo, and holloo is, if old-fashioned, not incorrect either. Come to that, I have known people, rather posher than I, who pronounce it "hillo", however they spell it.

Mwah

I think you have to be over forty - maybe even more - to be aware of the difference in our behaviour to each other over the last few years, in this country. We kiss. We never used to kiss. You had to be quite close friends even for a peck on the cheek when arriving for dinner, but now we do it all the time, quite often lip to lip. Indeed, today I kissed three colleagues whom, a few years ago, it would not have been appropriate to have more contact with than a handshake (two women and a man, since you ask). Two of them lunged forward first and the third was a mutual thing, by the way, I haven't been having a startlingly exuberant day at the office.

Then there's the signing off of emails - oh, how simple it was when the choice was between "yours faithfully" and "yours sincerely" - because there was a Rule. Nowadays, though they still cut it for a letter, it seems to have moved to "kind regards" giving way to "best regards" - and where exactly does "best wishes" come in to play?

Not that we should forget those who opt out with "take care" or "cheers", or simply "best".

Of course, and I go back to the kisses again, it doesn't take a much closer friendship to sign off with love ... but how many of those x's* to put? I've got x friends and xx friends, a couple of xxxers and a XXX. It always seems polite to reciprocate. While I was on a committee with one of the xxxers, it seemed slightly too close to do the same, so I generally restricted myself to Zxx, but now we're not on a committee together and see each other less often, I'm more relaxed and follow his lead (it's true, darlings, don't try too hard and I'll follow you anywhere).

I'm not terribly Continental by instinct - I go along with the multiple cheek to cheek kisses of course - oh, that question of whether to go for the third kiss - or worse, a fourth which always catches you out - but I'm actually more of a 'one kiss with hug' girl for someone I'm fond of, which I feel is more close and friendly than the impersonal double mwah. It isn't necessarily impersonal of course, but air-kissing someone you don't know very well or air-kissing a good friend feels much the same.

It has to be confessed, I do usually touch the cheek with my lips, which probably shows my general oikiness. And then, of course, there's the matter of lipstick. Is it polite to rub it off? And how intimate is that? It feels more personal than the peck on the cheek, but on the other hand, it surely isn't quite on to leave the imprint.

Lots of love, darlings

Zxx


* whilst not, strictly speaking, a place for an apostrophe, I tried xes and exes and xs and they didn't work.

A bale of hay

I'd just said to the Sage that I was going to get changed, ready to leave at 6 o'clock to meet my friends for dinner, when the phone rang.  It was Al.

He'd been out to check the bees and found that a swarm was clinging on to one of the hives.

He knew they were about to swarm so had split them already - an artificial swarm, that is, you bamboozle them into believing that they have swarmed and, among the ones left behind (the queen and half the bees take half the food with them to set up a new home, leaving queen larvae and enough workers and food to keep the colony going) the new queen will hatch, fly, mate and return to the hive to spend the rest of her life laying eggs. Evidently, they had not been deceived.

By the way, Blue Witch, I'm sure this is only vaguely connected to the actual process, but bear in mind I don't really know what I'm talking about. I'm not the beekeeper of the family.

He was wanting the Sage to babysit while he and Dilly went and dealt with the swarm, but he soon realised that it wasn't going to be easy. The bees were all over the back of the hive with the queen somewhere in the middle and they were going to have to be coaxed into a new home. So he got in the car and drove off to Pob in Boringland to ask his advice. Pob lent him another hive and some tools to help and back he came.

In the meantime, of course, I'd been out to have a look but then had to leave for my evening out.

The other thing is that Al didn't know which colony had swarmed. It was probably one of the established queens, but occasionally a left-behind colony will swarm - this is beyond even my vague understanding so I won't try to explain - anyway, it could have been any one of the five, three of which are presently hatching out new queens (or two of them, anyway) and mustn't be disturbed. And evening was drawing on and the swarm might take off at any time to find a refuge before the air chilled. If they flew before he returned, nothing could be done.

