I had quite a bit to do this morning, so of course I've spent most of it faffing about. I did a bit of casual tidying in the drawing room, which consisted simply of chucking out a build-up of several days' papers. Naturally, ten minutes later the Sage came in asking for yesterday's paper. I directed him towards the bin. Fortunately, I'd been too lazy to go out to the green wheelie bin, so it was still in the kitchen bin. One of the four kitchen bins, that is.
Next, I'll have to go shopping for food, since all I have is unacceptable meat. This is, of course, a Good Thing as it'll get me on my bike. This morning, unsure as to whether the lifts in my shoes are quite right, I stood with my back to the Sage, first with my weight equally on both feet, then slightly to my left, then to the right and asked him when my spine was straightest. He had little notion but suggested the right. I did the same with Ro, who also didn't know but said the same. I took out one millimetre strip and tried again. They both became uncertain. I wasn't though, it was right. I'd known it wasn't, but by so little that I couldn't even tell whether to go up or down. So now I know, I've lost 8mm-worth of right leg length - which is the 0.3" that the physiotherapist had originally measured with the improvised 'stand on appointment book and telephone directory' method.
Anyway, shopping. Would you consider that work or play? The ever fine and splendid Diamond Geezer divides his life into Work, Play, Rest or Travel, and he counts Play as anything that doesn't come into the other categories. He points out that, as a single childless man, he doesn't have obligations, and I agree with him that that's what makes the difference. After all, when shopping for food I buy things I'm not going to eat, I cook meals I probably wouldn't bother to for myself, I'm the only one who cleans the bath and I tidy up after other people, so I think of all those as part of my job. I don't have a paid job - that is, I do in the sense that I'm the Sage's business partner, but I don't receive a pay slip and my income from it is a line on my tax return - so to me, housework, gardening, shopping, voluntary activities, all count as more-or-less work. On the other hand, I enjoy a lot of it, as I do working on our business with the Sage. I don't think I could possibly separate my life into categories, however general, without making notes as I go along.
Though come to that, how many of us can? A lot of people blog from work (not DG of course) or at least read blogs or surf the net. I do myself; when I've spent an hour typing I relax (and reward myself) by reading the paper, a book, or online. If I were in an office where this was permitted, could I still call it work as it's in office hours? I don't need to make this distinction of course, because if I waste time it's my own, I'm not being paid for it.
So there's the difference and the similarity between DG and me. He is happily unencumbered by family, so once he's finished work his time is his own. Whether he buys his food and other necessities, cleans the loo, goes to the pub, reads or does anything else, he does it, at any given moment, by choice, so he counts it as Play. I am happily encumbered by family and don't have an employer so, whereas I have various obligations and a pretty full diary, I can juggle my days pretty well as I wish. However, since much of what I do in those days does involve obligations, willingly taken on for no pay, I call them Work.
I think I'm tailing away without a proper conclusion here. I should be one of those fine bloggers who works out what they're going to say in advance, and does drafts and all that. Instead, I waffle on and then have the cheek to say I'm being spontaneous. Still, Dave says that no one reads blogs on a Saturday, so maybe I'll get away with it.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
Friday, 27 February 2009
Quid pro quo
Excuse me going on a bit here, but this equates to more than half of my income and so it rather matters to me - the agent rang today with an offer from a potential tenant; a bit less than I am receiving (oh, strike that, should be receiving if ever the dear chap pays his rent, which I trust I'll have good news about shortly *sigh*) but that would mean I have no period of vacancy at all, so it's worth a small concession in this period of "negative growth". So I've said yes, and if all goes well I'll get an agreement to sign by email tomorrow.
Weeza has taken over my job with the Sage rather, which is lovely as she's enjoying it and they get on so well together, so it's great to see them having a good time with planning the next sale. She's finding out how much she didn't realise she knew about the china and that's good too, so I'm happy to stay in the background. I like working with the china too, but it's not that much of a sacrifice when I see them working so well together. I'll probably still take the photos, unless she wants to, and we'll do the condition report together as I'm pretty good at spotting flaws (being hardened and cynical and all that) and, well, she'll become so good at it that she can take over from me altogether next time, unless she gets a proper job or something. She's not wanting to go back to her old one; not that she didn't like it, but Norfolk and Mayfair don't make for simple daily commuting, not if you want to see your baby awake. Still, that's a decision to be made.
I was seen cycling up the High School hill the other day which is good, because I walked most of it today.
The Sage asked me if I'd got a drink. "I had one" I said, "my glass and the bottle are in the other room." A few minutes later, he appeared with the refilled glass. "I wouldn't want you to be without a drink," he said, lovingly kissing me. "This is because I'm cooking steak, right?" I asked. He agreed. That's fine with me. Expressions of love - steak for me to him, wine for him to me.
And I bought pork for the weekend before remembering that Zain, who is Muslim, is coming over. Whoops. Mind you, he prefers to stick to Halal meat, so I usually cook veggie when he's here, so it doesn't matter as long as the pork is well wrapped. Ro has already amusedly told him that I bought it, so I don't need to worry about being tactless.
"Do you spell your name with a Z or an S?" asked Weeza of Squiffany, knowing the answer. Squiffany explained how to spell her name, saying the letters she knows and describing the ones she couldn't name with a pointing finger. It's quite good, she knows them all in order. And it's with a Z, as she knew.
Weeza has taken over my job with the Sage rather, which is lovely as she's enjoying it and they get on so well together, so it's great to see them having a good time with planning the next sale. She's finding out how much she didn't realise she knew about the china and that's good too, so I'm happy to stay in the background. I like working with the china too, but it's not that much of a sacrifice when I see them working so well together. I'll probably still take the photos, unless she wants to, and we'll do the condition report together as I'm pretty good at spotting flaws (being hardened and cynical and all that) and, well, she'll become so good at it that she can take over from me altogether next time, unless she gets a proper job or something. She's not wanting to go back to her old one; not that she didn't like it, but Norfolk and Mayfair don't make for simple daily commuting, not if you want to see your baby awake. Still, that's a decision to be made.
I was seen cycling up the High School hill the other day which is good, because I walked most of it today.
The Sage asked me if I'd got a drink. "I had one" I said, "my glass and the bottle are in the other room." A few minutes later, he appeared with the refilled glass. "I wouldn't want you to be without a drink," he said, lovingly kissing me. "This is because I'm cooking steak, right?" I asked. He agreed. That's fine with me. Expressions of love - steak for me to him, wine for him to me.
And I bought pork for the weekend before remembering that Zain, who is Muslim, is coming over. Whoops. Mind you, he prefers to stick to Halal meat, so I usually cook veggie when he's here, so it doesn't matter as long as the pork is well wrapped. Ro has already amusedly told him that I bought it, so I don't need to worry about being tactless.
