Labourer in waiting

I spent the day with Weeza again.  It was the same when she was expecting Zerlina, she was glad of maternal support.  Last time it was her first baby, this time she has a nearly-three-year-old (and the childminder on holiday) to look after.  This morning, Zerlina and I made cupcakes.  Yes, I know that I normally say fairy cakes, in the proper, traditional manner, but they were made using a Hummingbird recipe, so I will call it what the shopkeeper calls it, because that's only fair.  Admittedly, we only made half the given quantity of icing.  The big thing about the cupcake fad is the quantity of icing.  More than cake.  Huge.  Tasty, but too much.

It all went very well and we each ate a cupcake after lunch.  Then Zerlina went for her nap, but she was too cheerful to sleep and she sang and talked to herself for nearly an hour.  Weeza gave her an early supper and I trust there were not tears before bedtime from anyone.

I offered to have Zerlina to stay, but I hadn't really thought it through.  The childminder returned from holiday today, and z is due to go to her tomorrow and Wednesday.  Those were the nights I'd meant to offer; I'm busy on Thursday.

In the garden, I noticed ripe figs dangling over Weeza's neighbour's fence over the footpath that separates their two gardens.  I mentioned them.  Weeza said that she had left them the first year and they had dropped, unpicked.  Since, she has rescued them.  We saved seven figs and I brought two of them home.  Well, *home* - they didn't last the journey, I'm afraid.  The Sage is not fond of figs, though I suspect it is only because he expects the hard seeds of the imported sort.  He did go out to check our fig tree and found that none was ripe, but eleven of his apples were.  He was very pleased.

I received several emails during the day = that is, several that counted as letters, so are very welcome.  I have to reply to the business ones tonight, but others will be answered, with much pleasure.  Thank you.

Dainty Z

It seems that it's my tiny little delicate paws that are the difficulty.  I simply wasn't pushing the end of the pump hard enough on to the valve on the bike tyre.  The Sage has succeeded in pumping up the tyre now, and so I can go out and do my shopping by bicycle.  Yay.

You can probably tell, that was a yay said without much enthusiasm.  It's only because I wish to support my local shops that I don't buy everything on the internet.  It was jolly useful when Al had his shop, I could ring him up and ask him to bring stuff home with him.  He did deliver in fact, and one of his customers used to phone all the local shops, get them to deliver what she wanted to him and then he would take it all to her.  She was elderly and couldn't get out easily and it was ideal, saving time and trouble for everyone.  Everyone for Al, that is, but he was going to her anyway so it was little more bother.

I was talking to Weeza tonight on the phone.  I rang to see how she is: fine, still pregnant.  It's Zerlina's birthday in less than two weeks and we were talking about her presents and what to get her that she will be able to use with little or no help.  Weeza was a bit rueful about the thought that she won't get all the attention for much longer.  "You might not have thought much about having siblings when you were young," I said.  "You must be glad of them now though.  Just think, otherwise, your father and I would be your entire responsibility."  She acknowledged that it is a burden she is glad to be able to share.  Especially now that we realise how puny my finger muscles are.

Out of puff

My mother always professed herself unable to deal with any sort of technology.  "Not if it's got more than two working parts, darling," she would say.  She confided once that this started as a self-defence mechanism.  When she and my father were first married, they ran a hotel and, when short of staff, took over whatever job needed to be done.  She said that she would do anything except work behind the bar, and he had done everything short of chambermaiding.  She made sure that she wouldn't be expected to work machinery, however, by pretending not to understand it and, in time, became actually unable to cope with it at all.

I generally quite like getting on and having a go at such things - even with teenagers in the house I was first to learn how to programme the video, for instance - but pumping up a bicycle tyre has defeated me again.  I  used to have difficulty with car tyres, but finally mastered the machines at a petrol station through necessity.  However, today I set out to do my shopping and decided, by the time I got to the end of the drive, that the tyre was a bit soft.  Getting off and prodding it confirmed that, so I went back home and got out the foot-operated pump.

Ten minutes later, all I had achieved was letting all the air out.  The only consolation was that, when the Sage got home, he was unable to work it either.

