Red wine and chocolate cake

The village fete having been rained off on Saturday, we met for our scheduled meeting this evening, at the pub, to decide what to do next, and have decided to rebook it for 15th October.  It'll mean forking out for the temporary licence and the insurance again of course, but there is money in the kitty.  The festival committee facilitates everything for the village organisations who run stalls and so on, and make money by leasing pitches to companies running bouncy castles, burger and ice cream stalls and to craft stalls.  This money isn't distributed but used for expenses the next year and we have a few hundred pounds in hand to allow for extras.

Of course, we've now got to meet a couple of times between now and then to finalise arrangements.  Which is a bit of a downer, but we think it's worth it, a lot of clubs and so on rely on this as their main fundraiser for the year.  We couldn't shift into the village hall on Saturday because the beer festival used that, but that won't be the case next time, although John the publican can use the VH bar if he wants.  I only ever offered to go on that committee to write up the notes and don't offer to do much more - this isn't a good time of year for me, and nor will be October.  I have a basic set of notes and alter them each time, with matters discussed and matters to be discussed in different colours so that they are updated year on year.

Otherwise, I've kept my head down today and been out as little as possible.  I've found my feet on Google+ and have had conversations there, which was as sociable as I wanted to be.

The title?  Lunch.

Explaining

You'll remember that we had our Ofsted last month and that same night, one of our caretakers had a stroke and died a few days later.  Then our Year 11 pupil died suddenly.  We have all found the last few weeks of term quite a strain.  But it got even worse.  On Sunday morning I had a message from a friend (who lives in  the village and is also a teacher at the High School) to say that the son of friends had been killed in a farming accident.  In his latish twenties, he was married with a baby.  His parents divorced and remarried many years ago and both extended families still live here.  His half-sisters go to school here, the eldest at the high school.

Already shocked, this made everyone feel terrible.  And yesterday afternoon, a member of staff (not a teacher) became seriously ill very suddenly and is now in Addenbrooke's hospital in Cambridge.

At the same time, it's the end of the school year and there are various awards being given out, sports days, staff leaving parties and all that sort of thing, for which we have to be upbeat.  And there's an awful lot of work to do, less than a fortnight for everything to be in place for the academy change.  It is legally set up, but we're still working our way through all the contracts we need for everything the local authority did.  And there's the end of year paperwork too.  The person who is ill is the financial manager's right hand woman so there's a practical problem as well as anxiety about a dearly loved friend and colleague.

So, nothing at all has happened as far as I or my family are concerned, we are fine.  But I'm shocked, grieving and so sad for the people whose lives are devastated.  Excuse me if I sound as if I'm wanting this to be about me, I really am not.

Today, however, has gone quite well.  Final music lessons (for me and for most of two Year 9 classes) were fun.  Interviews were extremely interesting, they will carry on later in the week and it will be a very hard choice.  Tomorrow, a staff/pupil cricket match after school.  I shall go and cheer on one team or the other, or probably both.

Body paint

I have, I find, reverted to my old self and am unable to phone the friends we want to invite to our party in a fortnight's time.  The Sage is doing it.  I'm not, as you may have gathered, feeling very cheerful and I don't really want to talk to people very much.  I'm not great with the phone at the best of times, whereas the Sage loves it, so he doesn't mind.  I will, of course, be fine long before the party time, so I don't want to cancel it.

This morning, I woke at about 6.15, lay there for a few minutes feeling too hot and decided to get up.  Downstairs, I found that it was actually not quite half past five.  I've got some work to do that I didn't have time for over the weekend so I should have done that, but in fact I read the Sunday papers instead.  The result is that it's now 9 o'clock and I am not even dressed and haven't done any work, so early rising has turned out to be counter-productive.

And so now, I'm going to get dressed and then find the right music to put me in a better frame of mind.  Two of the letters I have to write are to give people good news, then a formal one confirming it, and then a letter of condolence.

After the things at the school this afternoon, I am going over to see Weeza's bump, which is being painted.  Yes, that's right.

Nothing here

Can't blog tonight, sorry.

Dynamic cyclists

Zerlina was very pleased to see her Uncle Roro and persuaded him to take her upstairs to play on the rocking horse, then to fetch her glass of water and to read her some books.

