So, tomorrow we're off to London to have a preview of a sale coming up in a few weeks - hang on, link alert... ... ... here. Start at Lot 210, because we will, although if you could do with some porcelain asparagus servers, check out the earlier lots as there are some splendid examples there. We are taking a friend and whizzing up there and back, spending a mere 4 hours in the Metropolis. Were it all down to me, I'd make a leisurely day of it and visit art galleries and meet chums, but the Sage and our friend are purposeful and so I obey, with good cheer and a willing heart, as ever.
What a lovely day today. I biked into town wearing, on top of normal attire of course, a light jacket and no gloves at all, for the first time since I started this exercise and healthy living nonsense (no, I'm no better for it: a little fitter and thinner, but still the same Z, you will be relieved to know).
I seem to have committed myself to go to a meeting in Liverpool in May. I should have booked a hotel room several months ago, like everyone else. I'll end up in some dive in a back street. Is Liverpool safe for a small and unfeisty (that's how I look, honestly) woman like me?
Monday, 31 March 2008
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Springing, a leek.
A week ago, we were in winter. Today, it was a warm and sunny spring day. Whatever one thinks about English weather, it is always interesting.
Of course, today the clocks changed to British Summer Time - an hour lost, but in all other respects, all to the good. If I support the cause of Scottish Independence, which I do (only I call it English Independence), then one of the reasons is that then each country would be able to make a decision regarding the bi-annual changing of the clocks according to its own interests.
Gardened in the afternoon, and am paying for it with a very uncomfortable hip this evening, and then cooked. The Sage dug up some leeks, which are still lovely, although they will all need to be eaten before they become woody in the centre, and we had some this evening with the roast chicken (freerange, from Sutton Hoo), roast potatoes and cauliflower (which, like the potatoes, was grown 6 miles away). I have made soup with the rest of the leeks, and a Bolognese sauce with the beef I bought on Saturday. Since I'm expecting a busy week, I am feeling awfully smug at the thought of all the meals I've prepared ahead. Though tomorrow, the meat will be stripped from the chicken and the bones will make stock for more soup. A frugal soul I am, and we eat the better for it.
Having said that, the garden is getting away from me badly. I just can't do the digging any more, nor can I even carry anything heavy - fine if it's bags by my side, but I can't carry anything much ahead of me in my arms. Most frustrating, as I am perfectly well and strong. We know how we'd like to solve the garden problem, but it's a pipe dream at present and not to be resolved yet. I'll just have to teach Squiffany and Pugsley how to garden. Pugsley is good at filling seed trays with compost, and Squiffany is reasonably adept at sowing seeds in them, but I think they need a rake, a hoe and lessons in telling weeds from vegetable seedlings.
Of course, today the clocks changed to British Summer Time - an hour lost, but in all other respects, all to the good. If I support the cause of Scottish Independence, which I do (only I call it English Independence), then one of the reasons is that then each country would be able to make a decision regarding the bi-annual changing of the clocks according to its own interests.
Gardened in the afternoon, and am paying for it with a very uncomfortable hip this evening, and then cooked. The Sage dug up some leeks, which are still lovely, although they will all need to be eaten before they become woody in the centre, and we had some this evening with the roast chicken (freerange, from Sutton Hoo), roast potatoes and cauliflower (which, like the potatoes, was grown 6 miles away). I have made soup with the rest of the leeks, and a Bolognese sauce with the beef I bought on Saturday. Since I'm expecting a busy week, I am feeling awfully smug at the thought of all the meals I've prepared ahead. Though tomorrow, the meat will be stripped from the chicken and the bones will make stock for more soup. A frugal soul I am, and we eat the better for it.
Having said that, the garden is getting away from me badly. I just can't do the digging any more, nor can I even carry anything heavy - fine if it's bags by my side, but I can't carry anything much ahead of me in my arms. Most frustrating, as I am perfectly well and strong. We know how we'd like to solve the garden problem, but it's a pipe dream at present and not to be resolved yet. I'll just have to teach Squiffany and Pugsley how to garden. Pugsley is good at filling seed trays with compost, and Squiffany is reasonably adept at sowing seeds in them, but I think they need a rake, a hoe and lessons in telling weeds from vegetable seedlings.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
Shame about the Boat Race? - not at all...
The Sage was in London today so I had to amuse myself. Happily, he arrived home before 5 and has amused me ever since.
I watched the Boat Race. The Sage supports Cambridge and I support Oxford. We are both highly partisan, but extremely polite and so have to pretend not to be interested at all. Cambridge were on the side of the river that should have ensured they won, but they didn't. I casually told the Sage, giving The Other Place (my father would actually not mention its name and I never visited Cambridge in his lifetime) full credit for a valiant attempt. When I was a child, a bottle of champagne was placed in the fridge on Boat Race day and fetched out in time for the race - but if Cambridge won, it was silently put away again. Since Oxford rarely won in the '60s, the champagne mostly lived to sparkle another day.
