I’ve caught up with the work in the greenhouse; that is, there’s still a good deal to do as the tomatoes need potting on any day now and once seedlings emerge they will need things doing to them; but I’ve potted up everything that is ready and sown all seeds for now. Since I was so late starting, everything will be a little late for a while, but it all catches up in the end.
The soil in the garden dries out very quickly, being sand on gravel and therefore I can’t just sow seeds and expect them to come up. Unless I get them in early enough while there’s still moisture in the ground, they just don’t germinate. So that is why I now have about 375 peas sown in the greenhouse. As well as beans, spinach and all the rest. I know this seems absurd, but I’ve learned from 30 years of vegetable growing what works and what doesn’t. In fact, this garden is not as dry as my last, which was about 50 yards from the beach in Lowestoft and was really sandy.
The kitchen garden looks extremely untidy in parts just now and I can’t see that improving much for some time. In the long run it will be larger and better, but we aren’t very quick to finish things. We keep getting sidetracked by the necessities of living everyday life.
It all started with a whim on my part, about 18 months ago. I decided, and I can’t quite remember why now, that I wanted to try my hand at bricklaying. Since the Sage and I egg each other on in daft plans, this idea was kept in a dark warm place all winter and by last spring it was sprouting all over the place. The upshot of it was that we decided to build a wall for the vegetable garden. My veg garden is a splendid creation; it has 6 beds, each 4 feet wide by 38 feet long with 2 feet wide concrete paths between them. Then there is another squarish bit for artichokes (Jerusalem and Globe) and runner beans. On two sides, opposite each other, at right angles to the long beds (with me so far?) are greenhouses. One is 30 feet long and, the other side of the garden, the other two are 30 feet and 40 feet long. On one of the other two sides is a fruit garden, then a stream; on the other are the compost heaps and the drive.
The wall will go down the drive side and then round the corner towards the single greenhouse. About 100 feet long and 5 feet high. This will enlarge the veg garden somewhat as we might as well make use of the space available. We employed a bricklayer to lay the first few courses of masonry bricks so that we’d have a sound start and I’m to do the rest. I was telling a couple of friends about the plans, in the pub last summer. One of them said “let’s see your hands then” – they looked at my small and tender hands, looked at each other and their lips twitched…..but they are supportive really (that is, if they laugh it is behind my back). Indeed, one of them helpfully gave me some gloves and has lent me a spirit level and bricklayer’s trowel. Which he won’t get back anytime soon, I’m sorry to say.
There is just one thing stopping me thinking about getting started: we haven’t chosen the bricks yet. We found some that meet my unexacting standards, but not the Sage’s. It may still take some time; he is very patient.
The good thing is that we complement each other. He is careful and painstaking at the start of a project, but tends to lose interest before the end and, when it’s 85% completed, say “that’ll do for now, I’ll finish it later” and of course he never does. I leap in cheerily, all unprepared and make mistakes at the start because, well, too much preparation is boring, isn’t it; but I am then quite tenacious and complete the job. But when that will be is another matter. I think two years, but I really don’t know if that makes me wildly optimistic or ludicrously underambitious. It’ll have to be done though, I’ve told too many people.
Sunday, 30 April 2006
Humbled, yet proud
On the telephone -
"Greavsie left a remark in your comments box"
"Mm, a sarcastic one though"
"Sure, but GREAVSIE left a remark in your comments box"
"Yes, I was thrilled"
"Greavsie left a remark in your comments box"
"Mm, a sarcastic one though"
"Sure, but GREAVSIE left a remark in your comments box"
"Yes, I was thrilled"
Saturday, 29 April 2006
Lucky no one was sunbathing
Taken from a church tower. When I took this photo it was of the rooftops. I didn't notice the roofgarden until later.
Rabbit fool and spinach
I was rabbiting on, which isn't unusual, at a party. I like to give good value at a social occasion; I think it is only polite, when a host has gone to trouble and been kind enough to invite me, to not let conversation flag. Although listening and responding to others' bon mots is important too. Goodness, I hope I don't monopolise the conversation *moment of agonised introspection* because, after all, I am doing that here rather. Maybe it's time I reoffered that guest spot to my chum Ab.
Anyway, the friend to whom I rabbited said, in admiring sort of way "I should think you don't suffer fools gladly." I was mortified. He did mean it as a compliment, from the way he said it, but I was upset to think that a. I'd looked like a smartarse and b. like an intolerant one to boot. "No, no," I said, " I love fools, I feel warmly drawn to them." And it's true, not least because I'm one of them myself and I really hope that people will be tolerant of me too.
I think, on an entirely different subject (lucky this isn't one of those organised sort of blogs, with categories) that I am starting to feel reinthused about the vegetables. This morning, I've picked and taken to the shop, a whole box of spinach and am now proudly imagining the pleasure it is giving to Al's happy customers. 'Ooh, your own spinach, picked this morning, how lovely'. It is last years (spinach beet, not true spinach which goes to seed in no time and has to be continually re-sown, which does not suit my style of gardening at all) and, having overwintered, will, in a few weeks, go to seed. By that time the new season's crop should be ready.