Anyway, I got back just before 10 o'clock and hurried indoors. "Did they catch the bees?" I demanded. They did, said the Sage, and have put them in the hive lent by Pob (who is a long established beekeeper with a hundred or a hundred and fifty - can't remember - hives and provides all the honey for Al's shop.

The title of the post is from the rhyme
A swarm of bees in May is worth a bale of hay.
A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon.
A swarm of bees in July isn't worth a fly.

Mind you, it's not that Al has gained any bees, just that he hopes not to have lost any. All he's gained are some grey hairs and some more worry lines.

Blocked

How odd.  My phone just quacked and I went to answer it, and the screen said "blocked caller."  I don't understand at all - I've not blocked anyone and I can't find anything on the phone that says how to block or unblock anyone anyway.  Can any of you suggest an explanation, please?

Things going bump

It's no wonder that nothing is growing much - some leaves of the french beans, which are in the greenhouse about 5 feet away from the side panes of glass, are scorched by last night's frost.  The aubergines are looking unhappy and so are some of the tomatoes.  The pepper and chilli plants are holding up well, as are the greenhouse cucumbers, although they have hardly grown since I planted them out.  The courgette plants are looking good and have almost outgrown the frost damage of a few weeks ago.  All these things are in the big Dutch light greenhouse of course - nothing tender is planted out at all.  I'm doubting now that they will be before I go away, which is a bit disappointing, but I think it's too risky unless the forecast is really much better by the weekend.

Dilly phoned this morning, asking me to go through and help to calm down Pugsley, who had got himself into a real state.  There was a hanger on a door which had stopped it from shutting (I'm not sure exactly about the details) and he had convinced himself that there was a monster or something in the house which was out to get him - he was genuinely terrified.  We were puzzled and a bit unnerved - he asked to come to my house as he was afraid of his.  He was having sandwiches for lunch before going to nursery, so he brought them and I sat him on my lap while he ate them and I did some careful explaining of what's real and what's not, and that there are stories and films that are just stories - he did listen sensibly and we talked it all though, and then discussed things that really are dangerous in the wrong places, such as fire and cars.  And then animals that are real, like lions, but are not exactly a threat to him, and snakes.  I said I'd look out the snake skin I found in the greenhouse, but luckily he didn't think of it when he came home, because I couldn't remember where I've put it - it's not where I thought it was.

Anyway, when he came home he said that he was all right and it had all been a game - it hadn't at the time, but he seems to have got over it and he didn't mind at all about going home again.

When sitting on my lap, every time he wanted to say something, he started with "Excuse me," which was sweet - I suppose he's picked that up at nursery school.

Zerlina has had two days at the childminders now and it's gone very well.  The first day, last Friday, apparently, she cried for nearly an hour and was very relieved when Weeza went to pick her up, but the Monday afterwards, although she cried when Weeza left, she stopped almost at once and was quite relaxed upon Weeza's return.  She was asleep when her mother left her with me yesterday and took a while to placate when she woke - though I think that was because she was hungry - anyway, when Squiffany arrived she cheered right up.  When Weeza got back she was pleased, but almost immediately left with Dilly to go to their house - we followed a few minutes later, and by then she was happily bouncing on the trampoline and laughing with Squiffany and Pugsley.  So that seems to be all right.  No separation anxiety there, unless it's on Weeza's part.

Bitty bits

A thirteen hour spread of governor stuff.  Hmm.  Still, I arrived home after 9 pm to find that the Sage had cooked my dinner and that there was still half a bottle of wine in the fridge, so I've cheered up nicely again.  I'm passing over details of today, if that's okay with you.

Wink and the Bod were due to leave for a holiday yesterday - the plane must have flown or I'd have heard, but I trust they get back again on time.  The Bod's bro is looking after their mum for a week, and Wink's office can manage similarly without her, but they're both vital after that.

It's still jolly cold.  When the sun is out, you can be forgiven for the delusion that it's warm, but it's not true.  My tomato plants are looking unhappy and haven't grown in a week.  There was a heavy frost last night.