I watched the Boat Race. The Sage supports Cambridge and I support Oxford. We are both highly partisan, but extremely polite and so have to pretend not to be interested at all. Cambridge were on the side of the river that should have ensured they won, but they didn't. I casually told the Sage, giving The Other Place (my father would actually not mention its name and I never visited Cambridge in his lifetime) full credit for a valiant attempt. When I was a child, a bottle of champagne was placed in the fridge on Boat Race day and fetched out in time for the race - but if Cambridge won, it was silently put away again. Since Oxford rarely won in the '60s, the champagne mostly lived to sparkle another day.
Friday, 28 March 2008
Look at ME, Granny...
Dilly was out today, so I looked after the children, who behaved impeccably. We played in their house and mine, they bounced on my bed, played hide and seek with two duck-shaped pencil sharpeners and a small wooden Indian elephant, had lunch and, in Pugsley's case, a nap and played with Playdough for an hour until Dilly came home. Then she and I wanted to talk, so Squiffany became noisy and boisterous, as she was no longer centre of attention. It wasn't that she was receiving none at all - we were talking to her too and joining in their games, but our minds were drifting away from babyness and she didn't appreciate it.
The catalogue of an auction in London arrived today, so the Sage has been engrossed in it most of the day. We're going to have a look at the china next week - not the official viewing days for a few more weeks, but if you ask nicely, they'll put it on show for you. Three of us are going together, so it'll be worth their effort - it's certainly something we do for clients.
Not much else - horrible weather and I stayed home. I haven't sown any seeds in the garden yet - vegetables will be late this year. No point in doing so when the weather is so cold and I am not too bothered about it. Now that August is a fairly exciting month in this family (two weddings in three years and, this year, a baby to come), I have more to do than water greenhouses and pick the crops and I'll do what I can and not worry about the rest. The kitchen garden is designed to be neglected once in a while without becoming unmanageable.
The catalogue of an auction in London arrived today, so the Sage has been engrossed in it most of the day. We're going to have a look at the china next week - not the official viewing days for a few more weeks, but if you ask nicely, they'll put it on show for you. Three of us are going together, so it'll be worth their effort - it's certainly something we do for clients.
Not much else - horrible weather and I stayed home. I haven't sown any seeds in the garden yet - vegetables will be late this year. No point in doing so when the weather is so cold and I am not too bothered about it. Now that August is a fairly exciting month in this family (two weddings in three years and, this year, a baby to come), I have more to do than water greenhouses and pick the crops and I'll do what I can and not worry about the rest. The kitchen garden is designed to be neglected once in a while without becoming unmanageable.
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Just call me Lucky...when you consider the alternative
Friends of ours called in this evening to look at the china for the next auction. She has severe rheumatoid arthritis and can't get about easily, although she is younger than me, so it is helpful for her not to have to rely on being well enough to come to the sale. The first time they came, they had never handled a piece of L'stoft before, so I sat them down and took them everything, a piece or two at a time. The best way to learn about china is to handle it and look at it, and now they know a great deal.
"The Sage says that you had a bad fall?" I said sympathetically. She started to tell me about it "...of course, this was while we were still living away as our house was being repaired..." "whoa, I don't know about this," I interrupted.
Now, if you or I ever complain about a run of bad luck, compare with this before feeling hard-done-by.
In November, cracks appeared in the walls - in one bedroom, the ceiling and the wall parted company, so that the roof was not really being held up by anything at all. Subsidence was blamed and the insurance company sent the builders in. Our friends thought the large willow tree on the other side of the road, on council-owned land, might be to blame, but the insurance company reckoned it was the shrubs, dwarf conifers and escallonia, euonymous and that sort of thing, none above 8' high, in the garden and required them all to be removed.
While the work was being done and pile-drivers were being used, the vibrations made a ceiling fall down. At the time that the house was built, Artex ceilings contained asbestos, so they were told they would have to vacate the property until the work was finished. They had to have their furniture put in store and move out. A water pipe was also cracked by the vibration, so the parquet floor was also damaged.
They moved into a house by the river near Norwich. They have stayed there before, the Christmas before last, and like it very much and were able to book it for three months. Unfortunately, within a few days A, the husband, slipped as he came out of the door. One leg shot sideways and the other forward and he landed heavily on his knee. He hadn't broken anything but it was severely strained and (he is a teacher) he had to have the last fortnight of term off.
In January, D, the wife, came out of the house to drive to her appointment with her rheumatologist, and slipped on a piece of wood that keeps the door from opening too wide. Just like A, her fall was broken by railings, but unfortunately it was her face that met them. She severely bruised her cheek and broke three front teeth, as well as badly bruising her legs.
When they went back to their own house, they found that the storage company, chosen by the insurance company, had damaged most of the furntiture, with lost bits of veneer, scratches and the like. It's all antique and can't simply be replaced.
His knee is better, but still not right.