Weeza is getting regular updates on progress from Phil, who is cycling through Essex at present. She is able to track his whereabouts on her phone, don't know how that works, and he texts her every hour or so. Once he gets to Dunwich, after a ride of 200km, about 100 miles, he will then have to cycle here which must be another thirty, and that after a sleepless and energetic night. All seems quite remarkable to me.

It did rain, the beer festival carried on in the village hall, the craft exhibition, teas and cake stall were in the church but the rest was cancelled. Or quite possibly postponed, we will look at the possibility of holding it in September instead. We have a meeting on Wednesday.

I'm really flagging and will be very glad when the month is over and I will be able to relax a bit. If I could sleep more it would be a help - actually, I did sleep better last night, probably because it was cooler, but only for five or six hours overall. But too much has happened, good and bad, in the last month and I could do with just one thing to concentrate on, not a whole range.

This week, however, we will be putting together the catalogue for the next sale. And I shall be busy at school, as it's the last week of term. There's a tea and award ceremony, music lessons, a cricket match and two mornings of interviews, and also the final details of academy conversion. Roll on August.

Spot

Just hurrying past, darlings, on my way to bed.  I've been chatting with Weeza all evening and now, having been awake since 4 am, I'm tired.

I've made a lot of cake.  None with fresh cream in, however, so they will not tempt Christopher.  They tempted the Sage and Zerlina though and there were not quite so many by the end of the evening.  Zerlina was very good and happy all day, finished her day with a good bounce on the bed and a ride on the rocking horse and went to bed.  I read her two books and left her with Barry, her bear, her giraffe and Spot the Dog, a soft toy that had belonged to Ro.  We decided he was excited at the prospect of cuddling a child again after all these years.  I'm afraid that I do tend to give personalities to cuddly toy animals.  I don't think I'm particularly twee in other respects, but they are not entirely inanimate as far as I'm concerned.

Foreovercast

I'm concerned.  The weather forecast still talks of heavy rain for Saturday.  We've been holding these village festivals in their present manner (that is, including a beer festival) for quite some years and the weather has always been fine.  Even when there has been a pretty dreadful summer, the sun has always shone on festival day.

Tomorrow, Weeza and Zerlina are coming over and staying for two nights.  They have never stayed over before, it will be great.  We intend to pamper them, rather.  Ro and Dora are also coming on the Saturday, although I don't know if they will change their minds if it rains; they intend at present to stay for supper.  All will be splendid, except for the weather...

Weeza will call at the repair shop tomorrow to pick up my clarinet, which I took in last week for a service.  I'm very much looking forward to playing it again.  It's been quite difficult the last few times, the pads have been a bit leaky and it's needed a lot of puff as well as care to keep it in tune (that is, not to squeak).  It would require many hours of practise to play as well as I did ten or so years ago, however.  Not sure if I'll ever be that dedicated again.

Seasoning

It has always seemed to me that, from sometime in May or June, I lose track of time, as if the year has speeded up and summer is over before I've had time to enjoy it.  Thinking about it, I have a theory.

There always is time to savour the spring, you see, and I think that's because the changes in nature are so visible.  Even in the winter, we are on the lookout for the first aconites and snowdrops, then crocuses, daffodils, tulips, leading on to bluebells.  Similarly, all the hedgerow flowers, from blackthorn to hawthorn and buds breaking on plum, cherry and apple trees - there's always something new to look forward to and enjoy.  We watch for the first swallow and house martin, listen for the cuckoo, enjoy watching birds forage for nesting materials and then bustle back and forth with beakfuls of food.  We anticipate the first home-grown radishes, asparagus, lettuce, strawberry and tomatoes and every few days is marked by a new event.

Then we get used to it, and there's not so much to anticipate.  And all the trees are in full leaf and, apart from anxiously watching to beat the birds to the cherries on the trees (normally won by the early risers), the countryside and the garden is just there, the latter needing to be watered and weeded.  And before we know where we are, it's mid-July and the year is more than half over and I always feel as if it's slipped past without me noticing.