I feel all keen and nurturing and will go and work in the garden. Have a good weekend.
Anyway, the friend to whom I rabbited said, in admiring sort of way "I should think you don't suffer fools gladly." I was mortified. He did mean it as a compliment, from the way he said it, but I was upset to think that a. I'd looked like a smartarse and b. like an intolerant one to boot. "No, no," I said, " I love fools, I feel warmly drawn to them." And it's true, not least because I'm one of them myself and I really hope that people will be tolerant of me too.
I think, on an entirely different subject (lucky this isn't one of those organised sort of blogs, with categories) that I am starting to feel reinthused about the vegetables. This morning, I've picked and taken to the shop, a whole box of spinach and am now proudly imagining the pleasure it is giving to Al's happy customers. 'Ooh, your own spinach, picked this morning, how lovely'. It is last years (spinach beet, not true spinach which goes to seed in no time and has to be continually re-sown, which does not suit my style of gardening at all) and, having overwintered, will, in a few weeks, go to seed. By that time the new season's crop should be ready.
I feel all keen and nurturing and will go and work in the garden. Have a good weekend.
Friday, 28 April 2006
Memento mori
One of my occasional duties is to play the organ at funerals in the village church. Today's funeral was that of the aged aunt of a friend of mine. She was, it appears, a brilliant and feisty woman who led a dashing and quite unusual life.
By the nature of funerals, most of them are for old people and, even if you have known them, you often don't realise just how interesting their lives have been and how notable have been their accomplishments. There may have been a particular event that stands out - like Violet, who received a medal for running down the railway track to successfully stop a train before it crashed into the car accident at the crossing gate. It might be a whole life story, like Doreen, who lived all her eighty years on the same farm, and in whose memory Flixton church was packed yesterday. There have been people I did not know in their lifetime, but by the end of whose funeral I have felt a sense of loss, that I have forever missed the opportunity to meet them.
I was chatting, a while ago, to the wife of our former Rector and we admitted that we had both, ages ago, chosen our funeral hymns. But neither of us has told anyone what they are. It seems a bit premature and maybe too self-absorbed. But I was quite cheered - she seems quite normal really, but she is actually as illogical as I am.
By the nature of funerals, most of them are for old people and, even if you have known them, you often don't realise just how interesting their lives have been and how notable have been their accomplishments. There may have been a particular event that stands out - like Violet, who received a medal for running down the railway track to successfully stop a train before it crashed into the car accident at the crossing gate. It might be a whole life story, like Doreen, who lived all her eighty years on the same farm, and in whose memory Flixton church was packed yesterday. There have been people I did not know in their lifetime, but by the end of whose funeral I have felt a sense of loss, that I have forever missed the opportunity to meet them.
I was chatting, a while ago, to the wife of our former Rector and we admitted that we had both, ages ago, chosen our funeral hymns. But neither of us has told anyone what they are. It seems a bit premature and maybe too self-absorbed. But I was quite cheered - she seems quite normal really, but she is actually as illogical as I am.
Thursday, 27 April 2006
But it's only a bit of rust ---
Oh dear. Son's car has failed its MOT, for several reasons - i.e. it's not worth having the repairs done.
He bought it last summer on Ebay. He also bought it from a friend and near neighbour who, if she had known Ro was looking for a car, would undoubtedly have given him first refusal. It was an elderly Metro, whose most interesting feature was the leather Saab seats; friend's son had written off her very nice car a couple of years back and they were salvaged.
So, Ro is in the market for a car, fairly promptly; at present he's borrowing his father's, who's borrowing mine. But it needs to be smallish and oldish, so that the insurance isn't horrendous. Correction: it will be horrendous in any case: so that it isn't unaffordable.
But I'm not sure that one can blame the insurance companies. A friend was lamenting to me that her son has just been caught drink driving and banned for 26 months. Ouch. Idiot. He's only 21 and has already, when sober, wrapped a car round a lamp-post because he misjudged a bend. He has lost his job 10 miles away and, although he has got another, his parents are refusing to give him a lift and making him walk.
Can't say he doesn't deserve it. I do not suggest his mother was upset because he was caught, but because he did it. However, he didn't hurt anyone and was not hurt himself; it was a spot check coming out of the pub car park. So he's lucky really, even if he feels hard done by at present.
He bought it last summer on Ebay. He also bought it from a friend and near neighbour who, if she had known Ro was looking for a car, would undoubtedly have given him first refusal. It was an elderly Metro, whose most interesting feature was the leather Saab seats; friend's son had written off her very nice car a couple of years back and they were salvaged.