She still has a strapped right wrist, a bruised and painful right cheekbone and her teeth are loose. If she needs dental surgery, it will cost several thousand pounds and she will have to sue the owners of the holiday house - they're insured, but it's embarrassing.
This week, their vacuum cleaner broke down, so their cleaner offered to bring in her Dyson. Within moments, it had torn a banana-shaped and sized piece out of the carpet. Dyson is quibbling and is sending someone round to check the machine, interrogate the cleaner, look at the contents of the Dyson and see if there's any possible way of blaming anyone or anything but the machine (I've nothing against Dyson, I'm just reporting).
A and D are remarkably cheerful under the circumstances.
"The Sage says that you had a bad fall?" I said sympathetically. She started to tell me about it "...of course, this was while we were still living away as our house was being repaired..." "whoa, I don't know about this," I interrupted.
Now, if you or I ever complain about a run of bad luck, compare with this before feeling hard-done-by.
In November, cracks appeared in the walls - in one bedroom, the ceiling and the wall parted company, so that the roof was not really being held up by anything at all. Subsidence was blamed and the insurance company sent the builders in. Our friends thought the large willow tree on the other side of the road, on council-owned land, might be to blame, but the insurance company reckoned it was the shrubs, dwarf conifers and escallonia, euonymous and that sort of thing, none above 8' high, in the garden and required them all to be removed.
While the work was being done and pile-drivers were being used, the vibrations made a ceiling fall down. At the time that the house was built, Artex ceilings contained asbestos, so they were told they would have to vacate the property until the work was finished. They had to have their furniture put in store and move out. A water pipe was also cracked by the vibration, so the parquet floor was also damaged.
They moved into a house by the river near Norwich. They have stayed there before, the Christmas before last, and like it very much and were able to book it for three months. Unfortunately, within a few days A, the husband, slipped as he came out of the door. One leg shot sideways and the other forward and he landed heavily on his knee. He hadn't broken anything but it was severely strained and (he is a teacher) he had to have the last fortnight of term off.
In January, D, the wife, came out of the house to drive to her appointment with her rheumatologist, and slipped on a piece of wood that keeps the door from opening too wide. Just like A, her fall was broken by railings, but unfortunately it was her face that met them. She severely bruised her cheek and broke three front teeth, as well as badly bruising her legs.
When they went back to their own house, they found that the storage company, chosen by the insurance company, had damaged most of the furntiture, with lost bits of veneer, scratches and the like. It's all antique and can't simply be replaced.
His knee is better, but still not right.
She still has a strapped right wrist, a bruised and painful right cheekbone and her teeth are loose. If she needs dental surgery, it will cost several thousand pounds and she will have to sue the owners of the holiday house - they're insured, but it's embarrassing.
This week, their vacuum cleaner broke down, so their cleaner offered to bring in her Dyson. Within moments, it had torn a banana-shaped and sized piece out of the carpet. Dyson is quibbling and is sending someone round to check the machine, interrogate the cleaner, look at the contents of the Dyson and see if there's any possible way of blaming anyone or anything but the machine (I've nothing against Dyson, I'm just reporting).
A and D are remarkably cheerful under the circumstances.
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
Power of Tilly
She really can make me do anything, can my little dog. She decided it was dinner time, some three hours early. She doesn't bother me, she never whines nor paws me. She looks at me and wags her tail, and if I tell her to go away, she goes. On this occasion, I held out for half an hour.
I obeyed in the end, though.
Maybe, later, she'll let me come on the sofa with her for a cuddle.
I obeyed in the end, though.
Maybe, later, she'll let me come on the sofa with her for a cuddle.
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
Sooty and Sweep
I know that there's not a blogger in the world who doesn't, or at any rate hasn't read Dooce. And I wonder all the more why Tilly wore a hole in the carpet in one corner a couple of years ago, when there really was nothing there. When she stared at a cupboard, we cleared it out until a mouse ran out, which Tilly managed to miss. No, I don't know where it went. But the innocent corner? ... anyway, we don't ignore our dog when she's trying to tell us something, but it's never likely to be a raccoon living in our chimney.
Squeezing the poor until the pips squeak*
The church treasurer has been round with forms for me to sign, to change standing orders to pay the church administrator and cleaner. Both of them, part-time workers (one with another part-time job too) will receive less money in future, although they received a cost-of-living wage increase in January.
You remember last year's Budget, the last that Mr Brown prepared? At the end, he announced that the base rate of tax would go down from 22% to 20%, quite wrong-footing the Leader of the Opposition who had to give an instant critical reply - and wrong-footing the Leader of the Opposition is an absolutely appropriate thing for the Chancellor to do. But not, I think, by leaving out an important fact, which I read about in the paper the next day. The 10% tax rate for lower-paid workers was being eliminated and, as soon as they had enough to pay tax at all, they would pay 20% like the rest of those of us who are on basic rate.
This means that, from this April, people earning enough to pay tax but less than £15,000 per annum will pay more. Helping people out of the poverty trap? I don't think so.