I feel such a fool.  Last time I had the same problem, I tried to look it up on the internet, but it was too basic.  It's so simple that there are no instructions.  Indeed, when Phil showed me, I was able to do it easily, but there's evidently something vital I've forgotten.  I'll have to take the bike over in the car when I next go to Weeza's and get him to do it for me.  I have got a hand-operated pump of course, though I'm not sure where it is right now because, although I can attach it all right, my puny little arms can't actually put enough air into it to inflate it from scratch.

Seems that I may have to put one foot in front of the other for the next few days.  I don't mind walking, if I have to, but I can't be doing with carrying a whole lot of shopping about.  Either I drive or we go hungry.

Yew think about it

What happens in this household is, one of us has an idea and we all get quite excited.  Then we think about it and, indeed, sometimes the mere verbal expression of thought (impulse, quite often) makes the speaker pick all the required holes in the idea and it goes no further ... except that it forms a series of links and it is not uncommon for a more practical idea to come out of it at the end.  Once in a while, the first idea is the best.

I took Weeza to show her where we are thinking of putting the summerhouse.  It is not in a good position now.  It was all right when the laurel hedge was by the lawn, but since we removed that, three or four years ago (one of our better decisions, beastly thing) it has just looked odd.  And, to be honest, we never used it much because we prefer sitting on the lawn itself. Mostly it was used for storing lawn furniture, until the Sage started to put in old bikes and stuff too.  Anyway, moles have undermined its foundations and it needs to be taken apart, refurbished and re-erected, so that would be a good opportunity to move it altogether.

This is a large space overall, and you would think there would be a good choice of sites, but there isn't.  It could go on the edge of the lawn, but a lot of work would have to be done on levelling the site.  The Sage came up with an idea which was rubbish.  Then I suggested somewhere else, which might do, but isn't ideal for various reasons, mainly because it would mean removing a wall containing a raised bed; no great loss, but a lot of work.

So, being a sensible Z, I asked Weeza what she thought.  She suggested another situation which we are quite taken with - but it would be very close to the yew.  This is the yew.  The summerhouse would be just to its right, where the log pile is (that's the logs from the dead oak that fell down a year ago, waiting to be split).

If the yew were well sited in the first place, that would be one thing.  But you can also see the reason for it being cut hard back to the trunk on one side.

It's right by the drive, and has broken the edging.  I'm not quite sure why it was ever planted there, right by the kerb.  Or possibly, left there when the kerb was put in.  It has to be cut right back periodically, the last time was three or four months back.  It grows slowly, but all that bare wood will be covered in new growth by next year.

From the other side, this is how it looks -

In the foreground, the dead wood is a rosemary which, after twenty years, finally died back in the spring when it was so dry.  I didn't notice until it was too late.

There is about half a mile of hedge around our fields, all native British species and we leave it to grow naturally as far as possible, just cutting back as necessary against the road.  It really goes against the grain to consider cutting down a healthy tree, but sometimes it can be the most sensible action.  If we decide to leave it, it will need some more pruning to improve its shape.

Actually, I wish people wouldn't plant trees in the wrong place to start with.  My mother used to do that, she never took growth into account.  I used to point out how large one would be after twenty years, and she'd say that she would be dead by then.  I'd say that, even if so, that would mean that a healthy tree in its prime would have to be cut down because it was too close to the house.

Anyway, no hurry.  I'm going to keep looking for a good site for the summerhouse.

Questions, questions

Now, I should like to conduct a short questionnaire, if you would be so kind as to give me your opinions.

1. When you give their origin a few minutes of careful thought, which of these is the most gross?

a) eggs

b) milk

c) honey

If you would care to explain your reasoning, I should be most appreciative.

2. Today, it has been mostly rainy.  Still, it's good for the garden, innit?

3. We're considering cutting down the yew tree and re-erecting the summerhouse in its place - or rather, right next to it.  The reasons for cutting down the tree are that it would keep light from the summerhouse, the pollen is very dusty, birds eat the berries and there are really messy droppings in the area and that yew is extremely poisonous and I'd worry that needles might be accidentally ingested in our picnic.

Is this cruelty to trees and does it matter?

Little girl in waiting

We have seen Weeza several times this week already and she will probably come over here again tomorrow.  Less than a fortnight before the baby is due, with a very energetic toddler and the childminder on holiday, both she and Zerlina want distractions.