So, Ro is in the market for a car, fairly promptly; at present he's borrowing his father's, who's borrowing mine. But it needs to be smallish and oldish, so that the insurance isn't horrendous. Correction: it will be horrendous in any case: so that it isn't unaffordable.
But I'm not sure that one can blame the insurance companies. A friend was lamenting to me that her son has just been caught drink driving and banned for 26 months. Ouch. Idiot. He's only 21 and has already, when sober, wrapped a car round a lamp-post because he misjudged a bend. He has lost his job 10 miles away and, although he has got another, his parents are refusing to give him a lift and making him walk.
Can't say he doesn't deserve it. I do not suggest his mother was upset because he was caught, but because he did it. However, he didn't hurt anyone and was not hurt himself; it was a spot check coming out of the pub car park. So he's lucky really, even if he feels hard done by at present.
Churchyard chickens
I'm always talking about the chickens, so here is their history.
About 16 years ago someone dumped a flock of bantams in the churchyard. Maybe they thought the birds could fend for themselves; they were reasonably safe as it's enclosed by railings, a wall and hedges (no, no, it's not Colditz, I mean one or another on each boundary). However, it was November and both food and shelter were another matter.
So my husband, a hind-hearted man and a bird lover, started to feed them. But winter approached and one day we found a dead chicken, killed by the cold. So the next week or two was spent sneaking out at night catching chickens which were roosting in the trees and bushes. My teenagers found this great fun. We built a henhouse and a run and they settled down.
Of course, once the spring came, they started to get broody and before long we had our first hatching of chicks. The run was extended. And again.
They are particularly sweet-natured birds - they never peck - and very good mothers. Sometimes, a friend with some smart pedigree birds which are a bit clueless about sitting on eggs or looking after chicks asks us to hatch a clutch of eggs for them. One puzzled bird found herself sitting on a pair of goose eggs - only one hatched but she must have been most impressed to land up with a chick almost as big as she was. I inherited Goosey from my mother (and promptly passed him on to my son) and he now lives in a run next to the bantams, but they visit him.
Sometimes a newly hatched chick is frail and exhausted and comes and spends a few hours in a box on the Aga (the traditional bottom oven is too warm) or inside my bra - well, it likes to hear my heartbeat. And if a bantam is a bit poorly she is brought into the house each evening for a morsel of cheese.
We started with about 15 birds and the number we have now fluctuates between about 30 and 40. Sometimes we are visited by a fox but otherwise we keep them until they die of old age. The eggs are lovely, small - if the recipe says 2 eggs I'd use 3 - with beautiful deep yellow yolks. They mostly live on wheat and household scraps and whatever they find in the garden. They are free-range; they do have a large wire run to give them some protection from dogs and to keep most of them together, but they wander round the garden too.
About 16 years ago someone dumped a flock of bantams in the churchyard. Maybe they thought the birds could fend for themselves; they were reasonably safe as it's enclosed by railings, a wall and hedges (no, no, it's not Colditz, I mean one or another on each boundary). However, it was November and both food and shelter were another matter.
So my husband, a hind-hearted man and a bird lover, started to feed them. But winter approached and one day we found a dead chicken, killed by the cold. So the next week or two was spent sneaking out at night catching chickens which were roosting in the trees and bushes. My teenagers found this great fun. We built a henhouse and a run and they settled down.
Of course, once the spring came, they started to get broody and before long we had our first hatching of chicks. The run was extended. And again.
They are particularly sweet-natured birds - they never peck - and very good mothers. Sometimes, a friend with some smart pedigree birds which are a bit clueless about sitting on eggs or looking after chicks asks us to hatch a clutch of eggs for them. One puzzled bird found herself sitting on a pair of goose eggs - only one hatched but she must have been most impressed to land up with a chick almost as big as she was. I inherited Goosey from my mother (and promptly passed him on to my son) and he now lives in a run next to the bantams, but they visit him.
Sometimes a newly hatched chick is frail and exhausted and comes and spends a few hours in a box on the Aga (the traditional bottom oven is too warm) or inside my bra - well, it likes to hear my heartbeat. And if a bantam is a bit poorly she is brought into the house each evening for a morsel of cheese.
We started with about 15 birds and the number we have now fluctuates between about 30 and 40. Sometimes we are visited by a fox but otherwise we keep them until they die of old age. The eggs are lovely, small - if the recipe says 2 eggs I'd use 3 - with beautiful deep yellow yolks. They mostly live on wheat and household scraps and whatever they find in the garden. They are free-range; they do have a large wire run to give them some protection from dogs and to keep most of them together, but they wander round the garden too.
Wednesday, 26 April 2006
Undignified collapse of chugger
Just got back from my fifth meeting in two days, having done homework from last and preparation for next in the meantime. I can do efficient after all. I found myself chairing the last, unexpectedly, which was good as it meant we finished half an hour early and were back in the hall swigging wine and scoffing cheese while there was still plenty there (we look after ourselves in Norfolk villages) rather than finishing late and only finding a couple of cream crackers and dregs.