*Denis Healey denies, by the way, saying "Squeezing the rich until the pips squeak", but says that Lloyd George said it back in the 1920s. However, I suspect it will remain indelibly associated with him.
You remember last year's Budget, the last that Mr Brown prepared? At the end, he announced that the base rate of tax would go down from 22% to 20%, quite wrong-footing the Leader of the Opposition who had to give an instant critical reply - and wrong-footing the Leader of the Opposition is an absolutely appropriate thing for the Chancellor to do. But not, I think, by leaving out an important fact, which I read about in the paper the next day. The 10% tax rate for lower-paid workers was being eliminated and, as soon as they had enough to pay tax at all, they would pay 20% like the rest of those of us who are on basic rate.
This means that, from this April, people earning enough to pay tax but less than £15,000 per annum will pay more. Helping people out of the poverty trap? I don't think so.
*Denis Healey denies, by the way, saying "Squeezing the rich until the pips squeak", but says that Lloyd George said it back in the 1920s. However, I suspect it will remain indelibly associated with him.
Monday, 24 March 2008
Ooh, photos!!(!)
It was a beautiful sunny morning but there had been, unexpectedly, a snowfall in the night. I trotted out soon after 8 o'clock to take a picture, and it was already starting to drip from the trees. A few minutes later, Al's front door opened and he came out with the children and they started to build a snowman together. Dilly had gone to spend the night with her sister as they had something on this morning and she didn't want to make an early start in the frost.
There are better photos, but they show the children's faces, and Al's, and I don't think he would like me to post them. I am tantalising you with a glimpse of the mysterious and wonderful Sage.
___________________________
My sister and I were grumbling about increased costs this morning and agreeing that we were both thinking before we spent money. A couple of years ago, for instance, when I first bought my present car, it cost £40 to fill it. Last autumn, it crept above £50. Now, it costs £60. Then I read this in the paper. And we shut up and wiped our eyes.
She's at work tomorrow, so she left for Wiltshire after breakfast. It's been duller without her...
There are better photos, but they show the children's faces, and Al's, and I don't think he would like me to post them. I am tantalising you with a glimpse of the mysterious and wonderful Sage.
___________________________
My sister and I were grumbling about increased costs this morning and agreeing that we were both thinking before we spent money. A couple of years ago, for instance, when I first bought my present car, it cost £40 to fill it. Last autumn, it crept above £50. Now, it costs £60. Then I read this in the paper. And we shut up and wiped our eyes.
She's at work tomorrow, so she left for Wiltshire after breakfast. It's been duller without her...
Sunday, 23 March 2008
Easter Sunday
It's snowing!!(!)
It missed us all winter, but now Spring is here, it's snowing.
Build a lovely snowman, darlings, and I hope you have a very happy Easter.
love from Z
It missed us all winter, but now Spring is here, it's snowing.
Build a lovely snowman, darlings, and I hope you have a very happy Easter.
love from Z
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Z drops by, briefly
Today, I've been flower arranging, babysitting, cooking, eating, drinking, playing games and chatting.
Not much time for writing. I haven't even read the papers.
I have, however, already prepared the vegetables for tomorrow's lunch, so I'm feeling quite good-housekeeperish.
Numerous annoyances of the smaller sort in the past few days, so best to shut up now before I start to whinge about them all.
Happy Easter, darlings
xx Z
Not much time for writing. I haven't even read the papers.
I have, however, already prepared the vegetables for tomorrow's lunch, so I'm feeling quite good-housekeeperish.
Numerous annoyances of the smaller sort in the past few days, so best to shut up now before I start to whinge about them all.
Happy Easter, darlings
xx Z
Friday, 21 March 2008
Most bemusing description...
...of the Last Supper that I'll ever read, I should think. From The Times television pages -
Jesus enjoys a final meal with His Disciples before being betrayed by Judas.
Enjoys a final meal? Sounds more like a stag night than anything I've ever read in the Gospels.
Jesus enjoys a final meal with His Disciples before being betrayed by Judas.
Enjoys a final meal? Sounds more like a stag night than anything I've ever read in the Gospels.
Thursday, 20 March 2008
Happy Birthday, dear Squiffany...
Our little girl is 3 today.
Last night, she helped Al and Dilly wrap a couple of presents for Pugsley, so that he would not feel left out (and not try to help open hers). This morning, she was up bright and early at her parents' bedside, wanting to give them to him. They went into the sitting room. She was chattering happily "Look, Pugsley, here are some presents for you because it's my birthday, come on and open them." "What about your presents, Squiffany?" said her father. She looked around. A chair was adorned with balloons and piled with parcels. "What's that? Has Father Christmas come?"
It had slipped her mind that you receive rather than give presents for your birthday. She soon adjusted to the idea though, and started unwrapping.
"Oh! That's lovely! It's just what I've always wanted - is it a game, Mummy?" Everything she opened was 'just what she'd always wanted'.
She's having a succession of small parties - one at toddler group this morning, another in the early afternoon and a third later on, when another friend is home from school. We're going at about 3 o'clock, when I get home from lunch.