I'm wondering how you manage with the birth of your second child when you haven't got family on hand to look after the first.  Zerlina knows that she may be packed off for a day or two to us because Mummy will be busy having her little brother, and she's looking forward to it.  She is also looking forward to being a big sister.  Weeza has been putting in some work on that!  There had been a few 'incidents' recently, when Zerlina was reluctant to leave what she was doing to use the loo, so a star chart was drawn up and it's been quite a hit.  The only reward is stickers, but that's fine.  As well as the lavatory, tidying things away and lovely behaviour are mentioned, and it's having an excellent effect.  When I was there on Monday, she suddenly announced that she would tidy up all her toys and did so, and she didn't even ask for a sticker.  She already eats pretty well anything put in front of her, tidily and with cutlery, and she makes no fuss about bed or nap times.  It's pretty impressive parenting on Weeza's part, I think.

Having said which, she is very strong willed and sometimes, because she gets that from her mother, there are some battles of wills going on.   She was a little fractious this afternoon because she had got too hot while she was asleep.  Weeza went off to the hairdresser and z was a little querulous until I took her out into the garden, where she went on her swing.  She loves that.  Later, she did some painting, mostly on her tummy.

It has rained this evening.  It's still warm though.  I'm not complaining about the heat, at least it's seasonal.  I've done most of my work on the iPad, sitting outside in the shade.

Second names

While I was writing last night's post, the Sage came in the room for a chat - which was a pleasure of course, but distracting.  I quite forgot what was to have been my last example of name changing.

We were having dinner with friends, Alan and Sophie, some years ago, and her mother was about to move to a nursing home in the village.  Sophie told us not to be surprised that her mother would call her Janet, she being the only person who had not accepted her change of name.

Sophie was a nurse when Alan first spotted her, and he heard another nurse refer to her as Sister Sophie Ward.  He invited her on a date and, during the course of the evening, called her Sophie.  As you do.  Sophie explained that, at the hospital, each sister was called by the name of the ward she (probably she in each case) was in charge of, rather than by her own name.  Alan mulled it over.  "Actually, I think of you as Sophie.  The name suits you much better than Janet."  Sophie agreed and that's what she became.  This could, of course, be one of the most charmingly romantic things one could imagine or a bit of real control-freakery, that a man choose his wife's name.  Actually, it was the former.

As for me, I quite often get called Sophie, or sometimes Chloë.  Even among those who remember my name, it's not unknown for me to be Zo or Zo-zo.  A few of those who know me from here call me Zed. And, as for the name I called myself before I was two years old, it was Dodo.  But the only person who ever continued with that was my mother, and that was probably an affectionate link to her oldest friend, who had similarly been unable to cope with Josephine as a baby, but with whom the nickname had stuck.

Naming names

I was thinking, the other day, about given names and how keen so many of us are to change or ditch them,  at least when we're young.  I say "we" but that doesn't actually include me.  I'm not very name-minded.  I don't even name the chickens, and it was probably only the necessity to register our children that made us choose names for them.  At that, when Ro was a small child, he was more often called "Thing" (entirely affectionately) by me than any other name.  Three children and a husband - how on earth was I to remember all those names?

My sister, here, is called Wink.  But that's the name I actually call her by, more often than not, it being her childhood nickname.  It was my parents that called her that in the first place, when she was only a few weeks old.  Her name is Melanie, you see, but my mother didn't want to call her Mel and intended to use the full name - but it's fairly unwieldy for a small child so her babyhood nickname stuck.  Mine, which I used when I was too little to manage Z, didn't.  But then, Z is quite an efficient name so it was easy to say and write.

A lot of people abbreviate their names of course, at least when they are children - though often, it's mothers who insist on a full name being used and friends who shorten it.  Some reinstate the full name when they are older.  I know a Patricia and a Christopher who were Pat and Chris twenty years ago, for instance.  There were another two, hating their names, who changed them altogether.  One went from Dorothy to Jane, which was slightly confusing, as her mother and the rest of the family ignored the change, and I knew her through her family, so I innocently called her Dorothy for years because I knew no better, rather to the bewilderment of other friends.  Another woman changed her name to Zellah, with such success that I've forgotten the original.  Rather splendidly, she finally took the plunge and made the change in her late 60s.  Wink had to move nearly 250 miles to ditch her nickname.  I do make every effort to call her Mel when I'm visiting her, at least when we're in company.  Hardly seems fair otherwise.