"Do you spell your name with a Z or an S?" asked Weeza of Squiffany, knowing the answer. Squiffany explained how to spell her name, saying the letters she knows and describing the ones she couldn't name with a pointing finger. It's quite good, she knows them all in order. And it's with a Z, as she knew.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Z asks pertinent questions
I hadn't given my tenant notice that I was calling - I should have, and I would have normally but the rent was unpaid for this month and I felt that if he'd broken the tenancy I wasn't under an obligation to observe all the normal courtesies. I rang the bell and he answered the door as he was working from home. The living room is set up as an office so I wasn't surprised (although he shouldn't really). Anyway, I introduced myself, we shook hands and I asked if it'd be all right to read the meters, which was fine with him. Afterwards, I went upstairs and he told me that three of the lights hadn't worked for the last couple of weeks. That was obviously a switch that had tripped, so I rang Weeza to find out where the fuse box was. Oh right, in plain view. We reset the switch, laughed about it and then I asked when he'd be leaving the flat and what about the unpaid rent?
Well, the explanation he gave was not unfeasible if you're used to young people, some of whom are astonishingly irresponsible, and when he showed me the stack of unopened mail I was inclined to believe him. I explained what I wanted, what could happen and whom he should contact, and we talked about how clean and tidy he'd leave the flat. When I got home last night, I emailed the person he was to contact, this morning I also sent him the additional phone number I'd (this is remarkably sensible for me) thought to ask for, and apparently he will send payment for two months quam celerrime, or tout de suite if you prefer.
Feeling things had gone well, I toddled along to the agents' office, had a chat with the chap dealing with finding a new tenant and thought about lunch. I wandered around for a bit, but what I really fancied - a cold glass of chilled white wine and a proper sandwich with crusty bread - wasn't on apparent offer where I looked, and then I remembered that among the unopened mail was a letter for the downstairs tenant and I'd forgotten to deliver it. So I went back to the flats. And then I thought I might as well call in the pub next door, so I had a pint and a packet of Twiglets for my lunch, as it was a bit late to be reasonable to ask for real food; it being about 20 to 3. I told them the tenant would be leaving in a month but obviously I didn't mention the rest.
Then I caught the bus to Trafalgar Square - well, actually, I walked from Shaftesbury Avenue. I must say, I got on well with the walking pole. It was a real help some of the time to have some extra support.
The exhibition was reasonably busy without being crowded, and it was brilliant. I really enjoyed it. One might think that £12 entry was enough without £3.50 for an audio guide, but unless you know a lot about Picasso, I'd recommend forking out the extra. Anyway, what's the value of the paintings there? How many millions or hundreds of millions? All in six rooms with you being close enough to touch - not that you would of course. I finally toddled out not long before closing time of 6 o'clock, took a bus from Charing Cross and had time to kill at the station. I bought food and drink at M&S - a salmon and cucumber sandwich, some parsnip crisps and a bottle of water (it was heavily discounted, all for £2, which shows how keen they all are to get our custom now), a small bottle of wine and a large pack of carrot sticks. I read my book and the paper and ate the carrot, crisps and drank the water while waiting and ate the sandwiches and drank the wine on the train. I didn't tell the Sage how little I'd eaten all day as he'd wanted me to have a lovely meal out, but it's not the same on your own, is it?
The Sage was waiting on the platform and drove me home, I made coffee, read and wrote emails and comments and was in bed soon after midnight. Today, I took Squiffany to nursery school, looked after Pugsley and entertained Zerlina (her mother is entertaining enough in her own right).
This morning, my new heel lifts arrived in the post. You can adjust them from 1mm to 12mm by degrees of 1 mm. I've got in 9mm at present. When I first put the lift in and walked across the room, Weeza said "you're walking straight and not limping for the first time in ages." I'm going back for more lovely ultrasound tomorrow, I'll see if he thinks I've got it right or whether I need to go up or down a bit.
Our television, which we can't remember how long we've had but must be at least 12 years, is starting to go on the blink a bit. I've said to Ro that if the promised rent comes through I'll buy the new one of his choice. He is very happy.
Well, the explanation he gave was not unfeasible if you're used to young people, some of whom are astonishingly irresponsible, and when he showed me the stack of unopened mail I was inclined to believe him. I explained what I wanted, what could happen and whom he should contact, and we talked about how clean and tidy he'd leave the flat. When I got home last night, I emailed the person he was to contact, this morning I also sent him the additional phone number I'd (this is remarkably sensible for me) thought to ask for, and apparently he will send payment for two months quam celerrime, or tout de suite if you prefer.
Feeling things had gone well, I toddled along to the agents' office, had a chat with the chap dealing with finding a new tenant and thought about lunch. I wandered around for a bit, but what I really fancied - a cold glass of chilled white wine and a proper sandwich with crusty bread - wasn't on apparent offer where I looked, and then I remembered that among the unopened mail was a letter for the downstairs tenant and I'd forgotten to deliver it. So I went back to the flats. And then I thought I might as well call in the pub next door, so I had a pint and a packet of Twiglets for my lunch, as it was a bit late to be reasonable to ask for real food; it being about 20 to 3. I told them the tenant would be leaving in a month but obviously I didn't mention the rest.
Then I caught the bus to Trafalgar Square - well, actually, I walked from Shaftesbury Avenue. I must say, I got on well with the walking pole. It was a real help some of the time to have some extra support.
The exhibition was reasonably busy without being crowded, and it was brilliant. I really enjoyed it. One might think that £12 entry was enough without £3.50 for an audio guide, but unless you know a lot about Picasso, I'd recommend forking out the extra. Anyway, what's the value of the paintings there? How many millions or hundreds of millions? All in six rooms with you being close enough to touch - not that you would of course. I finally toddled out not long before closing time of 6 o'clock, took a bus from Charing Cross and had time to kill at the station. I bought food and drink at M&S - a salmon and cucumber sandwich, some parsnip crisps and a bottle of water (it was heavily discounted, all for £2, which shows how keen they all are to get our custom now), a small bottle of wine and a large pack of carrot sticks. I read my book and the paper and ate the carrot, crisps and drank the water while waiting and ate the sandwiches and drank the wine on the train. I didn't tell the Sage how little I'd eaten all day as he'd wanted me to have a lovely meal out, but it's not the same on your own, is it?
The Sage was waiting on the platform and drove me home, I made coffee, read and wrote emails and comments and was in bed soon after midnight. Today, I took Squiffany to nursery school, looked after Pugsley and entertained Zerlina (her mother is entertaining enough in her own right).
This morning, my new heel lifts arrived in the post. You can adjust them from 1mm to 12mm by degrees of 1 mm. I've got in 9mm at present. When I first put the lift in and walked across the room, Weeza said "you're walking straight and not limping for the first time in ages." I'm going back for more lovely ultrasound tomorrow, I'll see if he thinks I've got it right or whether I need to go up or down a bit.
Our television, which we can't remember how long we've had but must be at least 12 years, is starting to go on the blink a bit. I've said to Ro that if the promised rent comes through I'll buy the new one of his choice. He is very happy.
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
She's off!
I haven't forgotten the film but I haven't put it on the computer yet and it's late and I'm tired. But I've got a picture for you, which Phil just sent me. Hot off the hotmail, as it were.
The title of the post is the title of his email, which he sent to me and his mum, tactful boy.
A very good day in London and I'll tell you about it tomorrow. I've just got to write a couple of emails now and after that I'm going to bed. Night night darlings.
The title of the post is the title of his email, which he sent to me and his mum, tactful boy.
A very good day in London and I'll tell you about it tomorrow. I've just got to write a couple of emails now and after that I'm going to bed. Night night darlings.