Ooh, Yagnub is on television Right Now.  The Lady - the figure of Justice from the Buttercross - has just been put back in place after restoration, and there was a ceremony to unveil her this morning.  The Sage and Al watched - the Mayor and the Town Crier and everyone were there.  She does look beautiful.

Someone engaged me in conversation yesterday on the subject of addiction.  I gave it some thought and decided that it's not something that has ever happened to me.  Maybe I've just got a short attention span?

Z drips

The day didn't start marvellously, as I woke early, read for some time and then spent some time sorting things out and tidying upstairs (I know darlings, the knicker drawer is a thing of beauty right now) and finally dressed,  and washed my hair - and then heard a car downstairs.  It was my neighbour, so I scuttled downstairs with dripping hair in a towel that kept falling off - the towel, most of the hair stayed where it was supposed to be.

I can't quite actually remember why he came - oh yes, now I can, it doesn't matter - but he mentioned that the Fellow was at his house (the Rectory) doing some work, so I said I'd hot-bike round there to say hello.  I was about to dry my hair when the Sage said that people were arriving for the 9.30 meeting.  Which had slipped my mind in the excitement of hearing about the Fellow.  So I phoned Dilly, said I'd be 5 minutes, slapped on my face, ignored my hair (vanity goes only so far) and scurried next door (the other next door to the Rectory) with the papers that I had remembered to print off yesterday.

It was so good to see the Fellow - my ex-fellow-churchwarden, that is, who moved to Norwich nearly a year ago.  We've got some unfinished quinquennial business so I promised to give a ring and go and sit down with him for an hour or so to sort it out - once we've both found the relevant papers.  "I know which room they're in," I said hopefully.  He laughed, but noticeably didn't say as much for himself.  I know what it's like - in fact, my copy of the papers is the same as his, but not annotated, but he'll remember what he wrote on them.

Anyway, I'm spending the evening watching Top of the Pops 2 with keen enjoyment.  The 80s.  What a decade for music.  Especially Bucks Fizz.  Gosh, the hair.  Oh gosh, Kylie and Jason have just come on.  If that's the right thing to say.

Today, we mostly ate...

...leftovers.

There wasn't much left - all the pork went and most of the chicken, and the only reason there was a fair bit of the veggie dish was because the recipe said "serves four as a main dish" and I knew there were at least three vegetarians, so I thought I'd double up to be sure - it filled my biggest 10 pint casserole.  It was a jolly good recipe though, quick and easy, not at all solemn or stodgy, colourful and tasty, and vegan to boot.  I had been told that one of the guests is coeliac, so made sure that the whole meal (that I was responsible for- I didn't do all the puddings) was gluten free.

I'm pretty careful to bear in mind food intolerences and allergies - especially the latter.  I'd never put nut oil in a dressing, for example, unless I was sure it was safe to do so and I use no hidden ingredients that are likely to cause a problem.  One person can't eat onions, and I find it almost impossible to cook without onions, but the chicken dish doesn't have any.  Two of the dishes were low fat and there was a fruit salad for dieters and diabetics.  I can't bear to think of someone who already has difficulty with finding suitable things to eat being fobbed off with something boring and dashed off at the last minute.

I'd been able to put out of my mind the awfulness of Friday's meeting yesterday, but it (or rather, the result of it) has been weighing on me all day.  Tuesday morning will be not nice, when the person concerned will be told by me and the Head.  I feel pretty dreadful about it, in fact - it involves someone losing their job, not because of anything wrong they have done but because a department has become overstaffed.  One of the four had to go, and I chaired the committee which decided.  I know, lots of people have to do this sort of thing all the time, but I never have and nor has the Head (who took no part in the decision).  He feels bad too.

We'd had it in mind to start bricklaying again this week, but it isn't going to happen.  The Sage is busy with the day job on Tuesday and Thursday, the sand is being delivered on Monday, Dave's busy on Wednesday and I am on Friday.  Since each of us has two or three free mornings, you'd think that we'd be able to find one or two when we're all free, but no.  I hope the wind drops and it doesn't rain because then it will be a pleasure to plant out all the things that have been ready for quite some time, but which haven't gone in the ground as chickens etc still were free to roam in the vegetable garden.  It's been  fenced off now - the unwalled side and, temporarily, the side where the wall isn't completed.  The rest is wall or greenhouses.