Z searches for Big Pinkie

Things would have been simpler if Big Pinkie hadn't got out this morning. A neighbour phoned to tell us, but the Sage was quite sure it was a cow from another field, not ours. I'd just gone upstairs to wash my hair - I'd actually got the tap running when he called up the stairs and so went to help get her back. She is very friendly and will follow you anywhere for an apple or two, so it wasn't too hard.

Everyone was very sociable and chatty and the weather was glorious, so we were able to have lunch outside. Afterwards, almost everyone went for a ride in the car, the Sage driving each of us in turn round the village. The car behaved beautifully.

I knew I would cook too much food. Despite the valiant efforts of Ro, who took several containersful, there's enough left for several meals. No puddings though. There was a little left after the meal, but it all vanished at some point except for a small quantity of cheesecake, which the Sage and Daphne, his childhood friend who is staying with us, polished off tonight.

I must go to bed. Oh, hang on - Mike, our friends whom you stayed with at the farm down the road were among the party guests. I told Bobbie the name of the blog. So she might call in at some time.

Whipped, anyone might run

I seem to be having problems with dairy products.  First the yoghurt was too runny, now my syllabub won't whip.  It's inexplicable.   I'm going to freeze it and we will have lemon syllabub ice cream, and I'll start again in the morning with the topping for the trifle.

I've got a lot done today, but I'm tired now.  A friend has come to stay from Kent, which is lovely - but I hadn't changed the spare room bed from when Weeza and Zerlina were here a couple of weeks ago.  Yes indeed, it's usually the rule that the bed gets changed and the sheets washed straight away, but it didn't happen.  And the bathroom, though pretty clean, was a tip.  So the housework took some time.  And we had to do the condition report on the last 15 lots that just came in, so that Weeza could continue to work on the catalogue.  And then the Sage wanted me to do the lot numbers.  We've always just bought numbers, but someone said to him, why didn't he have his own ones printed with his name on?  I'm so sweet to him, I really am.  I spent ages looking for the right size labels and I can't find them anywhere, so I had to buy some about 1 1/2 inches by 3/4 inch, and do two lot numbers to each label.  It took quite a time to get the sizing and spacing right so that they could be cut in half.

And now, I'm going to bed.  Roses is coming for lunch tomorrow, so I've got to spend the morning preparing.

Pie-eyed piper

Sight of the day - the Sage walking towards the house, followed by an eager cluster of about twenty bantams and one partridge, hoping for an early lunch.  They received it.

For those of you who came to the party and can visualise it, the section of the drive between the house and the lawn is finished at last.  The gravel was put down this afternoon, all the hardcore having been tamped down and levelled this morning.  They are now working on the part of the drive between the lawn and the field we call the Ups and Downs, widening it and putting in a kerb so that the gas delivery lorry won't break down the edge again.  If you come again next year, there really should be plenty of parking space.  I hope you will.

I've typed up those final fifteen lots, although we haven't done the condition report yet because I need daylight to make the best of my eyesight.  Also, all the Academy paperwork was completed from our end yesterday and delivered, and has gone through today, so there is no last-minute panic.  We are independent, and it feels good.

I wonder how the local authority will fund the schools it's still obliged to, now that the larger, most successful and efficient ones have become academies.  They have relied on the money they make from us to subsidise them and, while we were receiving a good service, we were okay with that.  But the balance tipped too far.  We are not irresponsible, however, we want schools to be good, and it's particularly in our interest to look after our feeder primary schools.

I could have a bit of a rant but I won't.  The Sage and I knocked back a bottle of champagne instead.  Particular good news is that Jan is getting much better and sent a text to Lynn, her colleague, today.  She's still tired and headachy but on the mend.

The yoghurt tastes lovely but was very runny.  I strained it through a muslin cloth to reduce the whey.  I'm not sure if it's just that I'm too used to commercial yoghurt and that it should be so runny?  I'll have another go after the weekend and see what happens then.  The back of the Aga seemed to keep it nicely warm overnight.