I'm being Granny tomorrow. And so looking forward to it. Although I realise I haven't thought about anything for lunch, so it'll be an egg again. My babies almost lived on egg, banana and avocado as they were quick, easy and available.
I don't know what's up with Hotmail, but I can't access emails. Ho hum. I can get on to MSN and I can sign in to my business email account, but not my personal one. I don't suppose there's anything vital. Although, isn't it dreary when you don't check emails for a few days and find you've got dozens to trawl through. Most of which are junk or trivial.
At least you know who they are from, so have some idea if they are worth reading. Not like innocently answering the phone and finding that it is a poor cold caller on minimum wage who you don't want to be rude to but will on no account buy from.
My mother, at the end of her life, finally found the perfect answer to cold callers. She had returned home from hospital, having received what she called her Death Sentence (and it was, but she said it in CAPITALS). My sister and I were sitting in her bedroom, drinking tea and keeping each other's spirits up when the phone rang. She answered. It was a charity caller wanting her to sell raffle tickets. My mum explained politely that she was just out of hospital, she was really quite ill and it was not possible for her to sell tickets, however good the cause was. "There's no hurry" said the lass brightly, "we've got to December 17th." "Unfortunately," said my mother with great dignity, "I may not have until December 17th." Apologies and confusion from caller, who rapidly said goodbye. My sister, my mum and I collapsed with laughter. At last, the perfect response. And it was true (far too bad taste to say if it were not). What had been, moments before, a tragedy, was suddenly the best line ever to put off chuggers (charity muggers, has the phrase spread beyond England?). The phone rang again. Mummy answered. Said hello, then, kindly, please don't worry, goodbye.
The lass had accidentally rung the same number again. We fell off our chairs. Tears of laughter flowed.
When the going gets tough, black humour is the best medicine.
I'm being Granny tomorrow. And so looking forward to it. Although I realise I haven't thought about anything for lunch, so it'll be an egg again. My babies almost lived on egg, banana and avocado as they were quick, easy and available.
I don't know what's up with Hotmail, but I can't access emails. Ho hum. I can get on to MSN and I can sign in to my business email account, but not my personal one. I don't suppose there's anything vital. Although, isn't it dreary when you don't check emails for a few days and find you've got dozens to trawl through. Most of which are junk or trivial.
At least you know who they are from, so have some idea if they are worth reading. Not like innocently answering the phone and finding that it is a poor cold caller on minimum wage who you don't want to be rude to but will on no account buy from.
My mother, at the end of her life, finally found the perfect answer to cold callers. She had returned home from hospital, having received what she called her Death Sentence (and it was, but she said it in CAPITALS). My sister and I were sitting in her bedroom, drinking tea and keeping each other's spirits up when the phone rang. She answered. It was a charity caller wanting her to sell raffle tickets. My mum explained politely that she was just out of hospital, she was really quite ill and it was not possible for her to sell tickets, however good the cause was. "There's no hurry" said the lass brightly, "we've got to December 17th." "Unfortunately," said my mother with great dignity, "I may not have until December 17th." Apologies and confusion from caller, who rapidly said goodbye. My sister, my mum and I collapsed with laughter. At last, the perfect response. And it was true (far too bad taste to say if it were not). What had been, moments before, a tragedy, was suddenly the best line ever to put off chuggers (charity muggers, has the phrase spread beyond England?). The phone rang again. Mummy answered. Said hello, then, kindly, please don't worry, goodbye.
The lass had accidentally rung the same number again. We fell off our chairs. Tears of laughter flowed.
When the going gets tough, black humour is the best medicine.
Tuesday, 25 April 2006
Fill the cup and don't say when
I'm having great difficulty in finding the drive to catch up with work in the garden this spring. Gardening, to me, is growing vegetables, as I expect flowers and girly stuff like that to be able to manage on its own - also I have been discouraged by 20 years of living with ground elder and, as it can't be got rid of - not when it's among shrubs - I ignore it except to notice that the flowers are actually quite pretty.
But vegetable growing is my passion. So what, strictly in gardening terms of course, has happened to my libido?
I have thought of several reasons, such as the cold spring which has made everything late, the succession of colds I've had which make me wheeze if I exert myself (well, unless it's something I really want to do, in which case I seem to find the breath and the energy) and the fact that, now I grow veg for the shop it's turned into a job instead of a hobby. I've even wondered if, now there's a baby in the family I am directing all my caring and nurturing side to her and no longer need to raise plants - but that seems a bit fanciful.
I think, perhaps, it's a reflection of the rest of my life. Gardening used to be how I relaxed. I longed to get out into the greenhouse, to pot up seedlings and tend the plants, to check, eagerly, how each radish and lettuce was growing and anticipate, dribblingly, the day when I could pick the first of the new harvest. A whole meal would be planned around baby broad beans, asparagus, tiny new potatoes. And I'm sure that, when that time comes in a few weeks, I will be just as excited (look, I lead a dull enough life for that to be how I get my kicks).