Chopping and stirring

I made soup and risotto tonight, two of my favourite soothing foods.  Soothing to make, that is, lots of chopping and stirring.  I'd made stock yesterday, so wanted to use it up.  I'm quite in the mood for cooking but, as I said yesterday,  the kitchen is too hot at this time of the year to spend very long in there.  I've promised to do some cooking for Weeza for the freezer (that rhyme was unintentional) so that she has some easy meals once the baby is born.  Only another five weeks before he is due, she's glad to have started maternity leave.  She can't quite believe now that she carried on until three weeks before her due date last time, and was working in London at the time, travelling from Islington to Belgravia every day.

One helpful thing she did before finishing work was to help us register our septic tanks.  This is a new thing brought in by the Environment Agency, we didn't know about it but she did, because the people she works for own a large country estate in Norfolk and there are a number of houses, none of them on mains drainage.  I suppose they are contacting larger landowners before those with only one or two tanks, but we have got it done early.  Our septic tank is brilliant, it just digests away and doesn't need any attention at all.  And the water we use, having been duly filtered and so on, returns to the ground and isn't wasted by being piped away.

Work in progress

The work being done outside here is progressing, although it looks as if not a lot has happened recently.  Trouble is, there's a lot to do and none of it gets finished.  So the drive hasn't been touched for a while, because we are waiting for some electrical work (if we fill in then a trench will have to be dug later), part of the paving has been laid but then, because it's a good time of year to do it, work has been done on the hedges around the fields and there were some fallen trees and branches to deal with.  I hope that has been done mostly and we can finish the paving, at least.  I'm tired of it looking like a work in progress.  Still, at least 'progress' is a good sign.              

The school's Ofsted report is online now if you want to read it.   We've had to call an extra governors' meeting for this week to wrap up final approval for various academy matters and am keeping my fingers crossed that there will be a quorum.  Just another couple of weeks and I can wind right down for the summer.  It will be good.  I rather wish now that I was having a holiday, but there isn't any time.  I only had a few spare days, and now we've arranged a party for one of them - though in fact, it would have been such a rushed break that it wouldn't really have been a very good idea.  I'd just like to get away completely for a few days, that's all.

I must spend most of the next few days making cakes and so on, for the festival at the weekend.  The kitchen is too hot for really enjoyable cake-making, but I expect I won't mind once I get started.  Weeza and Zerlina are going to come and stay for two nights, which will be lovely.  Phil is going to do a bike ride - rather odd, it's an overnight thing from London to Suffolk.  Dunwich, I think.  I can't think why one would want to spend the whole night cycling, and I'm not sure how it works out - I think they must be going by bus to London and then be taken back to Norwich again afterwards.

BOG OF (as an acronym of course)

Am I alone in being fed up with special offers?  I can see the point with perishable goods, Al used them sometimes when he had a lot of ripe fruit that would not keep more than a day - but really they are just used to make you buy stuff that you don't want or need.  I remember some years ago one of the presenters on You And Yours on Radio 4 (I think it was Winifred Robinson, but am not sure) said that they are known, in her family, as Buy One, Throw One Away.

The wine shop chain Threshers had three-for-the-price-of-two offers for almost all their stock for several years.  But of course, they simply raised the price to allow for it, so you paid well over the odds if you just wanted a single bottle - such as champagne for a special occasion, or a bottle of good wine (compared to your usual tipple) as a present - and it was a specious bargain offer.  Of course, Threshers went bust in the end, so I probably wasn't alone in shopping elsewhere unless I actually wanted several bottles of wine.

I can see why bookshops have to have special offers and why they try to shift as many books as they can - the competition from Amazon and, for bestsellers, major supermarkets, is pretty crippling.  But I still don't want a buy one, get the second half price, or buy three for the price of two offers when I just want to buy a book.  It's annoying.  Amazon is still cheaper, after all.  Just give me the discount, even a slightly less 'generous' one, and I'll buy the book if I'm in the mood to buy a book.

If a bookshop is good enough, mind you, I won't even mind the full price.  I have mentioned before (nearly a year ago) that I visited Topping & Co. in Bath, and it was brilliant.  I didn't begrudge the full price and I found so many books that I wanted to buy.  I haven't been to Ely since, but when I do, I'll go with an open mind and a willing credit card.  I went to another bookshop when I was visiting the area (can't remember where it was) and it was, though smaller, almost as alluring.  It was also independently owned, which must be a tough way to make a living.