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Weeza and Zerlina visit the old folk
Weeza and Zerlina are here today. I've got a little film to put up later, don't let me forget...
In the end, I decided to go to London a bit later in the day and come home later, so I'll arrive about 1 pm and leave at 8. After I've been to the flat I'll get a bus to Trafalgar Square and, if the queue isn't too awful (or tickets sold out), I'll go to the Picasso exhibition which starts tomorrow, fortuitously. I'm going to the Byzantium and Palladio exhibitions at the Royal Academy next week (which have had lacklustre reviews but let's see; I've booked, anyway) so I may be a bit cultured-out after that for a while.
I strode around a bit with both poles, to demonstrate to Weeza, and it has to be admitted that that's the way to use them. They were very comfortable, even if I did feel like a complete tit. Not for town, I'm afraid.
I've also ordered some inserts for shoes - these ones - which just lift the heel so shouldn't interfere with the fit of most shoes. I hope, anyway. I've been most awfully good today, cycled to the pool and back, floundered ungracefully in it for three-quarters of an hour and will bike in to the high school for a meeting again in half an hour. I will be knackered by the end of it. I had an extra banana mid-morning to keep up my spirits. I don't know what we're having for dinner tonight, I have a fairly empty fridge. Hm. I think the freezer will be investigated, unless I make risotto. Hm.
Anyway, I won't labour the point as I don't want to sound entirely pathetic, but I will be about, free and thirsty, in the early evening tomorrow, somewhere between Trafalgar Square and Liverpool Street Station. I'll be the one with the walking pole, trying not to look as if I feel really stupid.
I've lent Weeza my copy of my favourite Madhur Jaffrey Indian cookery book. And her childhood memoirs, which are delightful. I bought the cook book, some time ago, because I loved the memoirs so much.
In the end, I decided to go to London a bit later in the day and come home later, so I'll arrive about 1 pm and leave at 8. After I've been to the flat I'll get a bus to Trafalgar Square and, if the queue isn't too awful (or tickets sold out), I'll go to the Picasso exhibition which starts tomorrow, fortuitously. I'm going to the Byzantium and Palladio exhibitions at the Royal Academy next week (which have had lacklustre reviews but let's see; I've booked, anyway) so I may be a bit cultured-out after that for a while.
I strode around a bit with both poles, to demonstrate to Weeza, and it has to be admitted that that's the way to use them. They were very comfortable, even if I did feel like a complete tit. Not for town, I'm afraid.
I've also ordered some inserts for shoes - these ones - which just lift the heel so shouldn't interfere with the fit of most shoes. I hope, anyway. I've been most awfully good today, cycled to the pool and back, floundered ungracefully in it for three-quarters of an hour and will bike in to the high school for a meeting again in half an hour. I will be knackered by the end of it. I had an extra banana mid-morning to keep up my spirits. I don't know what we're having for dinner tonight, I have a fairly empty fridge. Hm. I think the freezer will be investigated, unless I make risotto. Hm.
Anyway, I won't labour the point as I don't want to sound entirely pathetic, but I will be about, free and thirsty, in the early evening tomorrow, somewhere between Trafalgar Square and Liverpool Street Station. I'll be the one with the walking pole, trying not to look as if I feel really stupid.
I've lent Weeza my copy of my favourite Madhur Jaffrey Indian cookery book. And her childhood memoirs, which are delightful. I bought the cook book, some time ago, because I loved the memoirs so much.
Monday, 23 February 2009
Z has odd legs
Which I don't suppose you're surprised to learn. Nor was I, actually. I was going to ask if my walking could be improved. He measured me - there's the length of the bones and then the apparent length, which is influenced by such things as curvature of the spine, the ligaments, worn cartilage and such things. My bones are the same but my right leg is about a centimetre shorter than my left, which is not enough to need one's shoe built up but he recommends an insole. Great. Now none of my shoes will fit.
I can see that for when I'm going to walk far, I'll have to wear highly suitable (can't help equating that with 'unflattering') footwear, but when I want to wear something pretty, I think I might get away with a thin insole and getting an extra sole and heel put on each right shoe when I buy a new pair. That should help, shouldn't it? I asked if the arthritis has caused the imbalance or the odd legs has given rise to the arthritis, and he says it's likely to be the former, and that dealing with the effects early should help slow down the deterioration. So it's been highly sensible of me (how unusual is that?) to do something about it.
Anyway, I'm going back on Friday for more ultrasound. And I have picked up a leaflet with times of the aquacise sessions. There is one tomorrow morning. I wonder if I'll go. As last night, with my work/read/bed decision, I'm led by my whims and the decision itself is only part of it.
You're all agog, of course, to know what I did last night. Before I went to bed that is, for none of you would let thoughts stray to such distinctly personal matters as how long I read before turning the light out, for instance. Anyway, the newspaper went unread and I got started on the reports. Quite a lot still to do, but it's starting that's the hardest part, forming the initial phrases. After that, you get into it and the words flow.
Oh, and I cycled all the way up all the hills. Well, both the hills (that's Bridge Street and up to the swimming pool, Badgerdaddy). But I couldn't have done it a week ago when it was cold (and my bike tyres were a bit flat, come to that!). So the spirit of bloody-mindedness is flowing richly through my veins.
I can see that for when I'm going to walk far, I'll have to wear highly suitable (can't help equating that with 'unflattering') footwear, but when I want to wear something pretty, I think I might get away with a thin insole and getting an extra sole and heel put on each right shoe when I buy a new pair. That should help, shouldn't it? I asked if the arthritis has caused the imbalance or the odd legs has given rise to the arthritis, and he says it's likely to be the former, and that dealing with the effects early should help slow down the deterioration. So it's been highly sensible of me (how unusual is that?) to do something about it.
Anyway, I'm going back on Friday for more ultrasound. And I have picked up a leaflet with times of the aquacise sessions. There is one tomorrow morning. I wonder if I'll go. As last night, with my work/read/bed decision, I'm led by my whims and the decision itself is only part of it.
You're all agog, of course, to know what I did last night. Before I went to bed that is, for none of you would let thoughts stray to such distinctly personal matters as how long I read before turning the light out, for instance. Anyway, the newspaper went unread and I got started on the reports. Quite a lot still to do, but it's starting that's the hardest part, forming the initial phrases. After that, you get into it and the words flow.
Oh, and I cycled all the way up all the hills. Well, both the hills (that's Bridge Street and up to the swimming pool, Badgerdaddy). But I couldn't have done it a week ago when it was cold (and my bike tyres were a bit flat, come to that!). So the spirit of bloody-mindedness is flowing richly through my veins.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Z may get wet and isn't too happy at the prospect
Back to the physiotherapist in the morning. Afterwards, I'm going to - oh dear, now I'm telling you I'll have to - going to go along to the swimming pool to enquire about - ewch - aquacise classes. Apparently they're on Tuesday mornings and one evening and they are either shallow or deep water - with the deep water ones it's more energetic, apparently, and you have to book as the numbers are limited. I can't tell you how much I dislike the idea - both with being out of my depth and doing anything that smacks of a class. Still, as you know I have an iron will and no end of determination *cough, cough, cough*. No, the fact is that I haven't been to the pool for ages and I know it will be good for me and I need something in the nature of an appointment to force myself into it. Fortunately, I'm genuinely and unavoidably busy at least 2 Tuesdays of every month. 3 in March.