When my children were little and squabbled, the greenhouse was my refuge. Anyone was welcome to come and join me, to work or chat or just watch, but tranquillity was insisted upon. It was no use to come and complain about little brother or big sister, it was not allowed. And later there were other tensions and stresses. Now, these don't exist. Middle age is rather an enjoyable place to be. My children are grown up and lovely and no longer dependent on me, I no longer have aged parents to be responsible for (yes, this is two-edged, but being a 'carer' is a burden, even if willingly shouldered) and my husband and I run our business in a low-key way that we can easily manage. We're both busy with our various interests, but we can afford to be quite disorganised about it all as we know we can catch up when it matters.
I think I've just said that I've become so lazy that I can't be bothered to pot up the tomatoes. Maybe I should sharpen the razor-blade. Or, as the song concludes, go for the six parts of gin to one part vermouth.
Half past six. Time for a glass of something, certainly. And time to water the greenhouse.
But vegetable growing is my passion. So what, strictly in gardening terms of course, has happened to my libido?
I have thought of several reasons, such as the cold spring which has made everything late, the succession of colds I've had which make me wheeze if I exert myself (well, unless it's something I really want to do, in which case I seem to find the breath and the energy) and the fact that, now I grow veg for the shop it's turned into a job instead of a hobby. I've even wondered if, now there's a baby in the family I am directing all my caring and nurturing side to her and no longer need to raise plants - but that seems a bit fanciful.
I think, perhaps, it's a reflection of the rest of my life. Gardening used to be how I relaxed. I longed to get out into the greenhouse, to pot up seedlings and tend the plants, to check, eagerly, how each radish and lettuce was growing and anticipate, dribblingly, the day when I could pick the first of the new harvest. A whole meal would be planned around baby broad beans, asparagus, tiny new potatoes. And I'm sure that, when that time comes in a few weeks, I will be just as excited (look, I lead a dull enough life for that to be how I get my kicks).
When my children were little and squabbled, the greenhouse was my refuge. Anyone was welcome to come and join me, to work or chat or just watch, but tranquillity was insisted upon. It was no use to come and complain about little brother or big sister, it was not allowed. And later there were other tensions and stresses. Now, these don't exist. Middle age is rather an enjoyable place to be. My children are grown up and lovely and no longer dependent on me, I no longer have aged parents to be responsible for (yes, this is two-edged, but being a 'carer' is a burden, even if willingly shouldered) and my husband and I run our business in a low-key way that we can easily manage. We're both busy with our various interests, but we can afford to be quite disorganised about it all as we know we can catch up when it matters.
I think I've just said that I've become so lazy that I can't be bothered to pot up the tomatoes. Maybe I should sharpen the razor-blade. Or, as the song concludes, go for the six parts of gin to one part vermouth.
Half past six. Time for a glass of something, certainly. And time to water the greenhouse.
Monday, 24 April 2006
If I don't do it, who will?
I’ve just been writing a note to a friend, V, sympathising on the death of her mother. She (mother, not my friend) celebrated her hundredth birthday on 15th April and died on 21st April. Ill though she had been, she managed to hang on for her big day and, considerate in the way we mums are, had no intention of either missing or spoiling the party.
I hope V will, now, be able to learn to relax again. She is always so busy, practically runs her village church single-handed and has been coping by taking on more and more, unable to delegate or accept help, efficiently dealing with all crises and believing that if she takes any time at all off, all those spinning plates will just crash to the ground and with them will go her ability to cope.
Does that sound a bit heart-felt? It’s okay, I got over it.
I hope V will, now, be able to learn to relax again. She is always so busy, practically runs her village church single-handed and has been coping by taking on more and more, unable to delegate or accept help, efficiently dealing with all crises and believing that if she takes any time at all off, all those spinning plates will just crash to the ground and with them will go her ability to cope.
Does that sound a bit heart-felt? It’s okay, I got over it.
Sunday, 23 April 2006
Cuckoo
By the way, forgot to mention that I heard the cuckoo on Friday. And again today. The chap who was talking at the time looked a little startled when I exclaimed "cuckoo!" and I had to explain that I was not expressing an opinion about his state of mind.
I asked the Sage what he would like for dinner and gave him a choice of three dishes which I prepared earlier. "They all sound good" he said hopefully. I assured him he will eat them all in due course and he has selected the minestrone soup and cheese scones.
That's what I'd have chosen too.
Young Daniel is coming to help in the garden tomorrow. Thank goodness. He did sterling work for us last summer when he was supposed to be studying for his GCSEs.