The Bees' Knees

I spent a while cooking for this evening's supper and quiz - I made a goulash, my favourite chicken, tomato and pesto dish, a chilli bean and vegetable casserole, salad and baked potatoes, fruit salad and syllabub.  It was all kept simple - other people brought puddings too so I didn't have much to do.  It all went well and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.  The quizmaster was good, keeping it lighthearted and not too competitive, and he had a fine turn of North Suffolk speech, which is always appreciated.

The final three rounds were quite tight, when one team caught up with the front runners, then gained one more point and finally another to win by two marks.  The Bees' Knees won over the Train Set.

Hanging together or being hanged separately?

Well, interesting that the polls were correct.  And interesting times ahead, I daresay.  I wonder how long it'll all last, and whether we'll have another election within a year. 

We didn't get much sleep last night - in fact, the Sage couldn't sleep so came down to watch the results come in and finally dozed off on the sofa.  I left the house at 7.30 and pedalled dismally off in the direction of Yagnub.  My legs ached.  I looked at the little upward inclination over the bridge towards the post office and thought I couldn't do it.  I was too lazy to get off and walk however, so kept going.  

I came away from my meeting, several hours later, dispirited.  I wish I could talk about it, because it would make me feel better and you'd have interesting insights into the matter, but I may not.  I came home and cooked bacon sandwiches for lunch.  I offered the Sage a glass of wine "I'm having one, will you join me?"  "I'll fall asleep," he confessed.  "Good idea,"  I said.  He accepted the wine.

I leap capriciously between frivolity, formality and severity.  "I think we should do this very formally, dear," I said to a member of staff.  And then did.  There were chuckles all round at the 'dear', but I like to summarise at the end, it helps me to marshall my thoughts and, I think, is helpful for the person taking minutes.  And I know when not to do it - the dear and darling, that is.  I wonder if there's a deliberate quirkiness? I don't think so, but I don't mind the thought of being slightly unpredictable.  But, even there, does that make me easy to read for someone perceptive? 

I suspect so.  I'm an open book and if you find one of the pages sticks, I'll help you to turn it.  I'm no woman of mystery.

This is published twice because Blogger was on the blink the first time round.  I saved it, put it on a Word document, saved it again from that (cautious, me) and put it in a new post.  That's all I did.  And it's neither the usual font or the peculiar one.  Sorry, but at least words aren't cut apart whimsically at the end of each line, and there isn't a huge gap between paragraphs.  I'll hope for better things tomorrow.  As will everyone in the country, in a less *Z* related way.

Hanging together or being hanged separately? First try

Well, interesting that the polls were correct. And interesting times ahead, I daresay. I wonder how long it'll all last, and whether we'll have another election within a year.


We didn't get much sleep last night - in fact, the Sage couldn't sleep so came down to watch the results come in and finally dozed off on the sofa. I left the house at 7.30 and pedalled dismally off in the direction of Yagnub. My legs ached. I looked at the little upward inclination over the bridge towards the post office and thought I couldn't do it. I was too lazy to get off and walk however, so kept going.  


I came away from my meeting, several hours later, dispirited. I wish I could talk about it, because it would make me feel better and you'd have interesting insights into the matter, but I may not. I came home and cooked bacon sandwiches for lunch. I offered the Sage a glass of wine "I'm having one, will you join me?" "I'll fall asleep," he confessed. "Good idea," I said. He accepted the wine.


I leap capriciously between frivolity, formality and severity. "I think we should do this very formally, dear," I said to a member of staff. And then did. There were chuckles all round at the 'dear', but I like to summarise at the end, it helps me to marshall my thoughts and, I think, is helpful for the person taking minutes. And I know when not to do it - the dear and darling, that is. I wonder if there's a deliberate quirkiness? I don't think so, but I don't mind the thought of being slightly unpredictable. But, even there, does that make me easy to read for someone perceptive?