I decided to buy art & craft-y things and some books. I went to both the toy and the art department of the only large family-owned department store left in the centre of Norwich. Everything aimed at small children was emblazoned "No Mess!", being designed to offer as little creativity and fun as possible. I put together some glittery paint, coloured paper and card, coloured pipe cleaners, tissue and crepe papers, some templates, pens and coloured pencils, playdough with cutters, glitter, confetti, cotton wool balls, a sponge and some brightly coloured brushes, wooden lolly sticks, a book on craft ideas (aimed at a rather older child, but there just wasn't anything and her mother can simplify it), a couple of story books and a cook book and have wrapped them all in bright paper with no sticky tape (so she can reuse it) and arranged them in a box.
A little book (The Owl and the Pussycat) and some coloured pencils and a colouring book for Pugsley.
And I'll offer my services for when they want to get messy. Fortunately, their mother and father are all in favour of creative mess.
Last night, she helped Al and Dilly wrap a couple of presents for Pugsley, so that he would not feel left out (and not try to help open hers). This morning, she was up bright and early at her parents' bedside, wanting to give them to him. They went into the sitting room. She was chattering happily "Look, Pugsley, here are some presents for you because it's my birthday, come on and open them." "What about your presents, Squiffany?" said her father. She looked around. A chair was adorned with balloons and piled with parcels. "What's that? Has Father Christmas come?"
It had slipped her mind that you receive rather than give presents for your birthday. She soon adjusted to the idea though, and started unwrapping.
"Oh! That's lovely! It's just what I've always wanted - is it a game, Mummy?" Everything she opened was 'just what she'd always wanted'.
She's having a succession of small parties - one at toddler group this morning, another in the early afternoon and a third later on, when another friend is home from school. We're going at about 3 o'clock, when I get home from lunch.
I decided to buy art & craft-y things and some books. I went to both the toy and the art department of the only large family-owned department store left in the centre of Norwich. Everything aimed at small children was emblazoned "No Mess!", being designed to offer as little creativity and fun as possible. I put together some glittery paint, coloured paper and card, coloured pipe cleaners, tissue and crepe papers, some templates, pens and coloured pencils, playdough with cutters, glitter, confetti, cotton wool balls, a sponge and some brightly coloured brushes, wooden lolly sticks, a book on craft ideas (aimed at a rather older child, but there just wasn't anything and her mother can simplify it), a couple of story books and a cook book and have wrapped them all in bright paper with no sticky tape (so she can reuse it) and arranged them in a box.
A little book (The Owl and the Pussycat) and some coloured pencils and a colouring book for Pugsley.
And I'll offer my services for when they want to get messy. Fortunately, their mother and father are all in favour of creative mess.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Z loses it again
I've been losing things again. I thought I was all set for this afternoon's meeting, until I looked for the paperwork, which the chairman had gone through with me thoroughly last Thursday. It could only have been in one of three rooms, but I couldn't find it. I quickly eliminated the drawing room, because it was quite tidy and anything out of place would have been obvious. The kitchen was also tidy by my standards, so a search didn't take long. The study took longer. Ages. I'd been going through some papers over the weekend, so the usual vertical structure had been disturbed - and then, when I was printing out the address labels for our auction catalogue, with one page to go the printer decided it had run out of ink (my old printer was polite enough to squeeze out just enough ink, but this one is a beast, although it's the same make) and I had to take a tottering pile of *stuff I need* off it to open it up. Eventually, I gave up and went and searched all the places I'd already looked and then, as a last resort, looked at the place the Sage keeps Stuff in the kitchen, and there it was.
At the meeting, amongst other matters, we discussed the recent Ofsted inspection - the result is officially out today, although it's the last day of term, so the pupils and parents haven't heard it yet. At a later stage in the meeting, I mentioned the recent school production of Jesus Christ, Superstar, which was superbly done. The Head said that he'd firmly led the inspector in to a rehearsal -"just for five minutes" he told his colleagues. Forty-five minutes later, they sent for him. He declared it "Outstanding." "You can tell he works for Ofsted," mused a governor. "Anyone else would have said 'Great, superb'". "I expect he says that to his wife, too," I added "when she serves a particularly delicious meal". The Head looked a bit alarmed. "I wondered what you were going to say then". I can't deny it, the first thought that had come into my mind was a touch less suitable for a governors' meeting. However, as ever I went on the attack. "You'd not have thought that if Mary had said it," I accused.
Later, I chatted to Dilly, and told her about my missing papers. It wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't been chairing the meeting, but I'd have been stuffed without them. I told her where they had been found "Ah. That was me. I cleared the kitchen table on Saturday for lunch...sorry". I assured her that I didn't mind at all. I was only glad that it wasn't I who had put them in the wrong place.