Now, it's 10.55pm. I'm going to start doing the report I've been putting off for the last 3 weeks, read the papers or go to bed. At this moment, I'm genuinely unsure which I'm going to do. What do you think?
Now, it's 10.55pm. I'm going to start doing the report I've been putting off for the last 3 weeks, read the papers or go to bed. At this moment, I'm genuinely unsure which I'm going to do. What do you think?
A out-of-season photo
A picture of my house for Diane in Wyoming - the wisteria is fabulous in May if we don't get a late frost when it's in bud. And yes, there are brambles growing through the shrub in the foreground. We don't keep a tidy garden.
You may have seen this before, but Diane is a relatively new friend so she hasn't.
The two tall chimneys on the right (they are about 6 feet tall) are Victorian, but the joined-together ones to the left of the photo are Tudor.
Saturday, 21 February 2009
Springy thoughts continue unabated. Huzzah!
A week or so ago, I had occasion to alter the alarm clock and I changed the hours back but not the minutes, which means it presently goes off (that is, the radio comes on) 15 minutes later than it did. Of course, the Sage and/or I generally wake up at the earlier time, even though the radio often didn't wake us for a while in the past. Anyway, this morning, the Sage got up and I fell asleep again just before the radio came on and woke up after it had gone off again an hour later. So I hope there hasn't been any news that everyone (but Everyone) is talking about, because I haven't heard it.
I went off to Norwich to have coffee with the other people who are going on the visit to Bologna in April. This was a very pleasant hour, but I'm a bit startled to have apparently agreed to book opera tickets online for about 8 of us. I offered for one person who doesn't have a computer and was overheard by another and the next thing was there was an orderly queue. Booking doesn't open until a month before, so I'll have to do an alarm thingy or else I'll forget all about it.
As we were saying 'goodbye' to each other, two people said they were going to the Castle Museum to see a sculpture exhibition - Hepworth, Moore and Nicholson, mostly. Being rather keen on this sort of thing (and having visited both Moore's and Hepworth's gardens, where there are permanent exhibitions of their works, in the last couple of years) I said I must be sure of going to it, so they suggested I join them. And so I did, which was an unexpected little treat. We had lunch afterwards - an excellent home-made quiche and salad for £3.50 and a tumbler of orange juice for 80p which I thought was good value.
Then I went and bought a postcard for Martina in Seattle (xx, Martina) and a jigsaw for Ro, who likes them, as do I, and as I still had a bit of time in hand on the car park, I went to a discount bookshop and bought several books for me and the children, which is all splendid.
So, when the Sage got a phone call from a friend and asked me, afterwards, how far it is to Falmouth in Cornwall (over 400 miles I'm afraid) I was all cheerful and made helpful suggestions, such as couldn't they meet halfway (which is just about where my sister lives) and how about he posts a few of the items from the collection of antiques the Sage is interested in buying, so that he can evaluate them? So he is going to ring back after the rugby. The friend is watching the rugby, not us. I didn't know there was a match on this afternoon. I know Norwich is playing at home though. I drove up Carrow Road just after 2 o'clock and all these cheerily hopeful Canary-watchers in their green and yellow scarves and shirts were converging on the football ground. I don't know who they are playing (actually, it's quarter to five now and the match must be just finishing) as I didn't see anyone wearing a different colour. I spotted two people I know, a father and his 16-year-old daughter. I may see them tomorrow in church (yes, she and her sister are teenagers who choose to come with their parents to church and look remarkably happy about it) so I'll have to find out the result, to know whether to mention it or not.
Ro (who is v pleased with his jigsaw and gave me a hug) has had an appeal for money from his university. "I only joined their alumni thing because the keyring was quite nice", he said. "I bet Zain will give, though, he's remarkably generous."
I put that in in case Zain is reading. Hi, Z.
I went off to Norwich to have coffee with the other people who are going on the visit to Bologna in April. This was a very pleasant hour, but I'm a bit startled to have apparently agreed to book opera tickets online for about 8 of us. I offered for one person who doesn't have a computer and was overheard by another and the next thing was there was an orderly queue. Booking doesn't open until a month before, so I'll have to do an alarm thingy or else I'll forget all about it.
As we were saying 'goodbye' to each other, two people said they were going to the Castle Museum to see a sculpture exhibition - Hepworth, Moore and Nicholson, mostly. Being rather keen on this sort of thing (and having visited both Moore's and Hepworth's gardens, where there are permanent exhibitions of their works, in the last couple of years) I said I must be sure of going to it, so they suggested I join them. And so I did, which was an unexpected little treat. We had lunch afterwards - an excellent home-made quiche and salad for £3.50 and a tumbler of orange juice for 80p which I thought was good value.
Then I went and bought a postcard for Martina in Seattle (xx, Martina) and a jigsaw for Ro, who likes them, as do I, and as I still had a bit of time in hand on the car park, I went to a discount bookshop and bought several books for me and the children, which is all splendid.
So, when the Sage got a phone call from a friend and asked me, afterwards, how far it is to Falmouth in Cornwall (over 400 miles I'm afraid) I was all cheerful and made helpful suggestions, such as couldn't they meet halfway (which is just about where my sister lives) and how about he posts a few of the items from the collection of antiques the Sage is interested in buying, so that he can evaluate them? So he is going to ring back after the rugby. The friend is watching the rugby, not us. I didn't know there was a match on this afternoon. I know Norwich is playing at home though. I drove up Carrow Road just after 2 o'clock and all these cheerily hopeful Canary-watchers in their green and yellow scarves and shirts were converging on the football ground. I don't know who they are playing (actually, it's quarter to five now and the match must be just finishing) as I didn't see anyone wearing a different colour. I spotted two people I know, a father and his 16-year-old daughter. I may see them tomorrow in church (yes, she and her sister are teenagers who choose to come with their parents to church and look remarkably happy about it) so I'll have to find out the result, to know whether to mention it or not.
Ro (who is v pleased with his jigsaw and gave me a hug) has had an appeal for money from his university. "I only joined their alumni thing because the keyring was quite nice", he said. "I bet Zain will give, though, he's remarkably generous."
I put that in in case Zain is reading. Hi, Z.
Friday, 20 February 2009
Great great news
It's all lovely and springlike suddenly. All sorts of flowers in bloom, the sun shining, chickens laying lots of eggs, all that sort of thing. Kenny called round to see the children - he used to be our gardener (he called himself the OJB - Odd Job Boy) for many years, only giving up in his mid-eighties. I think he'll be 89 this June and he doesn't get about too well now because he's got bad back trouble. He's in good health but in constant pain, which he'll only admit to if asked specifically. Ro was a baby when we first knew him. He told us that his great-granddaughter, who's in her early 20s, is expecting her first baby later in the year. Gosh. Isn't that amazing? I only knew one of my grandparents, who lived a long way away and didn't, as a child, realise what I missed. To have so many generations living within a few miles of each other is something to be treasured. Not that it's a huge family; Kenny and Muriel had two children, only one of whom had two children, only one of whom had two children so they're not responsible for a population explosion, even over several decades.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Whoops...