I suspect so. I'm an open book and if you find one of the pages sticks, I'll help you to turn it. I'm no woman of mystery.

Z will see the early hours, one way or another

I had to write an official sort of letter to someone last week, which I hope is about the last thing I'll have to deal with as churchwarden - which I'm not any more, the official swearing-in of the new one having happened this evening.  It's when the Archdeacon, during his Visitation, does his Charge.  Which is less exciting than it sounds, being an instructive talk.

Anyway, I deliberately didn't put my phone number on the letter because I wanted a written reply.  So I was decidedly miffed when, having just arrived home from a meeting soon after 6 o'clock, I got a phone call from the chap who wanted to argue his case.  It took 15 minutes of my time, and during the call he reproached me for not giving my number, which he'd had to look up.  I explained, more politely than he deserved (and I've got to meet him next week so actually I'll put it more forcefully then) that, if I'd wanted a phone call I'd have given my number.  As it was, I told him that I need written confirmation of anything said as I'll be passing the job on.  But anyway, having just got in and not even having had a chance to put the kettle on yet, answering the telephone to a business call was not what I wanted to do right then.

This morning, I was doing computer stuff for several different things when the Sage asked me for an address.  I looked it up from our mailing list and was just reading it out when the damn phone rang.  There were three calls in ten minutes, two business ones for the Sage and one for me, they needed to be answered.  It always happens.  We never have a conversation or do any work without being distracted by the phone.  I so prefer email, which doesn't impose and gives a record of what took place.

A very good governors' meeting today, where lots of people had things to say - sometimes it turns out to be only about three of us.  And the two new governors volunteered for things, which they are obviously more than capable of doing well and, indeed, there were helpful offers all round.

At last, the only interesting bit about an election - the results.  For once, I can forgive the pundits for speculating.  I'm really quite tempted to stay up, but I've got to be out of the house by 7.30 in the morning.  So I'll probably get up early instead.

Z is not alone

I thought you'd all like to be the first* to know (if, collectively, you can be "first") that the Sage has arrived safely home, after a long round trip.  He is very pleased with the vesta case he bought at an auction *somewhere in Gloucestershire*.  "How much did it cost you?" I asked pleasantly.  "Worth every penny of *£ quite a lot*, he declared.  "I daresay," I replied, "but that wasn't exactly what I asked."

It took some asking of the specific questions, but he finally did tell me (*£ quite a lot* had been the hammer price, with the auctioneer's premium on top) but it's up to him, I'd only asked, he's welcome to buy whatever he likes.   Not that he does, mostly, he has simple tastes, except in women.

I woke up this morning at 6 o'clock and lay very still, so as not to disturb him - and then, of course, when a discreetly extended foot found an empty bed, remembered that he wasn't here.  I've never lived alone, you know.  In the old-fashioned way, I left home to get married and have been there ever since.

*At the time of writing, you were the first.  However, since then, I've had a long chat with Weeza so now she knows too.  Mind you, she didn't know he'd gone away in the first place.

Not a pretty poll

They keep saying that there are millions of people who haven't made up their minds how to vote yet.  I've not heard even one person say that and I'm not so sure that it's true at all.  In fact, at least three of our family have already voted, as they opt for postal votes.  I would only do that if I were actually going to be on holiday (as Ro is this week, as it happens).  I like to mark my cross and put my paper in the ballot box in person.

We've not seen any candidates here.  We had Lib Dem fliers in the post yesterday, and the Conservative candidate was in Yagnub a couple of weeks ago (that's the other side of the county border, so not the same constituency here).  Few people in the village have posters up in their windows or gardens.

South Norfolk has always been Conservative, with Lib Dem in second place.  Labour trails in the rear.  There have been boundary changes since the last election which could disadvantage the Tory candidate.  Waveney, where Yagnub is, used to be Conservative but changed to Labour in the election when Blair got in.  The MP there is an energetic and dedicated constituency MP, but may lose this time - if so, I'm sorry for him as it isn't his fault, but then nor was it the fault of the man before him whom he beat.  It's just the way things go.