I asked the Sage what he would like for dinner and gave him a choice of three dishes which I prepared earlier. "They all sound good" he said hopefully. I assured him he will eat them all in due course and he has selected the minestrone soup and cheese scones.
That's what I'd have chosen too.
Young Daniel is coming to help in the garden tomorrow. Thank goodness. He did sterling work for us last summer when he was supposed to be studying for his GCSEs.
Post in haste .......
There are some people who hone their writing to perfection. There are others who type rapidly and merrily post an entry that makes it look as if they behaved like drunken loons all evening.
I'd like to make it clear that I was not a drunken loon last night. Didn't even behave like one. I sat on the floor, drank whisky and chuckled, it's true, but it was much more restrained than it sounds. My floor-squatting habit dates from childhood, when the chairs were mostly full of dogs, which conveniently left the floor clear for people to sit on, I didn't drink much and only chortled at amusing moments of the film.
Glad to have set the record straight.
Even gladder, this morning, to discover seven bottles of white wine in the fridge that I'd forgotten about. I haven't room in the kitchen for a large enough fridge, so I have a second one in the back lobby where I keep milk, champagne and anything else there isn't room for in Fridge 1. I also, for the last few months, have been housing a third fridge in the porch, little used but in need of a good home. This morning I discovered that Fridge 2 was no longer working. So it will be (safely and legally of course) disposed of and Fridge 3 is happily settling down in its place. But I put bottles of wine in every chilly place at the time of the Rector's leaving party. We mostly drank red on that occasion and I forgot just how much was stashed.
I'd like to make it clear that I was not a drunken loon last night. Didn't even behave like one. I sat on the floor, drank whisky and chuckled, it's true, but it was much more restrained than it sounds. My floor-squatting habit dates from childhood, when the chairs were mostly full of dogs, which conveniently left the floor clear for people to sit on, I didn't drink much and only chortled at amusing moments of the film.
Glad to have set the record straight.
Even gladder, this morning, to discover seven bottles of white wine in the fridge that I'd forgotten about. I haven't room in the kitchen for a large enough fridge, so I have a second one in the back lobby where I keep milk, champagne and anything else there isn't room for in Fridge 1. I also, for the last few months, have been housing a third fridge in the porch, little used but in need of a good home. This morning I discovered that Fridge 2 was no longer working. So it will be (safely and legally of course) disposed of and Fridge 3 is happily settling down in its place. But I put bottles of wine in every chilly place at the time of the Rector's leaving party. We mostly drank red on that occasion and I forgot just how much was stashed.
Saturday, 22 April 2006
Taste
I've spent the last couple of hours being entertained by a film on BBC4 called 'Le Goût Des Autres'. I always have a slight difficulty watching foreign films on television because I habitually read as I half-watch, when it needs all my concentration either to understand the language (if spoken s-l-o-w-l-y and clearly and French) and/or to read the subtitles. So it takes me a while to get into it. However, this one was worth it. Not the most subtle humour; fairly easy targets were chosen, but done gently and good-humouredly.
I might not have noticed it was on, but a friend, who also likes foreign films (I do, but I concentrate better at the cinema), recommended it. But now I've just found an email - it was not the one he thought it was. Well, thanks anyway, Ab, I sat on the floor drinking whisky and chuckling and it was a good way to finish the evening.
The programme has arrived for the Snape Proms in August. It comes hard for an impetuous and disorganised person like me to have to book for concerts over three months ahead. I was busy when the Aldeburgh Festival programme (same venue, same organisation but the Festival in June is the upmarket event - www.aldeburgh.co.uk) came in February and didn't get around to booking anything. I'll have to look it out and ring to see what's available.
For a long time it was not possible to go away on holiday because of commitments at home and so I regarded the Festival and the Proms as my holiday substitutes and cheerily booked all the concerts I fancied. Now I can go away if I wish, I still enjoy them but don't, as it were, 'need' them and find the 45 minute drive there more offputting than I used to. Well, no, it's not the drive there that is the problem, it's the return journey that can seem an effort.
I usually go on my own, but I don't mind that, nor the cinema. I am less willing to go to the theatre alone, though I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it's a little more formal? And that it's a more sociable occasion? Maybe I should take a book to read in the interval?
No, maybe not.
I might not have noticed it was on, but a friend, who also likes foreign films (I do, but I concentrate better at the cinema), recommended it. But now I've just found an email - it was not the one he thought it was. Well, thanks anyway, Ab, I sat on the floor drinking whisky and chuckling and it was a good way to finish the evening.
The programme has arrived for the Snape Proms in August. It comes hard for an impetuous and disorganised person like me to have to book for concerts over three months ahead. I was busy when the Aldeburgh Festival programme (same venue, same organisation but the Festival in June is the upmarket event - www.aldeburgh.co.uk) came in February and didn't get around to booking anything. I'll have to look it out and ring to see what's available.