Lunch with my luncheon club, for I am that sort of Laydee, tomorrow. Actually, it will be a sad occasion. One of our number, a lovely person whom we'd known for nearly twenty years, died last week following a fall down concrete steps. Although in her 80s, she was in good health and cheerful spirits and it's been a great shock for us all. We particularly feel for her sister, who was with her at the time.
At the meeting, amongst other matters, we discussed the recent Ofsted inspection - the result is officially out today, although it's the last day of term, so the pupils and parents haven't heard it yet. At a later stage in the meeting, I mentioned the recent school production of Jesus Christ, Superstar, which was superbly done. The Head said that he'd firmly led the inspector in to a rehearsal -"just for five minutes" he told his colleagues. Forty-five minutes later, they sent for him. He declared it "Outstanding." "You can tell he works for Ofsted," mused a governor. "Anyone else would have said 'Great, superb'". "I expect he says that to his wife, too," I added "when she serves a particularly delicious meal". The Head looked a bit alarmed. "I wondered what you were going to say then". I can't deny it, the first thought that had come into my mind was a touch less suitable for a governors' meeting. However, as ever I went on the attack. "You'd not have thought that if Mary had said it," I accused.
Later, I chatted to Dilly, and told her about my missing papers. It wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't been chairing the meeting, but I'd have been stuffed without them. I told her where they had been found "Ah. That was me. I cleared the kitchen table on Saturday for lunch...sorry". I assured her that I didn't mind at all. I was only glad that it wasn't I who had put them in the wrong place.
Lunch with my luncheon club, for I am that sort of Laydee, tomorrow. Actually, it will be a sad occasion. One of our number, a lovely person whom we'd known for nearly twenty years, died last week following a fall down concrete steps. Although in her 80s, she was in good health and cheerful spirits and it's been a great shock for us all. We particularly feel for her sister, who was with her at the time.
On the 20th year of using a Mac
Dilly emailed me last night to ask how to put the dots on my name. I replied that, on a Mac, it's alt+u, then the letter - e for a diaeresis or u for an umlaut, but I didn't know for a PC. I googled to find out. For a ë, one way of doing it is Alt + 137. But each letter has a different combination of three numbers and, capitalised, another set again. Unless you use them all, all the time, you couldn't possibly remember them. But the Mac makes sense - it's the option key and c for a cedilla, because you're most likely to want one under a c and Alt+e for an acute accent, and so on.
I wonder, if Macs hadn't been there, whether PCs would be so easy to use now as they are?
I wonder, if Macs hadn't been there, whether PCs would be so easy to use now as they are?
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
The best medicine?
Okay, to cheer us all up...
When my mother came out of hospital, we felt quite cheerful - only a few days earlier she had been very close to death, but a stent and a couple of litres of blood had perked her up no end. She, my sister and I coped with it best with black humour and there were a lot of funeral and cancer jokes - though that was between the three of us; when a quite close friend tried to join in the hilarity we felt it hit the wrong tone entirely.
One day, the phone rang. Mummy was in bed and Wink and I were both sitting in the elegant but not very comfortable Edwardian armchairs in her bedroom. Mummy picked up the phone - it was evidently someone wanting to send her raffle tickets to sell for charity. She listened politely and then replied "I'm afraid I'll have to say no - I'm rather ill and only just out of hospital". "We've got until December 17th before the draw takes place," said the caller brightly. "Unfortunately," said my mother fruitily, but with great kindness, "I may not have until December 17th myself."
Embarrassed apologies and goodbye and the phone went down. All three of us fell about laughing. We were still chuckling when the phone rang again a minute later. Mummy picked it up and said 'Hello." A squawk of dismay and another apology from the horrified chugger, who had been so flustered that she'd redialed.
We nearly cried with laughter. For days later, one of us would recall it and snort again with mirth.
When my mother came out of hospital, we felt quite cheerful - only a few days earlier she had been very close to death, but a stent and a couple of litres of blood had perked her up no end. She, my sister and I coped with it best with black humour and there were a lot of funeral and cancer jokes - though that was between the three of us; when a quite close friend tried to join in the hilarity we felt it hit the wrong tone entirely.
One day, the phone rang. Mummy was in bed and Wink and I were both sitting in the elegant but not very comfortable Edwardian armchairs in her bedroom. Mummy picked up the phone - it was evidently someone wanting to send her raffle tickets to sell for charity. She listened politely and then replied "I'm afraid I'll have to say no - I'm rather ill and only just out of hospital". "We've got until December 17th before the draw takes place," said the caller brightly. "Unfortunately," said my mother fruitily, but with great kindness, "I may not have until December 17th myself."
Embarrassed apologies and goodbye and the phone went down. All three of us fell about laughing. We were still chuckling when the phone rang again a minute later. Mummy picked it up and said 'Hello." A squawk of dismay and another apology from the horrified chugger, who had been so flustered that she'd redialed.
We nearly cried with laughter. For days later, one of us would recall it and snort again with mirth.
Monday, 17 March 2008
Five years
As you may know, I only note good anniversaries on the whole, but the exception is today, it being the fifth anniversary of the death of my mother.