I haven't been talking about the election or politics much - a few people have raised the subject, otherwise I wouldn't have at all - and I didn't watch any of the leaders' debates, largely because I didn't care for the format.  Pre-arranged questions and no follow-up points made from the floor, and standing there like idiots - nah, didn't appeal.  It would just have made me cross.  A friend, having watched the first one, agreed that he'd shouted at the screen rather a lot.

I've met a few MPs over the years and rather enjoyed talking to them.  Engaging, articulate and interested in having a conversation rather than just imposing their views.  One of the more flattering occasions was, when our MP was the Education Secretary, being asked my opinion on a matter of the day (it was relevant, as he had come to open an extension to the village school, being a friend of the then chairman of governors) and then hearing him say exactly what I'd said in the House of Commons the next week.

So it's not individuals I'm meaning when I say I'm completely fed up with the lot of them and I've heard more than enough, even though I avoid most news broadcasts, to see me through the next four or five years.  I hope there's not a minority government, come to think of it, because odds are it wouldn't last long and we'd have to go through it all again in a year or two.

Both grain and grape

The Sage is in Wiltshire and I am at home.  It's is very quiet.  Tilly is snoozing on the sofa and I - oh, it isn't quiet at all, I'm listening to quite loud music.  But there's an emptiness that sound can't fill.

There was a brief meeting this evening to make sure arrangements are all in place for the church supper on Saturday.  It was here at half past seven and I reckoned it would be done in twenty minutes and I'd be eating supper by half past eight.  We did sort out the practicalities quickly but no one was in a hurry to move and they didn't go until nearly 9.30.  I was very hungry and also somewhat embarrassed that I hadn't made coffee and offered wine - I didn't think anyone would want it and by the time it seemed appropriate it was also too late.

I'm so suggestible.  Rog mentioned his favourite iPhone apps, which led me to go straight to download two of them.  And then, because of the sight of a virtual pint of lager, I was drawn inevitably to a bottle of beer for myself.  I planned to have a second with dinner, but by the time I came to eat and drink, the moment had passed and I had wine instead.

"I've left plenty of corn and water for the chickens" said the Sage as he was getting ready to leave.  "They will go to roost by themselves, just do their bread in the morning."  They have half a loaf, soaked in warm water, in the mornings.  "Wouldn't they like a little something at lunchtime?" I asked.  "Only if you've time.  Otherwise, I've left a couple of bunches of grapes in the porch.  You can give them one this teatime and one tomorrow.  If you give them a call, they'll follow you."

He just likes being followed about by adoring females, of course.

Z respects Asparagus

I've just eaten dinner which, when I went to cook it, was still just a twinkle in my eye as I'd overlooked there being a bank holiday when the shops were shut.  That is, I don't suppose the Co-op was, but I hadn't got on my bike and shopped, as it was jolly cold and windy.  In fact, I've been out to the Dutch light greenhouse and covered over vulnerable things, as they were talking darkly about frost tonight, earlier on.

Anyway, I had a head of celery (is that the right word?  I think so but it looks strangely impolite) and a couple of parsnips and some onions and not a lot else.  But I did have some chicken stock.  So I decided to see what parsnip'n'celery risotto tasted like.  And to serve it with a nice Norfolk Little Gem lettuce that I remembered was in the fridge.

This was nearly cooked when the Sage came in and I remembered that he had, earlier, mentioned asparagus.  So I asked him to pick it.  The asparagus, that is.  Darlings, there was lots.  I also remembered a small amount of fillet of pork in random sauce (basically shallot and red pepper, can't remember what else) that a small amount of was in a bowl in the fridge.

It all got served up together and, having chattered away to the Sage's complete entertainment, I explained that I was going to observe a respectful silence for the first home-grown asparagus of the season.  Silence didn't last for long, as my groans of delight soon pierced the air.  I have, of course, saved the cooking water and trimmings as the basis for another stock.  Frugal, me.  And greedy.