Whey to go

I have heated and semi-cooled the milk, whisked in some yoghurt to start it and put it in a bowl on a trivet at the back of the Aga.  We shall see how it goes by the morning.

I went out for a couple of hours and was rather startled by the change when I returned.  There was a rough patch of grass with a couple of trees on it by the drive, and there are a lot of bulbs in it, mostly snowdrops, aconites, crocus and bluebells.  They are still there, I suppose, but the grass has all vanished.  It was pretty scruffy, admittedly, and since the soil removed to make room for the paving had been piled on it, I realise that there wasn't really any way of tidying it up acceptably without levelling it completely, but it wasn't quite what I'd expected.  We'll have to seed it in the autumn.  The chickens will enjoy the treat of grass seed.  I don't want to plant it up with shrubs, but I will go out tomorrow and get a couple of plants, just to soften the corners a bit.   Tomorrow, back to widening the drive, a job which has been left for a few weeks.  Heaven knows when the whole thing will be completed.

Z takes pictures

I've just finished editing the photos for the next catalogue - I haven't Photoshopped them or anything, just straightened and cropped them as necessary, added the lot number to each and sent Weeza 27 pictures for the catalogue; I shall let Ro have photos of all the lots on Sunday to go on the website, by which time I'll have added the last fifteen - those pieces are being brought here tomorrow.    It is very good to have that done.  I'm pleased with them, the day was perfect for taking pictures, being quite bright but not sunny.  I prefer to do it out of doors but in a lightbox.

I can't say that I enjoy the taking of the pictures, however.  So tedious, getting the tripod and everything just so, it takes ages to set up, although once that's done each item doesn't take long to photograph.  Thank goodness for digital cameras; at least I know within minutes if any of them is not good enough and can do it again.  That didn't happen this time, thanks to the Sage watching.  He saw, as I didn't, when a gnat flew in front of a piece of china just as I took the photo, so I was able to do it again at once.

Once we'd done the photography, we sat outside with Dilly and the children for quite some time in the sunshine.  I cuddled Hadrian, who has grown a great deal.  He is now two months old and has grown out of his little crib, so Dilly has passed it on to Weeza.  He's also grown out of all his first clothes.  I haven't seen him smile yet and asked if he does.  "He smiles at Al," said Dilly.  "I don't know what Al has that I don't, but he can always raise a smile."  She noticed that Hadrian was reaching out to touch the toggle on the hood of my jacket.

I must go to bed.  It's quarter to one.  I shall backdate this to midnight as this still counts as Wednesday, to me, in the same way as I reckon it doesn't become afternoon until I've had lunch.

 

Country noises

I remember the first night I ever spent in this house.  It was soon after the Sage and I were engaged and his parents invited us over for the weekend.  I was put in the spare bedroom, which in those days housed two single beds, a wardrobe and dressing table - probably a chair or two, there must have been a stool at the dressing table at least.  Now, it has a single bed, a large desk, a chest of drawers with a mirror on it, a table and four bookcases, two of them ceiling height.  It is the room above the porch and the windows face east and south.

I never did sleep very well in an unfamiliar place, and I hardly slept at all that night.  It was the noise.  Cows mooed, owls hooted and, at dawn, birds squawked.  Incredibly loud for a town girl.

Mind you, although I did live in a town, and always had, the road was a cul de sac and we had a large garden - and I slept on the second floor (that would be the third floor to Americans) so I daresay it was very quiet.   In later years, when Weeza came to stay here from London, she always remarked on how quiet it is in this house at night, so it's all comparative.

I took Ro and Dora out to lunch today and she asked me about how the Sage and I met, so I've been thinking back a bit.  Not that we met in a romantic way at all, he was a family friend for three years before we started to notice each other in a new light.  Just as well, I reckon, I'm not sure that I'd really have become engaged to someone three weeks after the first date if I'd only just met him.  I may be impulsive, but only when it really feels right.

Sad to say, none of the eggs we were given have hatched and we don't think that they will.  The Sage is asking around, trying to find someone with bantams who could spare some fertile eggs, chicks or even just a young cockerel, but no luck at present.  Too many foxes around, most people who used to keep fairly free-ranging bantams have lost them to the sandy-whiskered gentleman.  We will strike lucky sooner or later, however.  The Sage is good at that sort of thing.