She'd lived with us, in a Granny annexe, for 15 years, though she didn't much enjoy it - she felt that she'd rather lost her identity, living in her son-in-law's house, amongst other things, and she'd not been well at all for several years. She had numerous tests, but it was not until she became acutely ill in the September that a secondary cancer was found in her pancreas and we were told that the longest she could hope to live was 6 months. She had a stent put in to keep the bile duct open and was given painkillers and sent home. This was fine, I could look after her and we accepted the situation.
I've sometimes wondered whether to write about it all, but I'm not sure what I'd be doing it for. But I will say this - those final six months were fabulous. She became remarkably well and even was able to drive again. I cooked all her food - she had to have a very low fat diet and had become rather faddy about food in the years when she had cancer somewhere in her digestive system, so was often ill after eating: she blamed the food rather than her body because so many tests had come up negative. I'm adept at managing any type of diet as a result and never forget an allergy or preference. You want no gluten, no dairy, high protein, low GI, no nuts, fish or sugar, I'm your girl and will incorporate it into a meal with none of the other diners being aware of it.
Anyway, she was fine and, as the doctor had told us, she died quickly - she felt unwell on the Wednesday evening, was finally given a morphine pump on Saturday midday and died soon after midnight on Sunday morning. Quite a weekend, that, for another reason too - I'll probably tell you about it some day. I could also tell you about her funeral, which was exceeded in complexity only by that of the Queen Mother.
I don't know if you've noticed, but doctors like a neatness in their estimations. They'll say "it might be three days, it might be three weeks", for example. In her case, when she asked - as you do, I think it's irresistible even though you know it's pointless - how long she might live, the young doctor said "six weeks to six months". It just so happened that he said that on 17th September 2002, which was a neat coincidence.
She'd lived with us, in a Granny annexe, for 15 years, though she didn't much enjoy it - she felt that she'd rather lost her identity, living in her son-in-law's house, amongst other things, and she'd not been well at all for several years. She had numerous tests, but it was not until she became acutely ill in the September that a secondary cancer was found in her pancreas and we were told that the longest she could hope to live was 6 months. She had a stent put in to keep the bile duct open and was given painkillers and sent home. This was fine, I could look after her and we accepted the situation.
I've sometimes wondered whether to write about it all, but I'm not sure what I'd be doing it for. But I will say this - those final six months were fabulous. She became remarkably well and even was able to drive again. I cooked all her food - she had to have a very low fat diet and had become rather faddy about food in the years when she had cancer somewhere in her digestive system, so was often ill after eating: she blamed the food rather than her body because so many tests had come up negative. I'm adept at managing any type of diet as a result and never forget an allergy or preference. You want no gluten, no dairy, high protein, low GI, no nuts, fish or sugar, I'm your girl and will incorporate it into a meal with none of the other diners being aware of it.
Anyway, she was fine and, as the doctor had told us, she died quickly - she felt unwell on the Wednesday evening, was finally given a morphine pump on Saturday midday and died soon after midnight on Sunday morning. Quite a weekend, that, for another reason too - I'll probably tell you about it some day. I could also tell you about her funeral, which was exceeded in complexity only by that of the Queen Mother.
I don't know if you've noticed, but doctors like a neatness in their estimations. They'll say "it might be three days, it might be three weeks", for example. In her case, when she asked - as you do, I think it's irresistible even though you know it's pointless - how long she might live, the young doctor said "six weeks to six months". It just so happened that he said that on 17th September 2002, which was a neat coincidence.
Sunday, 16 March 2008
Senseless
As ever, the Sage was marvellous. I left a request that the pork should be put in the oven at 11 and the potatoes at 12.30. I finally arrived home at 1 o'clock, to discover that the potatoes were coming on nicely, so were the parsnips (which I hadn't mentioned as I expected to be home somewhat earlier) and that he had decided that the meat was cooked and had removed it from the oven. He was right.
Lunch was on the table at 1.30 sharp (I plan food to be ready on time, I can't help it. Synchronised cooking is a habit too ingrained to break). We ate in the kitchen, as the dining room table is occupied at present. The kitchen table seats 6 and there were 9 of us, so a small mahogany table was brought in from the drawing room and Pugsley used a high chair so that we could all sit together.
The loin of pork weighed 3.6 kilos at the start, but an hour later there was nothing left but bones, and great bowls of vegetables vanished too*. Pugsley unexpectedly discovered that carrots are delicious and ate a great deal of them.
Everything got washed up or stacked in the dishwasher as it was finished with. Usually, I find a few dismally forgotten crocks on the dining table the next day.
Several members of the family have birthdays in the next few weeks, so Squiffany and her mother had made and decorated a lemon cake, which we ate on Saturday. Come to think of it, the weekend rather revolved around food.
A busy few weeks coming up. If I had any sense, I'd concentrate on work and not blog until after Easter, at least.
See you tomorrow, darlings.
*The vegetables. The bowls were left.