It was an accident. I'm glad to say that I laughed and came up with an alternative dinner plan within ten seconds and the food itself in less than fifteen minutes.
I made a bolognese-type sauce to go with pasta this evening. It was tasty, although it hadn't had the requisite long cooking. I called Ro down and asked him to carry the trayful of food through. I can't carry traysful any longer, not without demonstrating the Quasimodo Lurch. I carried the wine, cheese and glasses and he carried the tray with plates, cutlery, pasta and sauce and the sprouts (what? of course Brussels sprouts go with spag bol). I went first, to open the door.
There was a crash. I went back. The meat sauce covered a surprisingly large area of floor. Tilly shot past me, looking scared and embarrassed for having tripped Ro up.
I laughed. Ro looked stricken. "This will all have to be thrown out! What shall we have for dinner?"
"Put on the grill," I said. "We have bacon." Fortunately, I'd not put the sauce on the pasta and that dishful was still on the tray. "Carbonara sauce," I decided.
We always have ingredients for spaghetti carbonara, don't we? I'd even grated the Parmesan. While the bacon cooked, we scooped up the sauce and then called Tilly back to lick the remnants off the floor (may I make it clear, at this point, that Tilly is a dog? Don't let Dave mislead you, unless it is into naughtiness). I only had greek yoghurt not cream, but I cracked eggs, squeezed a lemon, ground black pepper and it took no time at all.
Ro is abashed. Tilly has got over it. I'll cook the meal again tomorrow, because Ro said it looked and smelled so good. The chickens will be thrilled at their meaty dinner in the morning.
I made a bolognese-type sauce to go with pasta this evening. It was tasty, although it hadn't had the requisite long cooking. I called Ro down and asked him to carry the trayful of food through. I can't carry traysful any longer, not without demonstrating the Quasimodo Lurch. I carried the wine, cheese and glasses and he carried the tray with plates, cutlery, pasta and sauce and the sprouts (what? of course Brussels sprouts go with spag bol). I went first, to open the door.
There was a crash. I went back. The meat sauce covered a surprisingly large area of floor. Tilly shot past me, looking scared and embarrassed for having tripped Ro up.
I laughed. Ro looked stricken. "This will all have to be thrown out! What shall we have for dinner?"
"Put on the grill," I said. "We have bacon." Fortunately, I'd not put the sauce on the pasta and that dishful was still on the tray. "Carbonara sauce," I decided.
We always have ingredients for spaghetti carbonara, don't we? I'd even grated the Parmesan. While the bacon cooked, we scooped up the sauce and then called Tilly back to lick the remnants off the floor (may I make it clear, at this point, that Tilly is a dog? Don't let Dave mislead you, unless it is into naughtiness). I only had greek yoghurt not cream, but I cracked eggs, squeezed a lemon, ground black pepper and it took no time at all.
Ro is abashed. Tilly has got over it. I'll cook the meal again tomorrow, because Ro said it looked and smelled so good. The chickens will be thrilled at their meaty dinner in the morning.
Z plans to visit London
I've got to come up to town next week to take a look at my flat, where my tenant is still ignoring requests to pay the rent. The only day I can clear is Wednesday 25th. Before I book my ticket, which will commit me to times, is anyone free to meet me for a drink or a toddle round an exhibition or something? If I'm meeting someone it'll be worth a longer visit, but otherwise it'll just be a flying one.
Cheers, darlings.
Cheers, darlings.
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Love is...
I had an email from a friend this evening, apologising in advance if she becomes a bit unreliable in weeks to come, as from now on she'll be looking after her 2-year-old granddaughter. I don't know her son or daughter-in-law but there's obviously something very wrong. I sent a supportive email back of course, aiming to be sympathetic and available but not asking questions she may not feel like answering, but I'm so sorry about the situation. I hope whatever the problem is, it sorts itself out without lasting damage, and at least, by taking the little girl out of the situation, Granny has done all she can to limit distress.
On a different note entirely, dearest Jen is finally off. She, her other half and her third half - their little daughter - are off to make a new life in the jungle in Belize. They've been wanting to do this as long as I've (virtually) known them but, unlike most of us, they've quietly planned their exit (should that be exeunt?) and taken the final step, leaving behind all that passes for life as we live it.
The Sage arrived home safely and has just toddled off to bed, where he'll find I've turned on the blanket already. Love appears to be measured by the warmth of the bed in this house. Pugsley was terribly excited when the Sage arrived home, and shot straight off to the table where he'd put some leftover toasted teacake which his mother had given him for the bantams. He fed Tilly, too. He is very fond of animals, and loves to watch them eat.
Squiffany and I played shoe shops today. I've never got into that sort of imaginative play myself, being singularly lacking in that quality, but she loves it. We took it in turns to be shopkeeper and customer. Both children had a good bounce on my bed, too. Then we went downstairs, read stories and watched The Simpsons. Al has recently bought a DVD of early (original) Star Trek episodes. Squiffany loves them and is looking forward to watching them with Ro. She'll hold his hand if there are any scary moments and explain who all the characters are.
On a different note entirely, dearest Jen is finally off. She, her other half and her third half - their little daughter - are off to make a new life in the jungle in Belize. They've been wanting to do this as long as I've (virtually) known them but, unlike most of us, they've quietly planned their exit (should that be exeunt?) and taken the final step, leaving behind all that passes for life as we live it.
The Sage arrived home safely and has just toddled off to bed, where he'll find I've turned on the blanket already. Love appears to be measured by the warmth of the bed in this house. Pugsley was terribly excited when the Sage arrived home, and shot straight off to the table where he'd put some leftover toasted teacake which his mother had given him for the bantams. He fed Tilly, too. He is very fond of animals, and loves to watch them eat.
Squiffany and I played shoe shops today. I've never got into that sort of imaginative play myself, being singularly lacking in that quality, but she loves it. We took it in turns to be shopkeeper and customer. Both children had a good bounce on my bed, too. Then we went downstairs, read stories and watched The Simpsons. Al has recently bought a DVD of early (original) Star Trek episodes. Squiffany loves them and is looking forward to watching them with Ro. She'll hold his hand if there are any scary moments and explain who all the characters are.
Beeguiled and begulled
This morning I have been making phone calls. Two of the people I rang were out so I'll phone again. The first doesn't have an answerphone, which is quite straightforward (although I only wanted to leave a message) but the second did. "There's no one here, please ring again later," it went. Which is a bit pointless, isn't it? I'd rather not have had a reply than that.
The good news is that Al's hive of bees has survived the winter. When it was sunny on Sunday, thousands of them were flying about. He is very relieved.
When cycling home this afternoon, I heard an angrily screaming seagull. I looked up and a barn owl, misguidedly out during the day (it was about 2.15pm) was being chased by the gull. It was being outpaced too, despite weaving and diving to try to get away. Finally, it reached a small tree and took refuge, just in time because more gulls were appearing in answer to the screaming. I'd rather have owls than gulls on the whole, but I suppose they had right on their side. I wonder how a gull knows that an owl has no business out and about in the afternoon?