Long ago and really quite far away

I've been thinking about myself (yes I know, no need to say anything about that At All, darlings) because Dave mentioned his membership (if that's the word) of Friends Reunited.  I remember my decision not to join Friends Reunited.  The idea, it seemed, was to contact people you had been at school, university or your earlier working life with and had lost touch.  My reaction was, you've lost touch for a reason, right?  If you cared that much, you'd have stayed in contact.

In fact, some years ago we visited an elderly cousin of the Sage's, and as a result we discovered that his daughter was a neighbour of a friend of mine from teenage days.  Pleased as I was to find this out, it was not quite enough for either of us to make contact with each other - and, I'm sorry to say, she died three or four years ago as it happens, so it isn't going to happen in future either.

I lived in Lowestoft after leaving school and have lived here, with the same surname, for 25 years (it was the anniversary of moving here on Saturday, as it happens).  I occasionally meet (bump into, not meet by arrangement) people I knew from schooldays, and one of them told me, a while back, that her mother is still a good friend of two of our teachers, who now are in their early eighties.  Which was quite interesting, actually, I might not mind meeting them again (and, funnily enough, I did keep in touch with several teachers after I left school, and wrote regularly to one until his death). But I have never been sufficiently engaged to make contact with anyone whom I've lost touch with.  Indeed, I do not put my school into Facebook or Google+ - if there's anyone who really wants to find me, they can by name.  Not because we passed uncaringly by forty years ago.

This is not because I'm so very unfriendly, or I don't think so.  I am not friendly like my sister, who does keep friends from way back, including school friends and people she worked with several decades ago.  And I wonder if that's partly because she doesn't have children - friends are all the closer to her - although I don't think I'd be different whether I had a family or not.  Anyway,  whatever the reasons, I was rather horrified by the prospect of people I hadn't seen for forty years getting in touch.  Apart from anything else, I might not remember them.  I've worked on my memory for faces and names very hard over the years, but back in my youth it was awful.  Embarrassingly bad, in fact.

There is better news from the hospital, by the way, where our school staff member was taken after her subarachnoid haemorrhage.  She has been out of bed, walking slowly around the room.  She still has a headache and is dreadfully tired, but this is really good to hear.

A family production

We spent a couple of hours today on the next sale catalogue, and that has cheered me considerably. Weeza is coming over tomorrow morning to help with the condition report - her younger eyes are better for spotting the smallest damage or restoration, although I'm normally fairly alert at observing restoration in china myself.  With her baby due in mid-August, she wants to get the catalogue finished this week, not to cut it too fine.  We certainly want that too, I don't fancy the job.  I do the typing, photography and proof-reading, she does the condition report and catalogue, the Sage, of course, provides the expertise, dictates the description of the china and the price estimates.  In due course, Ro updates the website.

It's Ro's birthday today.  We're planning to meet up for lunch, probably on Tuesday, as he and Dora both have the week off.  They are also coming over for our party on Sunday - I really must remember to ask the Sage exactly whom he has invited.  And decide what to cook.

I'm also hoping to hear about my piano before long.  The tuner said the end of July and we asked him to give us a week or so warning that he was bringing it.  In reality, I'm expecting a couple of days, tops.  If he has any sense, he will tell us in advance, so that we can have a cheque waiting for him.  I've no idea how much it will be, I'll have to play it a lot to get my money's worth, that I do know.  I'm never going to be much of a pianist again, I'm afraid.  Hammering out hymns on the organ for the last twenty (or whatever) years has ruined me.  Apart from anything else, keeping going has been the main thing - if there are too many notes, I just leave a couple of them out nowadays.  Instead of practising until I get it right, I simplify it until I can play it without too much trouble.

In addition, I'm about at a tipping point with the clarinet.  I've forgotten some of the notes and have to work them out - in fact, I can't do a couple of the high ones at all any more and am going to have to look them up.  I've had my clarinet serviced, at any rate, and it is much easier to play.  I was relieved to discover that the amount of puff I had to expend and the danger of the occasional squeak was down to the instrument more than the musician.  All the same, if I'm ever to get reasonably good again, hours of work are needed.  I don't know, maybe.