Lunch was on the table at 1.30 sharp (I plan food to be ready on time, I can't help it. Synchronised cooking is a habit too ingrained to break). We ate in the kitchen, as the dining room table is occupied at present. The kitchen table seats 6 and there were 9 of us, so a small mahogany table was brought in from the drawing room and Pugsley used a high chair so that we could all sit together.
The loin of pork weighed 3.6 kilos at the start, but an hour later there was nothing left but bones, and great bowls of vegetables vanished too*. Pugsley unexpectedly discovered that carrots are delicious and ate a great deal of them.
Everything got washed up or stacked in the dishwasher as it was finished with. Usually, I find a few dismally forgotten crocks on the dining table the next day.
Several members of the family have birthdays in the next few weeks, so Squiffany and her mother had made and decorated a lemon cake, which we ate on Saturday. Come to think of it, the weekend rather revolved around food.
A busy few weeks coming up. If I had any sense, I'd concentrate on work and not blog until after Easter, at least.
See you tomorrow, darlings.
*The vegetables. The bowls were left.
Saturday, 15 March 2008
Z is excited
"Will you tidy up for my visits, when I've left home?" enquired Ro. "Probably," I answered. He'd noticed. El and Phil are visiting this weekend and the kitchen was looking markedly less clutterful. "Maybe you do it because of Phil" he mused "...but then you don't bother for Dilly. Must be because it's a special occasion." I agreed. Once he's moved out and it's a treat for him to visit, then I'll tidy. Right now, he adds to the clutter.
He's got a large bedroom, but somehow he needs to spread out a bit. I went into the spare bedroom to dust it this morning and found his clean washing spread out all over the bed, presumably so that it won't get creased before he gets around to folding it. This is perfectly sensible and I don't mind in the least, but it would be good if it had occurred to him to put it all away last night.
I'm just off to tidy the bedroom, I've got half an hour before leaving for the station. It's lovely when the family comes to stay.
He's got a large bedroom, but somehow he needs to spread out a bit. I went into the spare bedroom to dust it this morning and found his clean washing spread out all over the bed, presumably so that it won't get creased before he gets around to folding it. This is perfectly sensible and I don't mind in the least, but it would be good if it had occurred to him to put it all away last night.
I'm just off to tidy the bedroom, I've got half an hour before leaving for the station. It's lovely when the family comes to stay.
Friday, 14 March 2008
Z is left holding 28 very big babies
I left for the high school in adequate time, but I arrived a few minutes late - first I was stopped by a friend who had some papers for me ... I said I'd call back ... and then I was held up by roadworks. The road was so narrow that there wasn't room for me to go on the inside of the queue of cars. At one point, I did, but then would have delayed the car I'd over (or under) taken. I looked back and a smiling lady was waiting, but I waved her on. I'm not that cheeky.
There was a written exercise this morning so the teacher, with exceptional trust, left me with the class for a few minutes while she went to do some printing for tonight's performance of the school play (which I saw last night and was superb). Of course, during that time the head called in and looked amused to see me in sole charge. He left me to it - another one who overestimates my power over 14-year-olds. They were all behaving themselves at the time, mind you. A couple of lads are trying to push buttons, quite good-humouredly, but there's no chance of me rising to the bait. They didn't get a lot of work done, but most of the class did. The teacher says that they are the trickiest Year 9 class this year, but I must say that they are a good bunch. Some of them don't have great attention spans, but there's no malice and no bad behaviour apart from general mild exuberance. One lad, addressed by name, tried to convince me that his name was another one...sure, good try. I explained that there are some people whose names stick in the mind quite quickly. One girl, on the other hand, showed me her work at the end and asked if it was all right. It was neat, beautifully presented and had good content and I was impressed.
Dilly had yet another hospital appointment - her MRI scan was inconclusive and the consultant was apologetic. A biopsy comes next. She's fine - I'll tell you about it when I know what's what.
There was a written exercise this morning so the teacher, with exceptional trust, left me with the class for a few minutes while she went to do some printing for tonight's performance of the school play (which I saw last night and was superb). Of course, during that time the head called in and looked amused to see me in sole charge. He left me to it - another one who overestimates my power over 14-year-olds. They were all behaving themselves at the time, mind you. A couple of lads are trying to push buttons, quite good-humouredly, but there's no chance of me rising to the bait. They didn't get a lot of work done, but most of the class did. The teacher says that they are the trickiest Year 9 class this year, but I must say that they are a good bunch. Some of them don't have great attention spans, but there's no malice and no bad behaviour apart from general mild exuberance. One lad, addressed by name, tried to convince me that his name was another one...sure, good try. I explained that there are some people whose names stick in the mind quite quickly. One girl, on the other hand, showed me her work at the end and asked if it was all right. It was neat, beautifully presented and had good content and I was impressed.
Dilly had yet another hospital appointment - her MRI scan was inconclusive and the consultant was apologetic. A biopsy comes next. She's fine - I'll tell you about it when I know what's what.
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