BOGOFs can have their appeal, admittedly.  Before Woolworth's went out of business, I used to check out their offers if I happened to be near a branch, because they were genuine ones.  It was worth stocking up on kitchenware and so on, if it would have returned to its full price in a week or two.  I thought of another example but the phone rang (for the Sage, as it turned out) and, Coleridge-like, the distraction has made me forget.

I have not forgotten, however, that I meant to finish on a different subject entirely.  While writing this (and doing some cooking and answering the phone and emails) I have been listening to Pick of the Week,  chosen and presented by Graham Seed, late of The Archers.  He is as delightful to listen to as he was when playing Nigel.  And no, I don't want to start listening to it any more.  It's just a soap, whose producer doesn't care about manipulating the audience.  So I opted out.  Bet I'm not the only one.

Z and the need for Excitement

The day has started unexpectedly well.  Going through some old papers, I found a pamphlet, which turned out to be a project that Ro did at Middle School about Lowestoft china.  It's spot on and very informative.  I vaguely remember him doing it (fifteen years ago) and he puts both me and the Sage down in the acknowledgements, but he certainly wrote it himself, there's a piece of information in there that I only picked up myself a few years ago, and the book he got it from is in the bibliography.   Although it was seen by the teacher, as there are ticks at intervals, there is no mark at the end.  I trust he got a good one.  There are several photos, taken straight from our most recent sale, but it's nearly all writing.  Very like me, that is, I remember feeling quite indignant as a child when I spent ages doing a piece of writing and someone else did a couple of pictures and a drawing with captions and got as high a mark as I did.  I always did prefer words to pictures, and besides it showed that I'd actually done the work.  No real surprise that I loathed 'projects'.  I would have been useless with examination coursework, I really couldn't be bothered, I'd have left it all until the last moment, if done it at all.  Nerve-wracking as they were, I preferred proper exams.  A lot of forward reading, memorising and thinking, a couple of intensive hours and you were done.

I was having a meeting the other day with the Head, and we were interrupted several times by messages coming in, all of which needed fairly prompt action by him.  "Always something extra," or something like that, I said, but he replied that he loves it.  "This job is never the same for two days, there is always something I need to react to and deal with."  He looked at me.  "You're the same, you wouldn't want a predictable job, would you?"

It's true.  I have a short attention span and need constant stimulation.

Better than never

I had to have an early night last night, so apologies if you were glaring glumly at the screen at midnight wondering where I was.  Bed by 10.30 didn't help me sleep, so I probably won't bother again, however.

In fact, I spent most of the night in the spare room.  The Sage gave the occasional little snore, so I left him to get on with it.  I know I have said it before, it's sad to say that I sleep better alone nowadays.  It's more than possible that he does too, he is certainly asleep still now, and it's after 8 o'clock.

Ro and I were talking about Google+ recently, and he sent me an invitation yesterday.  I suspect that Facebook will up its game in response - the thing is, you can choose how you categorise the people on it, so that they don't necessarily see everything you post.  This doesn't particularly matter for me, but there are those who come to regret being so outspoken.

The Sage has just come downstairs.  It seems that the day can begin.

Kippered

I visited a friend in Norwich this morning for coffee, with two others - we all used to be on the same committee and miss our get-togethers.  Then, dropping my clarinet off on the way for a service, I went and had lunch with Weeza and Zerlina.

It looks as though the whole family will turn up again, first for the village festival on Saturday week and then for our party a fortnight later.  We have invited five other people so far, must crack on and ask more.

I used to find it the most difficult thing, inviting people round.  The Sage had to do the job.  I was so insecure, I was quite sure that no one would really want to come and I'd have the embarrassment of listening to them make an excuse or saying that awfully false "oh, how lovely."  I'm not sure where that insecurity came from or where it went, but it has gone.  Not that I do assume that everyone is desperate to come and spend time with me, but I am not afraid to ask.  Or, when I am, I do it anyway.

The Sage has had a bonfire of the brambles that were removed from the hedges a week or two ago.  A strong whiff of smoke hangs about him.  I like the smell of a bonfire as much as anyone, but I'm glad he will have a bath before bedtime tonight.

And no pear tree in sight

The Sage has a new friend.

Yes, our side door does need painting.

A pair of partridges has nested before in our vegetable garden, but this year they were not lucky.  Magpies were particularly aggressive when the weather was so dry and they got all the babies, and they killed the male bird as well.  We are not fond of magpies.