The Sage phoned a while ago (just before I went out, luckily) and I'm expecting him home in about an hour. I have looked after the place carefully during his absence and he will be reassured. He said he loves and misses me. Sweet, isn't it? We made a lot of kissy noises down the phone.
The good news is that Al's hive of bees has survived the winter. When it was sunny on Sunday, thousands of them were flying about. He is very relieved.
When cycling home this afternoon, I heard an angrily screaming seagull. I looked up and a barn owl, misguidedly out during the day (it was about 2.15pm) was being chased by the gull. It was being outpaced too, despite weaving and diving to try to get away. Finally, it reached a small tree and took refuge, just in time because more gulls were appearing in answer to the screaming. I'd rather have owls than gulls on the whole, but I suppose they had right on their side. I wonder how a gull knows that an owl has no business out and about in the afternoon?
The Sage phoned a while ago (just before I went out, luckily) and I'm expecting him home in about an hour. I have looked after the place carefully during his absence and he will be reassured. He said he loves and misses me. Sweet, isn't it? We made a lot of kissy noises down the phone.
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
Got to love him
So, the Sage has been putting his foot in it with both hands recently. A few weeks ago (can't remember if I told you this already, but if I can't the odds are you can't either) we were invited to have dinner with friends. I took the phone call, which was fortunate, and happily accepted the invitation and then told the Sage. We never do anything on a Saturday night so I knew it would be all right.
"Oh. A bit short notice. I might want to visit A & J". A & J live in Cheltenham. I was a bit surprised. It transpired that he was planning to visit them at some time. Well, I might have implied that already. But I didn't know that hithertofore. Furthermore, he was going to stay overnight. Upon enquiry, it turned out that he might go at any time in the next few months. So, what was the big thing about the coming weekend? I asked.
Long/short - I gave him hell. I explained that we were going to have dinner with friends and have a social life together for once. And, while I was about it, I wondered why he was insouciantly planning a night visiting his friends when he was so staying-away-from-home phobic that he didn't even go to his son's graduation and I was the only parent sitting with an empty place beside me, and he hasn't spent a night away from home for more years than I can remember (at least 8, maybe 10). Poor chap didn't have a leg to prop himself up with.
Two more incidents, this last weekend, that have demonstrated that he doesn't take any notice of what I say, however nicely I say it. "Don't throw that gravy away, it'll go in with the partridge bones to make stock" isn't that hard, is it? Binned it was, although the rest of the post-dinner chaos in the kitchen was untouched. "I've left *this* dishful for the chickens, and *this*, in the colander, is for Tilly" was also straightforward. Naturally, Tilly was disappointed.
I explained that it isn't the wrong move but the not listening. He was abashed. Next time, I'll make him repeat what I said. The simple truth is that most men dismiss what women say. It goes right over their heads. They think it's all 'yakyakyak', however lucid the explanation.
Anyway, today he's gone to visit A&J in Cheltenham. So I've taken the opportunity to cook an Indian meal. Fish in a yoghurt sauce, a mushroom and rice number, a green bean with chilli and mustard seed dish and spicy cauliflower. Later, I will play loud and sweary music. Then I'll go to bed. He phoned at 7 o'clock. "I left the electric blanket on" he said. "I wouldn't want you to be chilly without me."
Oh, and he arranged for Al to feed the chickens. "Didn't he think I'd get it right?" I wondered. "I think he was worried that you'd fall over and get muddy" reassured Al. "It's a bit boggy just inside the gate." It's true. He spares me.
"Oh. A bit short notice. I might want to visit A & J". A & J live in Cheltenham. I was a bit surprised. It transpired that he was planning to visit them at some time. Well, I might have implied that already. But I didn't know that hithertofore. Furthermore, he was going to stay overnight. Upon enquiry, it turned out that he might go at any time in the next few months. So, what was the big thing about the coming weekend? I asked.
Long/short - I gave him hell. I explained that we were going to have dinner with friends and have a social life together for once. And, while I was about it, I wondered why he was insouciantly planning a night visiting his friends when he was so staying-away-from-home phobic that he didn't even go to his son's graduation and I was the only parent sitting with an empty place beside me, and he hasn't spent a night away from home for more years than I can remember (at least 8, maybe 10). Poor chap didn't have a leg to prop himself up with.
Two more incidents, this last weekend, that have demonstrated that he doesn't take any notice of what I say, however nicely I say it. "Don't throw that gravy away, it'll go in with the partridge bones to make stock" isn't that hard, is it? Binned it was, although the rest of the post-dinner chaos in the kitchen was untouched. "I've left *this* dishful for the chickens, and *this*, in the colander, is for Tilly" was also straightforward. Naturally, Tilly was disappointed.
I explained that it isn't the wrong move but the not listening. He was abashed. Next time, I'll make him repeat what I said. The simple truth is that most men dismiss what women say. It goes right over their heads. They think it's all 'yakyakyak', however lucid the explanation.
Anyway, today he's gone to visit A&J in Cheltenham. So I've taken the opportunity to cook an Indian meal. Fish in a yoghurt sauce, a mushroom and rice number, a green bean with chilli and mustard seed dish and spicy cauliflower. Later, I will play loud and sweary music. Then I'll go to bed. He phoned at 7 o'clock. "I left the electric blanket on" he said. "I wouldn't want you to be chilly without me."
Oh, and he arranged for Al to feed the chickens. "Didn't he think I'd get it right?" I wondered. "I think he was worried that you'd fall over and get muddy" reassured Al. "It's a bit boggy just inside the gate." It's true. He spares me.
Monday, 16 February 2009
Isn't it a nobby one?
Today has gone very well. Last night, I knitted together, in pairs, the last 16 stitches of my hat. I was, until the last few rows, undecided as to whether to sew it up or to unravel the whole thing and start again. It isn't perfect, to say the least. However, once I'd done, I encouraged myself to finish the job. After a good night's sleep.
And so, this morning, that is what I did. I had a cheery online chat with Badgerdaddy and then I did a bit of work and then I got on with it. I'd had a bit of difficulty in deciding when to start reducing the rows, as it was not easy to count - evidently, I should have used a marker. It seemed about right and, more vitally, I judged that the wool I had left wouldn't stretch much further, so I was glad when I put the unmade-up hat against my head and found it wasn't a bad fit. Once finished, there actually was some wool left over, so I added a few rows to the scarf, which I'd providently (not providentially, it was deliberate) left on the needle against the opportunity to lengthen it and then finished that off too.
Later, I cycled into town wearing both hat and scarf. This means I have resoundingly carried out one of my NY resolutions, which was to knit and wear something. I'm still working on the music one and haven't started on the others, but it's only mid-February so there's plenty of time.
But before that, I discovered that the post had arrived. And in it was a pair of most splendid walking poles, which were a gift from the company, or at any rate its PR people. I'm quite embarrassed about this, as I'm not exactly a target customer, but at the same time my good friend who arranged the gift was entirely truthful, as was I in my letter of thanks. It's only fair to give them a plug - the Vango Walker is what I have and although they haven't yet been used for more than striding around the house, they seem well designed and made (isn't telescopic always a pleasure?) and there's a little compass in the top, which is such a nice touch. I love gadgets and they just might have found themselves a new customer. Next time, a paying one.
