When I arrived home, I sent a courteously forceful email to Alexander, telling him that if he didn't sort everything out then the agents would have to, and it would be a charge against his deposit. Deposits aren't held by landlords any longer, they are held by a central body and both parties have to agree to any charges or deductions. I hate to make a charge on a deposit. My children have been tenants and they've had tricky landlords as well as excellent ones, and I don't care for the sort who use any excuse to make a deduction.
Alexander phoned that evening, in some dismay. He had arranged with the incoming tenant, he said, that everything he left would be taken over. "But you didn't tell me or the agent, so how was I to know that?" I asked. In any case, I added, he hadn't returned the keys. He said that his girlfriend had said she'd do that. He was in Spain, where he was - still working for the same firm - now based. I said I'd have to confirm it with the new tenant.
I've spoken to the tenant. He has never met A. He's been to the flat this evening and there's far more stuff there than he can take on. I'd said that it would have, in all fairness to A, be all or nothing as if he didn't want the large items of furniture it wasn't reasonable for him to take the wine, the robot floor-cleaning thingy, the nice lamp or the chunky glasses.
So I issued another ultimatum to A. He's emailed back saying he'll come over and sort it and wants the deadline extended by a day. He says he spoke to *someone* and presumably that person decided against renting the flat. More fool A for not telling me or the agent. He could well be telling the truth, but it's not my concern.
Anyhoo, this has taken more time than I wanted it to. At least I've had a couple of conversations with the new tenant and he is being patient and good-natured about the situation. I suppose it could be argued that I've demonstrated that I'm both reasonable and tough, which is useful for a tenant to know.
My lovely downstairs tenant can stay as long as he likes. He may not know that I could be getting a lot more money for that flat, but a good tenant is worth keeping without putting his rent up, and I'll keep it as it is for a while longer at least. He keeps it immaculate, deals with small problems without bothering me, and didn't turn a hair when I had to tell him I'd burrowed through his cupboard, removing half his clothes (the ones hanging up, not the ones he was wearing) so that the electrical and gas safety checks could be done in the cupboard behind.
Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Z Whittington
I'd rubbed down some loose paint from the kitchen ceiling and Polyfillad it, and washed the wall where the sofa bed had left marks. They came off, so that meant I wouldn't have to repaint. A few other marks on the walls also washed off easily. The freezer was somewhat iced up so I decided to defrost it. The oven, which had been reasonably clean but not perfectly so, also needed my attention. The tenant should have done the freezer but I'd agreed to call the wall fair wear and tear and the rest was my responsibility. I checked the bathroom, which was immaculate.
While I was waiting for the oven cleaner to work, I went out, bought a Sunday paper and read some of it in a café while drinking a cup of coffee. Breakfast had been Ryvita. Later on, lunch was Ryvita too, because I was meeting a friend later for dinner.
I left a note in case the tenant returned, but he didn't. When I'd finished work, I went off to the Royal Academy to see their latest exhibition of works by Kuniyoshi. I'd been to a lecture recently on Hiroshige and Hokusai and, whilst Japanese art is never going to be a great interest of mine, I wanted to see more of it to reinforce what I'd just learnt. I was rather put off by the first room, which was all pictures of warriors, but it got a lot more appealing (if I'd written that when I was a child it would have been crossed out in red pen and replaced by 'became considerably more') with pictures of 'beautiful women', landscapes etc. Afterwards, I went along the road to meet my friend, who texted me a few minutes later to say she was at the RA. I resisted the temptation to recross the road, which was just as well because she did, and we met a few moments later.
We went for a drink and she went off to the bar to buy it. Them. And she gave me a present. Isn't that kind? I didn't open it straight away, but I knew what it would be. Then we went and had dinner and a lovely long chat. Blogfriends are great, really.
When we were walking along, I told her that I'd picked up a tuppenny piece from the pavement. Moments later, we spotted a penny. "That's yours, Z" she said and indeed it was. It was calling out to me. I picked it up and put it in my pocket with the other coin.
The next day, I found other coins. The final twenty-pence piece, I picked up on the corridor of the train. So you see, the streets of London are paved with gold - well, money - even now.
Dandelion is so polite and helpful that she waited with me at the bus stop until my bus came. One might think that I, being old, should look after her, being young, but I know that she is right. My daughter would have done the same.
I did rather think that the tenant might turn up with a removal van the next morning, but he didn't so I went down to the estate agent and spoke to Steve. He was quite surprised at the situation and checked if the keys had been handed in, which they hadn't. He agreed that I was entitled to dispose of everything, get in a cleaner and get the locks changed at the tenant's expense, and I said that I'd email the tenant, whom I shall call Alexander for that is his name, as soon as I arrived home. I'd left texts and voicemails on his phone, but the texts were still marked 'pending' so evidently he hadn't received them.
Monday, 30 March 2009
Z is *sleepy*
The Sage has decided upon an early night. I've been away. Without him. I think I should go to bed too, don't you?
The fly in every ointment has a silver lining
Yes, it's true. The luck of the Sage still rubs off on whomever is in contact with him.
Hello, darlings. I'm home again and considerably richer. The streets of London are still paved in gold and similarly useful metals.
But I have a story to tell, and you want to hear it all, don't you? *cough* Don't you? Thank you.