Anyway, the family had been joining the chickens in their run to be fed, and now that she's alone, the survivor is becoming very tame.  She actually came into the porch today and the Sage thinks it won't be long before she feeds from his hand.  He has a way with birds, they always trust him.

This is turning into Party Year.  The Sage is throwing another party, this time to celebrate the car's 83rd birthday.  Having invited bloggers the first time, and Lowestoft collectors the second, this time we will invite some of our local friends.  Already, the Sage is talking about the next party - not this planned one, but another one.  I'm not sure what has come over us.  I'm also not sure what I'm going to do about food this time, I must start thinking about it.  Although, not this side of the weekend because we are going to yet another party on Saturday, the farmer that Big Pinkie and Whisper (as no. 400 has been named) belong to; that is the son of the farming partnership got married earlier in the year, and this is their wedding bash.  A hog roast, apparently.  Jolly fine.

Zcruff

It's not, necessarily, that I have any difficulty in spending money, just that it is rarely on clothes.  I'm just not that bothered, and I never have been.  If in the mood or sufficiently desperate for something suitable, I might buy several outfits in one go, but that might not happen for a couple of years at a stretch.

My mother was extremely interested in clothes and took great care of them, always changing as soon as she arrived home, carefully hanging garments up and being quite unbothered by large dry cleaning bills.  When I was a child, she chose my clothes, partly because I didn't care and partly because she did.  When I was married with young children I had little spare money - I once, unwisely, did a rough calculation of our household income and expenditure and was gratified to find that they matched pretty well, until I noticed that I had allowed nothing for my and the Sage's clothing.  I allowed for children's clothes and for books, and this seemed more of a priority.  As a result, I simply didn't buy anything unless I had to, and was quite relaxed about wearing my mother's or my sister's cast-offs.  In fact, the youthful photos I put up of myself a few weeks ago, including ones taken at Miss Fitt's 100th birthday 28 years ago - the ones I didn't post of my mother, she was wearing a black and white dress that she later passed on to me: I still wear it once in a while.

It's not that I don't care at all what I look like - for that, look to the Sage.  I once, completely exasperated by the dreadful garments he was wearing to a reasonably smart occasion, told him quite snappily that, if I were dressed as scruffily as he was, he would be shocked and not want to be seen with me.  The Sage was quite hurt, although it was quite true, although not hurt enough to mend his ways, or sew on any buttons.  I aim to be appropriately addressed, and am gratified if I seem to have got it right, but I'm not sufficiently interested to spend a minute more time than I must in shopping.

My hair costs me about £5 a week, so I must care enough not just to have a chop twice a year, but I rarely give an opinion on its cut to the hairdresser.  "Whatever you want," I say to her.  A request not to cut my fringe too short, because I like it to hide my wrinkled forehead, is as far as it goes.  I can't be bothered to hide the grey, let alone enhance the colour.  Although, actually, that is something I would be fussy about.  If I coloured my hair, I would not let the roots show.  I'd be so rigorous about that, it would be far too much effort.  I seem to have the idea that it's far better not to go to enough bother and therefore fail, than to go to *too much* bother and it show.

Z is careful not to worry

I'm not the only person who thinks a lot of our Headteacher.  I'm going to quote from an email I received today from another governor - "Concerning the very sad news of Aaron - I was with a group of sixth formers on Friday - I felt it was a real testament to the BHS family ethos as they discussed the moving assembly Sean had just delivered and the respect they have for him as Head ('he's amazing - he considers every pupil a member of his family'). I understand that the year 11 Prom in the evening celebrated a life with dignity - difficult times."  It's hardly any wonder that the staff and pupils are motivated to work so hard.  


I had an email from Ro this morning.  A car had pulled out from a junction on his way to work (he cycles the three miles into Norwich city centre) and, although he had slowed down, knowing that drivers don't necessarily see  cyclists, the car pulled out right at the last moment and he couldn't stop.  He is not much hurt, he said, a bruised arm, and he went on to work, leaving his damaged bike for repair.  The driver has agreed it was his or her fault (Ro didn't say which) and will pay up.  All seems quite civilised.  Ro assured me that he didn't hit his head (he is very considerate and wouldn't want me to worry).  Ho hum.  Bus for the next few days, I suppose.  Cycling in the city is fairly hair-raising, although there is a cycle lane along that road, it is also used by buses and there are numerous side roads.  We really aren't very geared up for bikes in this country.  There is no point in letting myself worry.