This afternoon, I looked out of the window and the partridge was clambering over the heap of soil removed to make room for the slabs.  She called for the Sage, but he was busy so I went to the door and she watched hopefully, so I fetched her a handful of corn.  I've got the awful feeling that I can't bear, at present, to worry the birds by introducing a dog into the family.  But then, I haven't got time or aptitude to train a puppy right now, either.  So I have to accept that we won't have a dog for a few months, at least, unless the unlikely event happens that an unmissable opportunity arises.



 

Z asks for advice

Jonny, the farmer I have mentioned before (it's he and his father whose cows graze our field) has started a new enterprise, selling milk from the farm gate.  The farm and cows have gone through the necessary testing of course, and he is licensed to sell raw milk.  Now, the thing is, I want to support him but I don't use a lot of milk and what I do, the milkman delivers.  Of course, I want to support doorstep deliveries too, so won't cancel that, and besides, not everyone wants to be given unpasteurised milk and I wouldn't offer it without telling them.

I'm not going to start taking milk in tea and coffee or drinking it, but I do make a point of eating yoghurt, for the sake of the calcium.  Yes, I have discussed a bone density test with my doctor.  But anyway, that seems to me something I can do with the milk, make yoghurt.  So I am asking you for advice.

I looked up Delia you see, who is always first point of call for basics, and she suggests bringing milk to the boil, simmering it to evaporate somewhat, cooling it and going from there.  That seems a bit of a faff to be honest, so I looked elsewhere and found a method that just brings it to the temperature you want and doesn't boil it at all.  Boiling the milk would seem to negate the benefits of raw milk - though I appreciate that it makes it possible for small children to use - and I've never been fond of the taste of boiled milk.  So, is it a good idea?  I have made yoghurt before, but not for 30 years and I can't remember what I did, or even how successful it was.  So I'd appreciate some advice, please.

Thank you, darlings.

By the way, I gather that this is already over Facebook and Twitter, but it's a genuinely unpleasant watch, whatever the back story is.

Deliveries

It was Aaron's funeral today.  His form teacher was asked by his parents to speak, and to read out their message and that of neighbouring farmers (where Aaron would have started an apprenticeship in September) too.  He rose to the demands of the ordeal.  The Rector also spoke extremely well, a beautifully crafted and delivered address that must have taken hours to write, not that it sounded laboured at all.

I think that all the paving slabs have been laid - that is, when the piles of earth have been removed, we can see if the proportions look about right.  We still have some left.  At last we won't have a large puddle outside the door every time it rains, Jamie and Richard have been careful to have a slight and imperceptible incline to the side, away from the house.

Al has become a postman.  He did his first round today, under supervision, will still be supervised tomorrow and will have his own round next week.  He is looking forward to it, it's right up his street (see what I did there?).  Plenty of time on his own, but superficial friendly contact with people.  An early start in the morning, but an early finish too.  And paid holidays, which he hasn't had for the past nine years - not that he didn't enjoy being a shopkeeper, he did, but it was relentless hard work.

The Sage and I have a lot of work to do in the next three days.  It's time to start the catalogue for the next sale.  Weeza is coming over on Monday to do the condition report and she wants us to have it typed up by then, even if I haven't taken the photos.  My aim is to have pretty well all my work done, of one sort and another, by about the 7th August and then I can take some time off.

While I think of it ...

Madeleine (aka Pixiemum,  Lurking) was wondering how to post pictures from her iPad. I suspect that you can only do them one at a time, but it is possible if you go to the picture in your photo album, go to the little arrow at the top and then to email, then put in your blogger email address.  Not that I've actually done it before.

This is a few of the chickens on Sunday morning when the Sage was later than usual and they were waiting for their breakfast.  Yes, the door needs painting, but it's a horrid door and I'd rather have a new one instead.

Z

Sent from my iPad

Z is locked out

I arrived home at 10 o'clock, having been out for dinner. I knew that the Sage was going out this evening for a couple of business appointments, but the second of those was at 7, half an hour away, and I didn't think I needed to take a key with me.

So here I sit in the car. The lights are off next door so I can't go there for a key, and I shall have to wait. I could phone the Sage, but that seems a bit naggy.

Fortunately, I have my phone and several newly-downloaded levels of iAssociate. So my time will not be entirely wasted.

Z

Sent from my iPhone