For a long time it was not possible to go away on holiday because of commitments at home and so I regarded the Festival and the Proms as my holiday substitutes and cheerily booked all the concerts I fancied. Now I can go away if I wish, I still enjoy them but don't, as it were, 'need' them and find the 45 minute drive there more offputting than I used to. Well, no, it's not the drive there that is the problem, it's the return journey that can seem an effort.
I usually go on my own, but I don't mind that, nor the cinema. I am less willing to go to the theatre alone, though I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it's a little more formal? And that it's a more sociable occasion? Maybe I should take a book to read in the interval?
No, maybe not.
Friday, 21 April 2006
A moment of modest drama
Not a particularly good photo and his distinctive colour doesn't show too well, but it's the best I can do for now.
As I've said, there are pheasants in the fields round the house and the gorgeous golden pheasant is a regular visitor (his colour is a variation on the usual cock pheasant's, he's not a different species). We see four or five cock birds, but never more than one hen.
When I drove home at lunchtime, Golden Pheasant was being followed across the field by the hen bird. And just now, I saw Golden Pheasant and Common or Garden Cock Pheasant looking really cross. I suspect that CoGPh had been making overtures to GoPh's girlfriend. I thought there was going to be a fight and almost stood up (well, don't want to overreact). However, after a minute CogPh capitulated and drooped away, followed by the golden boy looking triumphant.
He's discovered we keep chicken food in the porch so has taken to coming in and helping himself, so now he's been given his own dish.
We spoil that bird? Well yes, but that's good isn't it? You'd do it too, wouldn't you.
Seventh in the queen dorgies stakes
I was told the other day, so of course checked it for myself, that if you enter queen dorgies into Yahoo Search, my comments on designer cross-breeds comes up 7th. This is hardly fame, but I was surprised nevertheless.
It may have been superseded by now by much more important articles on our monarch, in view of this being her Happy Day. I'm not going to check as I've a feeling I would be slightly disappointed if I'd been dropped to the second page. It would be very uncool to be disappointed by something that I'm already embarrassed by feeling a bit gratified about, so it's better not to know.
I was nowhere to be found on Google. Unless you know different.
I'm supposed to be cooking and gardening today; so far I've been shopping, blogging and eating chocolate. My self-motivational skills are slipping.
I bought a new watering can (and other, more fun things, of course). I have plenty of them already, but I don't know what has happened to their roses (the end bit that sprinkles the water gently rather than all 2 gallons deluging the seedlings in one go). I went to the garden centre to buy a new rose and found a whole range. Unfortunately, they all had similar fittings, which said 'fit most watering cans' and I knew, because I'd been caught this way before, that it really meant 'fit most watering cans, except the ones that we actually sell, so if you lose the rose of a watering can that you have bought from us, no good looking here as you have to buy another watering can. From us.'
I suppose they couldn't fit all that on the label.
It may have been superseded by now by much more important articles on our monarch, in view of this being her Happy Day. I'm not going to check as I've a feeling I would be slightly disappointed if I'd been dropped to the second page. It would be very uncool to be disappointed by something that I'm already embarrassed by feeling a bit gratified about, so it's better not to know.
I was nowhere to be found on Google. Unless you know different.
I'm supposed to be cooking and gardening today; so far I've been shopping, blogging and eating chocolate. My self-motivational skills are slipping.
I bought a new watering can (and other, more fun things, of course). I have plenty of them already, but I don't know what has happened to their roses (the end bit that sprinkles the water gently rather than all 2 gallons deluging the seedlings in one go). I went to the garden centre to buy a new rose and found a whole range. Unfortunately, they all had similar fittings, which said 'fit most watering cans' and I knew, because I'd been caught this way before, that it really meant 'fit most watering cans, except the ones that we actually sell, so if you lose the rose of a watering can that you have bought from us, no good looking here as you have to buy another watering can. From us.'
I suppose they couldn't fit all that on the label.
Wheel they or won't they?
There are plans afoot to have a Big Wheel in Norwich. Like the London Eye, but much smaller, and instead of panoramic views of the Thames and our capital city's great buildings from above, the sightlines will be blocked by the Forum (the grandiose name for the library), St Peter Mancroft Church and City Hall. All fine buildings of course, but you can see them from the ground. It would only be for a few minutes halfway through the ride that you could actually see the view. And the tops of the aforementioned fine buildings.
There are so many flaws in the plan that it surely will not go ahead. It's a busy area already and a popular meeting place. Once most of it is taken up by a wheel, it's not easy to see where the queues of happy holidaymakers, who don't yet know they are in for an anticlimax, will wait.
One wonders why it was even suggested. It so often seems to be the way. Instead of looking for flaws in an idea, amending plans and coming up with a coherent strategy to put forward, councils (and the government, come to that) rush forward with the first half-baked plan that has been suggested and wait for the general public to point out that it won't work.