Then I had my hair cut, which is always a pleasure.
Ro, who still has a cold, roasted himself by the fire tonight. His arm is quite red. I've been up to find my après sun stuff, which I didn't need at all last summer.
Tonight, Al and Dilly are at the Bee Club meeting, the first of the year. The Sage (who blotted his copybook on consecutive days, oh dear oh dear) is babysitting, but I expect I'll take over from him later.
Oh, there is one thing that has annoyed me. I bought a bar of Green & Black's cherry chocolate a while ago, and we've been eating it in the past week or so. Now, G&B chocolate isn't quite what it was, since it was bought out by a major brand (Cadbury's, I think, but am open to correction) - for one thing, they've added milk to their plain chocolate, and what's all that about? But anyway, what I like about this particular chocolate is the delish sour cherries. So, when I was in the Little Green Shop this afternoon, I bought a small pack of sour cherries, thinking that I could nibble on a few of those and bypass the chocolate. But when I got them home I read the label and found that they have added vegetable oil and sugar. What's the point of that, then? Is it because they are American and everything is high fat/high sugar in America? Surely not. Anyway, I ate a couple. They are too sweet and slightly oily. I'll probably hide them at the back of the cupboard for a couple of years and then throw them out. Not at all nice, and disappointing. Why call them sour if the sourness has been eliminated?
And so, this morning, that is what I did. I had a cheery online chat with Badgerdaddy and then I did a bit of work and then I got on with it. I'd had a bit of difficulty in deciding when to start reducing the rows, as it was not easy to count - evidently, I should have used a marker. It seemed about right and, more vitally, I judged that the wool I had left wouldn't stretch much further, so I was glad when I put the unmade-up hat against my head and found it wasn't a bad fit. Once finished, there actually was some wool left over, so I added a few rows to the scarf, which I'd providently (not providentially, it was deliberate) left on the needle against the opportunity to lengthen it and then finished that off too.
Later, I cycled into town wearing both hat and scarf. This means I have resoundingly carried out one of my NY resolutions, which was to knit and wear something. I'm still working on the music one and haven't started on the others, but it's only mid-February so there's plenty of time.
But before that, I discovered that the post had arrived. And in it was a pair of most splendid walking poles, which were a gift from the company, or at any rate its PR people. I'm quite embarrassed about this, as I'm not exactly a target customer, but at the same time my good friend who arranged the gift was entirely truthful, as was I in my letter of thanks. It's only fair to give them a plug - the Vango Walker is what I have and although they haven't yet been used for more than striding around the house, they seem well designed and made (isn't telescopic always a pleasure?) and there's a little compass in the top, which is such a nice touch. I love gadgets and they just might have found themselves a new customer. Next time, a paying one.
Then I had my hair cut, which is always a pleasure.
Ro, who still has a cold, roasted himself by the fire tonight. His arm is quite red. I've been up to find my après sun stuff, which I didn't need at all last summer.
Tonight, Al and Dilly are at the Bee Club meeting, the first of the year. The Sage (who blotted his copybook on consecutive days, oh dear oh dear) is babysitting, but I expect I'll take over from him later.
Oh, there is one thing that has annoyed me. I bought a bar of Green & Black's cherry chocolate a while ago, and we've been eating it in the past week or so. Now, G&B chocolate isn't quite what it was, since it was bought out by a major brand (Cadbury's, I think, but am open to correction) - for one thing, they've added milk to their plain chocolate, and what's all that about? But anyway, what I like about this particular chocolate is the delish sour cherries. So, when I was in the Little Green Shop this afternoon, I bought a small pack of sour cherries, thinking that I could nibble on a few of those and bypass the chocolate. But when I got them home I read the label and found that they have added vegetable oil and sugar. What's the point of that, then? Is it because they are American and everything is high fat/high sugar in America? Surely not. Anyway, I ate a couple. They are too sweet and slightly oily. I'll probably hide them at the back of the cupboard for a couple of years and then throw them out. Not at all nice, and disappointing. Why call them sour if the sourness has been eliminated?
Sunday, 15 February 2009
Ro and the Nasal Irritation
"Urgh" groaned Ro again. "Poor you," I said sympathetically. "Is it a cold or is it full-blown man flu?" "I suppose I am making a bit of a fuss," he acknowledged.
I'll miss him when he moves out, you know. Whenever that will be.
"You know when you get something packed in those polystyrene granules and a bit goes up your nose?" he said. "Well, no, but I have inhaled a feather," said I. "Well, it feels like that. As if there's some irritant that you've breathed in and it's right up near your eye." We talked about polystyrene. Apparently, he's inhaled it more than once. Stuff was often packed in it where he used to work and in the end he always got someone else to do the unpacking. Most odd.
I'll miss him when he moves out, you know. Whenever that will be.
"You know when you get something packed in those polystyrene granules and a bit goes up your nose?" he said. "Well, no, but I have inhaled a feather," said I. "Well, it feels like that. As if there's some irritant that you've breathed in and it's right up near your eye." We talked about polystyrene. Apparently, he's inhaled it more than once. Stuff was often packed in it where he used to work and in the end he always got someone else to do the unpacking. Most odd.
Saturday, 14 February 2009
Z does very little
I'm absurdly relaxed. I'm gradually catching up on work but not putting much into it. I'm hoping that I'm just following my body, as it were, and that when I need to snap to it, I'll be all keen and ready again.
I was awake for a long time in the night, so I finished the book and started another. Reading books has settled me back into myself I know - but for ages they didn't hold my interest. Actually, yesterday's didn't really as I didn't engage with any of the characters at all, but the writing itself was good enough to keep me going.
Today, after getting up late, I went into town to pick up my contact lenses. The receptionist was just back from 3 months in Australia visiting family and we chatted for a long time. I was in there about 20 minutes. Then I went over to where I'd left my bike and chatted to friends who were buying their fruit and veg from Al and then I went to the bike shop to get my tyres pumped up. This is no sort of euphemism, they were quite spongy. I bought a pump while I was there. £2.50 seems reasonable for a bicycle pump. I went back for some kumquats, rhubarb, blood oranges and a melon and then to the wine shop, then to the deli. I was right out of coffee and couldn't quite face instant. Last night, I thought I made a cup of chamomile tea, left the bag in the mug and it was only when I was taking the first sip that I realised it was actually green tea and already getting bitter. I like it bitter, but not overbrewed. The coffee smelled so gorgeous that I had to make a potful as soon as I got home.
So now I've had a late lunch and have been reading the papers and listening to relaxing music - first Sidney Bechet and now Mara Carlyle. For dinner tonight, we'll have melon, roast partridge and something with rhubarb and kumquats. You need to cook the kumquats first - the skins are edible but tart so I usually simmer them until tender, then add sugar and cook again. Orange flavour goes beautifully with rhubarb and the liquid from the kumquat, reduced until syrupy, gives plenty of sweetness. I'll probably cut them in half as they can be very pippy.
I was awake for a long time in the night, so I finished the book and started another. Reading books has settled me back into myself I know - but for ages they didn't hold my interest. Actually, yesterday's didn't really as I didn't engage with any of the characters at all, but the writing itself was good enough to keep me going.