The Sage has suddenly decided to waft himself off westwards tomorrow.  He will stay overnight with Wink (having saluted Stonehenge with an uplifted heart on the way) and then head for Gloucestershire, to three destinations and then other places on his way home.  I have a meeting here at 7.30 tomorrow night, but after that I can watch episodes of Deadwood (I'm really slow, I'm only just on Series 3, after months and months) without having to put on headphones, because the language is too strong for the Sage's tender ears.

Ooh, I can hear the coffee grinder.  The Sage is looking after me again.

Z settles for Tea

I have caught up with the business paperwork, which is v good, but I've been neglecting other stuff - that is, voluntary business, which is v bad.  Still, as tomorrow is a Bank Holiday, there won't be any post to deal with so I should be able to get on.

I've realised that we're going to have to crack on pdq with the next catalogue - the auction is mid-July and the printers want it before the end of May and I'm going to be away for a week.  So the Sage has a week to get the china together (he's only got three-quarters of a sale-worth so far) and then we'll have a week to do the work, then Weeza can prepare the catalogue while I'm away.

Hm.  I may have to relinquish my lazy ways for a day or two.

I had a lovely time in the shop yesterday, Al's customers are wonderful.  One lady came in with an adorable spaniel puppy, 12 weeks old.  She was very friendly and affectionate (I mean the puppy, Dave*, although the lady was charming too).  A little girl came in with her mother and cuddled the puppy too.  "We may be getting a labradoodle puppy," she said hopefully, "If Daddy says we can.  He's away cycling across Australia just now."  I advised getting it as a welcome home present, but apparently Daddy doesn't really like dogs and is arriving home this week.  So maybe they'll be able to get him to say yes when in the first enthusiasm of homecoming.  "Remember," advised Al, "He can say 'no' any number of times, but he only has to say 'yes' once and he's committed."

That's my boy.  Teach a 6-year-old how to negotiate successfully and run rings round her parents.  It has always been my speciality to do the same thing.

Today, it's jolly cold again.  I haven't been down to the greenhouse at all and hope that cucumbers aren't suffering - everything else will be all right.  I'll go and have a look in the morning.  It's not been frosty, just a chilly wind, and I thought it would be better to leave what heat there is still in there and not open the door.  I've got lovely plants ready to go out, but the garden is still not rabbit- or bantam-proofed, so they will have to wait.  At least we've had some rain, but I may have to start watering before I can do anything else at all.  It's been a very dry month.

I've remembered that I've got half a packet of wine gums somewhere, but I can't remember where I've put them.  Now I've thought of them, I really want a wine gum.  I've got chocolate, but that Won't Do.

I shall have a cup of Rose Pouchong instead.

*The puppy is not called Dave, I was addressing Dave.

MayDay

Though it could be as well phrased by saying Aidez-Zoi.

The sale went well thanks, but it's all got too busy to write about.  I've reached my limit, I think, which doesn't often happen.  I've had to talk so much and write so many emails that I've run out of words.

Still, I'll make the effort.  It's for you, after all, and you're Worth It.

It wasn't until 8.30 that I found out that Al had kindly given his Saturday assistant the day off.  A sixteen-year-old boy, his parents are on holiday and his mates were coming over on Friday night and staying over - it would have been churlish, don't you think, to make the young man get up and come to work?  Well, so Al thought anyway.  I didn't know any prices so spent most of the morning lugging sacks of potatoes and bushels of apples about and stacking shelves rather than on the till.

I lost my iPhone.  Someone found it, tracked me down and returned it.  I am still the luckiest person I know - and he's one of the nicest - he's a fellow iPhone user himself, so understands.  And is a Yagnub person, so is lovely.

Oh, and Al had a parcel to post, something he'd sold on eBay, so I went along to the post office for him.  There was a queue and two people who knew each other were chatting - both had come along to pay their car road fund licence, both had tried to pay it online and had been refused - one didn't recognise the number on the log book, the other said she hadn't paid the insurance but she had the certificate.  The Sage tried to pay his online this year and it wouldn't take the 16-digit number either.  So they had to trail along, as both will be at work when the PO opens again on Tuesday.  Which was quite annoying for them.

On the other hand, the internet is very useful when finding out how much postage to charge when posting £1,000-worth of china to Australia.