In fact, the idea of a wheel has gone down quite well, if it were put in a suitable location. What the locals do is go to the top of a multi-storey car park and gaze out admiringly at the array of churches scattered across the city, but you can hardly expect that to be advertised in the tourist brochures. It would seem unsophisticated and disorganised, and we already have Norfolk's 'system' of main roads to display those qualities.
There are so many flaws in the plan that it surely will not go ahead. It's a busy area already and a popular meeting place. Once most of it is taken up by a wheel, it's not easy to see where the queues of happy holidaymakers, who don't yet know they are in for an anticlimax, will wait.
One wonders why it was even suggested. It so often seems to be the way. Instead of looking for flaws in an idea, amending plans and coming up with a coherent strategy to put forward, councils (and the government, come to that) rush forward with the first half-baked plan that has been suggested and wait for the general public to point out that it won't work.
In fact, the idea of a wheel has gone down quite well, if it were put in a suitable location. What the locals do is go to the top of a multi-storey car park and gaze out admiringly at the array of churches scattered across the city, but you can hardly expect that to be advertised in the tourist brochures. It would seem unsophisticated and disorganised, and we already have Norfolk's 'system' of main roads to display those qualities.
Thursday, 20 April 2006
What the baby said
In response to requests. Well, request, but you all want to know don't you.
The usual: mama, dada, animal noises (my daughter was big on animal noises too, she could say moo and baa long before she could enunciate actual words), yes (the s is usually silent), no. Useful phrases are 'oh dear', 'oh no' and 'wow!' Shoes is a new word, because she hasn't had them long and is very proud of them. Milk (silent k) is also new; now she is over a year old she has it (cows' milk, that is), from a cup, night and morning and loves it. She asks for more occasionally in the daytime, usually if she is tired. She also says 'bye' and waves - there may be more words but I'd have to ask her parents. She understands a good many more and replies to questions if you have the good sense to ask in a form she can say yes, no, shoes, whatever, to. When I suggested we visit Daddy, the reply was 'yeh, yeh, dadada', which to my fond ear almost qualifies as a SENTENCE (except it doesn't have a verb).
She was very good all day, but when Mummy arrived home at 5.30 her face lit up, she kissed her over and over and then smiled at me, waved and said 'bye' - well that's all right, I know my limits and my limitations.
The usual: mama, dada, animal noises (my daughter was big on animal noises too, she could say moo and baa long before she could enunciate actual words), yes (the s is usually silent), no. Useful phrases are 'oh dear', 'oh no' and 'wow!' Shoes is a new word, because she hasn't had them long and is very proud of them. Milk (silent k) is also new; now she is over a year old she has it (cows' milk, that is), from a cup, night and morning and loves it. She asks for more occasionally in the daytime, usually if she is tired. She also says 'bye' and waves - there may be more words but I'd have to ask her parents. She understands a good many more and replies to questions if you have the good sense to ask in a form she can say yes, no, shoes, whatever, to. When I suggested we visit Daddy, the reply was 'yeh, yeh, dadada', which to my fond ear almost qualifies as a SENTENCE (except it doesn't have a verb).
She was very good all day, but when Mummy arrived home at 5.30 her face lit up, she kissed her over and over and then smiled at me, waved and said 'bye' - well that's all right, I know my limits and my limitations.
Typing with all fingers
Back in business, the new keyboard has arrived. I have rather a quantity of work to catch up on: it was not impossible to send emails, double-clicking painstakingly on each letter, but not having a working space bar made them almost as hard to read as they were to write and business letters were out of the question.
Babysitting today, Grandbaby is having a nap at present. She was tucking enthusiastically into lunch when I realised I hadn't put a bib on her. I took her into the shop to visit her father, who said, "Ah, egg for lunch I see."
He minded her while I went across the road to buy a bib. She sorted out the onions and then put the apples into variety packs. A pity really as he prefers to sell each sort separately, but he can amuse himself this afternoon sorting out the Granny Smiths from the Pink Ladies.
I'm feeling a little distracted at present as I may not have long before I'm back on grandmotherly duties, so I will add more later. Luckily, Gb can say quite a few words now and understand more, so I don't have to guess what I'm expected to do. I can ask and she tells me.
So we're both happy.
Babysitting today, Grandbaby is having a nap at present. She was tucking enthusiastically into lunch when I realised I hadn't put a bib on her. I took her into the shop to visit her father, who said, "Ah, egg for lunch I see."
He minded her while I went across the road to buy a bib. She sorted out the onions and then put the apples into variety packs. A pity really as he prefers to sell each sort separately, but he can amuse himself this afternoon sorting out the Granny Smiths from the Pink Ladies.
I'm feeling a little distracted at present as I may not have long before I'm back on grandmotherly duties, so I will add more later. Luckily, Gb can say quite a few words now and understand more, so I don't have to guess what I'm expected to do. I can ask and she tells me.
So we're both happy.
Wednesday, 19 April 2006
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