Today, after getting up late, I went into town to pick up my contact lenses. The receptionist was just back from 3 months in Australia visiting family and we chatted for a long time. I was in there about 20 minutes. Then I went over to where I'd left my bike and chatted to friends who were buying their fruit and veg from Al and then I went to the bike shop to get my tyres pumped up. This is no sort of euphemism, they were quite spongy. I bought a pump while I was there. £2.50 seems reasonable for a bicycle pump. I went back for some kumquats, rhubarb, blood oranges and a melon and then to the wine shop, then to the deli. I was right out of coffee and couldn't quite face instant. Last night, I thought I made a cup of chamomile tea, left the bag in the mug and it was only when I was taking the first sip that I realised it was actually green tea and already getting bitter. I like it bitter, but not overbrewed. The coffee smelled so gorgeous that I had to make a potful as soon as I got home.
So now I've had a late lunch and have been reading the papers and listening to relaxing music - first Sidney Bechet and now Mara Carlyle. For dinner tonight, we'll have melon, roast partridge and something with rhubarb and kumquats. You need to cook the kumquats first - the skins are edible but tart so I usually simmer them until tender, then add sugar and cook again. Orange flavour goes beautifully with rhubarb and the liquid from the kumquat, reduced until syrupy, gives plenty of sweetness. I'll probably cut them in half as they can be very pippy.
Friday, 13 February 2009
London Particular...
...is what we had for dinner. I think that's brilliant, that pea soup gave its name to a filthy fog and the fog gave its name right back to the soup. I'd boiled a piece of gammon for last night and saved the cooking water, in which I'd put onion, carrot, celery, peppercorns and coriander seeds. So today, all I needed to do was cook the dried split green peas in the (strained) stock, fry more vegetables and cook them all together for another hour. It didn't even need seasoning. The baker had sold, cheap, the last few rolls to the Sage for the chickens, but I heated them up for us. That sounds a bit mean actually, snatching food from under the chickens' beaks, especially since the dear little things have kept us in eggs all winter.
We never did cut back on eating eggs, by the way. Not that we often have them for breakfast, but I simply didn't believe the warnings about their cholesterol-raising properties. Actually, I did have a boiled egg for breakfast a couple of weeks ago. It was lovely. Come to think of it, I had one of the bantam's bread rolls with it then, too. Me bad indeed.
It's interesting, going in to a lesson in school once a week only, to observe how the students change over the months. Back in September, the year 9s (aged 13-14) were unsure in their new school and most of them were still children. A couple of tall boys, gangling and awkward or chunky and - awkward! - and some sophisticated-looking girls, but very young. Now, half a year later, they're much more assured and, some of them, potentially harder to manage. Not in the class I go to, they're fine and they're polite and surprisingly friendly, in a respectful sort of way, with me. I could equally transpose 'friendly' and 'respectful' - indeed, though some older pupils don't accept my authority to tell them what to do as they know I'm not their teacher, they are still polite and just grin at me. But the Year 9s, they do ask me for help - they also know my limitations mind you! - and ... oh crumbs, you know, they treat me kindly as a granny figure I suppose.
The other thing that gets me is how beautiful they are. Gorgeous, almost without exception. Appreciably better groomed than when I was their age, both boys and girls. At that age it comes naturally, too. I bet most of them have no idea and only see what they'd like to change.
At LOM's request, more details of the soup -
I think I could have used the veg I cooked with the gammon to make the stock, but I was afraid they would be salty (it was only one onion, a few slightly wizened carrots and a couple of outside celery stalks so it wasn't much waste. I also cooked swede, carrot and celery together as a vegetable so I saved their cooking water. Altogether it was a couple of litres once strained. I added 12 ounces (I use metric and imperial indiscriminately) of dried green split peas and simmered gently for half an hour. I chopped - actually I did it in the food processor - another big carrot and an onion and a stray shallot and a couple more celery stalks, fried them gently in a little oil for 10 minutes or so. Then I chucked them in with the peas and simmered again for an hour or so, then put through the food processor until small. This still has some pea texture, if you want it completely smooth you'd want to put it through a mouli.
You could use other vegetables, leek for example. I didn't put in so much carrot that it would change the colour.
I wouldn't use ham stock to cook beans that need soaking, as the salt would toughen them. I'd soak them overnight, then cook them (kidney beans, blackeye beans, chickpeas etc) in plain water until tender and then drain them and use stock for the rest of the recipe. Kidney beans need boiling for 10 minutes to destroy toxins or they give you stomach cramps, but are digestible after a preliminary hard boiling. Never think that beans will finish cooking in the recipe, cook them until tender first.
We never did cut back on eating eggs, by the way. Not that we often have them for breakfast, but I simply didn't believe the warnings about their cholesterol-raising properties. Actually, I did have a boiled egg for breakfast a couple of weeks ago. It was lovely. Come to think of it, I had one of the bantam's bread rolls with it then, too. Me bad indeed.
It's interesting, going in to a lesson in school once a week only, to observe how the students change over the months. Back in September, the year 9s (aged 13-14) were unsure in their new school and most of them were still children. A couple of tall boys, gangling and awkward or chunky and - awkward! - and some sophisticated-looking girls, but very young. Now, half a year later, they're much more assured and, some of them, potentially harder to manage. Not in the class I go to, they're fine and they're polite and surprisingly friendly, in a respectful sort of way, with me. I could equally transpose 'friendly' and 'respectful' - indeed, though some older pupils don't accept my authority to tell them what to do as they know I'm not their teacher, they are still polite and just grin at me. But the Year 9s, they do ask me for help - they also know my limitations mind you! - and ... oh crumbs, you know, they treat me kindly as a granny figure I suppose.
The other thing that gets me is how beautiful they are. Gorgeous, almost without exception. Appreciably better groomed than when I was their age, both boys and girls. At that age it comes naturally, too. I bet most of them have no idea and only see what they'd like to change.
At LOM's request, more details of the soup -
I think I could have used the veg I cooked with the gammon to make the stock, but I was afraid they would be salty (it was only one onion, a few slightly wizened carrots and a couple of outside celery stalks so it wasn't much waste. I also cooked swede, carrot and celery together as a vegetable so I saved their cooking water. Altogether it was a couple of litres once strained. I added 12 ounces (I use metric and imperial indiscriminately) of dried green split peas and simmered gently for half an hour. I chopped - actually I did it in the food processor - another big carrot and an onion and a stray shallot and a couple more celery stalks, fried them gently in a little oil for 10 minutes or so. Then I chucked them in with the peas and simmered again for an hour or so, then put through the food processor until small. This still has some pea texture, if you want it completely smooth you'd want to put it through a mouli.
You could use other vegetables, leek for example. I didn't put in so much carrot that it would change the colour.
I wouldn't use ham stock to cook beans that need soaking, as the salt would toughen them. I'd soak them overnight, then cook them (kidney beans, blackeye beans, chickpeas etc) in plain water until tender and then drain them and use stock for the rest of the recipe. Kidney beans need boiling for 10 minutes to destroy toxins or they give you stomach cramps, but are digestible after a preliminary hard boiling. Never think that beans will finish cooking in the recipe, cook them until tender first.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