We have had some paving laid outside the house - it's only part done so far, actually, but I moved a table and chairs on to the part that is done and sat there for much of the day, working.  Not working very hard, admittedly, but enough for me to think I've got something done.  And it was extremely pleasant.  

Parp, parp

The Sage fetched back his car today. It will be 83 years old in a month's time.

We went for a spin round the village.

And then we went and called on friends.

The car had gone about ten or twelve miles altogether, and was a bit hot and bothered by the time we got back into the drive, and we had cause to call it the Envy of Sisyphus (see end of section 3).  It started again after a rest, however.

On quite another subject, I have been thinking about surnames, specifically fish-related ones.  I'm not sure if it's because we live near the coast, in an area of the country that used to be a major fishing locality.  I know or have known people called Fish, Trout, Codling, Salmon and, splendidly, Haddock.

Expectations

I've been taking it easy today.  I didn't altogether take the day off, I've got a fair bit done, but I read both daily papers by mid-afternoon, which doesn't often happen with the bulky Saturday papers.  I spent quite some time finding out more about my iPad, which I bought last Monday in a hopeful burst of exuberance.  It has already proved very useful at meetings, where I haven't had to take along papers, but just read documents from the screen.

I mentioned, the other day, that I'd had to carry the brown hen out of the porch, when she wanted to sit on eggs and I needed to go out.  We had to give in, she was determinedly broody.  Fortunately, the Sage's friend Graham, who is leaving for New Zealand tonight, brought 15 fertile bantam eggs as a parting gift, so they have been divided between the broody ones, three or four each, and we will raise a cockerel to join the family as well as some young hens.  We always bring in an unrelated potential father, not wanting ours to become inbred.

It's typical of this girl that she has neither hidden away nor sat in the hen house, but has come as close as she can to us.  She is unperturbed by comings and goings, but still sharply aware of what is going on.  I heard some squawking this morning, which was probably two of them having a brief altercation, and went out to find her craning her neck, trying to see what was happening without leaving her eggs.  The eggs she had laid were, of course, infertile, so I reached under her yesterday, taking them all away and then replaced them with four of those that Graham brought.

When the eggs hatch, we will put each foster mum and her chicks in a separate coop.  It's too risky to leave them outside, the magpies would get them.

Outstanding result

It has been the most up-and-down couple of weeks.  Last Monday week, we finally were notified that the school was to receive its Ofsted inspection, having been waiting for notification for over a month (we had been told that we were in the pilot for the new regime, but not when the inspection would happen).  We had spent a few days getting ready and the rest just getting haggard.


Then we had the inspection and were told the result, but were not allowed to tell anyone until the findings had been moderated and verified.  That was on Thursday evening.  On Friday came the news about the illness of our caretaker.  On Monday, we had a post-Ofsted get-together among the staff, and on Tuesday, the caretaker died.  Yesterday brought the sad news about Aaron, our young pupil, but the Year 11s were, with the blessing of his parents, going ahead with their end of year prom tonight.  We were still waiting for confirmation of the inspection, we could not be confident of anything and the waiting was nerve-wracking.


Just before 5 o'clock this evening, the Headteacher emailed me and all the staff with the news that the result is official.  We can go public.


If you have nothing to do with schools, it will not mean much to you, but our rural, comprehensive school with nothing apparently remarkable about it, run-down buildings and a lower than average attainment in its incoming pupils has sailed through its Ofsted and gained an Outstanding, the highest evaluation, gained by 10% of schools overall.  Proud?  Yes indeed.  I'm damn proud.  I have read the report, but it isn't online yet, so I'll just quote one sentence - "The school is a striking example of an integrated community with everyone working towards a single vision."


Oh, and a sentence from the letter to the students - "Your school is extremely well led and the staff work together well to support you and provide you with an excellent experience."


Twenty-three years, I've been a school governor, eighteen years at one school and nearly thirteen years at this one (do the math, darling, there was an overlap).  Both schools have always been good.  For the last six months, I've known we were outstanding and now we have corroboration.


And yes, we have lots of plans for improvement.