We were tossed from the train at Colchester and expected to get on buses. Here I had my first experience of the Luck of the Sages. A charming man offered to carry my suitcase down the stairs and then up again. He brushed off my thanks - "the work-out's good for me". We were driven to Billericay!!(!) JonnyB's own namesake town. I was terribly excited. We drove through a smart and prosperous suburb, with houses dating from the Fifties to the Noughties, all looking prosperous and cheerful. We got on another train and a mother sat beside me with her little boy opposite me. He was polite and affectionate to her and she called him 'darling' in every reply. It was charming. The coach journey had been so quick that we caught an earlier train than expected and so arrived at Liverpool Street Station early too. I caught a bus. It was either a 205 or a 214; either is fine. I sort of switched off for a few minutes and was taken unawares by our arrival and sort of got off two stops late, which meant that I ventured down Pentonville Road a short way, which was quite exciting in itself.
When I arrrived at the flat, I was only mildly surprised to find that most of the tenant's furniture was still there. It was only 4 o'clock so I expected him to arrive back and pick the rest up. Soon, it poured with rain and so I was still reasonably understanding. I got on with my work and, at 6.50, left the flat for an early dinner. Saturday night, I knew I had to eat in good time if I wanted to be sure of a table.
There's a little Chinese restaurant just round the corner, most of the one-dish items are centred round noodles and it's cheap and reliable. When I went in, just behind another lone woman, she asked for a table for two and the waiter looked momentarily surprised when I said my table would be for one. Lonely and only, I would have felt if i were young or old or lacking in confidence. The middle-aged are most entitled to natural gung-ho, so I didn't mind. I ordered a chicken, chilli, vegetable, black bean and noodle dish and a large glass of red wine (I'd usually go for beer but I really wanted red wine on that chilly evening) and when it arrived I remembered one of the reasons for choosing this place. You eat more slowly with chopsticks.
It's hard to linger over a solitary meal, especially if, like me, you are used to eating as if it's a race to catch the first train. I made myself put down my chopsticks after each mouthful and sip my wine slowly. I eavesdropped on conversations, incuriously. The woman who had come in just ahead of me, who was wearing lovely shoes, asked for a cup of tea while she waited for her husband. Her hair was nicely cut, but a bit uniformly dyed. One has to get coloured hair right. Nice colour but didn't hit my personal spot. I suspect I'll have to go grey in God's good time as I couldn't contemplate hair that looked as if I was trying too hard (my hair looks as if I don't give a tuppeny damn, which is not good but not as bad as trying too hard and it not working. But then I'm a 60s chick and therefore relentlessly laid-back, hem-hem).
So, I ate and I stayed, while keeping an eye open so that I didn't take up more than my fair space. After all, it's not a large restaurant. It filled up. A couple came in while the waiter was busy and sat at a table for four, which left a table for two and one for four.
I finished my meal and sat contemplating the last inch of wine in my glass. When I'd drunk it, I wasn't looked at in a *hmm* sort of fashion, but nevertheless I asked for some tea. I sat quietly, still listening, drinking a large cup of jasmine tea.
Another couple came in and the waiter showed them to the table for two. "Can we sit here?" - they went to the table for four. "Of course", said the waiter hospitably, no doubt thinking 'fuck you'. I'd not do that, you know. I know what profit margins are like. The last time I went to that restaurant, similarly on my own, maybe three years ago, there was a queue by 7.45. They need not to turn away customers.
Anyway, I duly paid and left, pleased that I'd managed to spin out my dinner to an hour and a half, including walking time. By the way, the woman with the nice shoes, who came in just before me? - she drank her tea, paid and left. She was as solitary as I was, just not able to admit to it.
But that silver lining. You know that I'd have paid £75 for a hotel room + breakfast but baulked at £99 without? Or something like that, pfft, you think I read back posts? I expected to sleep on a wooden floor.
Hah. No,darlings, really. HAH. I slept on my errant tenant's comfy sofa-bed. I slept good. (excuse me, BW, but I slept well doesn't quite convey the message. I slept good.)
It was a 3 day visit. There is more to come.
Hello, darlings. I'm home again and considerably richer. The streets of London are still paved in gold and similarly useful metals.
But I have a story to tell, and you want to hear it all, don't you? *cough* Don't you? Thank you.
We were tossed from the train at Colchester and expected to get on buses. Here I had my first experience of the Luck of the Sages. A charming man offered to carry my suitcase down the stairs and then up again. He brushed off my thanks - "the work-out's good for me". We were driven to Billericay!!(!) JonnyB's own namesake town. I was terribly excited. We drove through a smart and prosperous suburb, with houses dating from the Fifties to the Noughties, all looking prosperous and cheerful. We got on another train and a mother sat beside me with her little boy opposite me. He was polite and affectionate to her and she called him 'darling' in every reply. It was charming. The coach journey had been so quick that we caught an earlier train than expected and so arrived at Liverpool Street Station early too. I caught a bus. It was either a 205 or a 214; either is fine. I sort of switched off for a few minutes and was taken unawares by our arrival and sort of got off two stops late, which meant that I ventured down Pentonville Road a short way, which was quite exciting in itself.
When I arrrived at the flat, I was only mildly surprised to find that most of the tenant's furniture was still there. It was only 4 o'clock so I expected him to arrive back and pick the rest up. Soon, it poured with rain and so I was still reasonably understanding. I got on with my work and, at 6.50, left the flat for an early dinner. Saturday night, I knew I had to eat in good time if I wanted to be sure of a table.
There's a little Chinese restaurant just round the corner, most of the one-dish items are centred round noodles and it's cheap and reliable. When I went in, just behind another lone woman, she asked for a table for two and the waiter looked momentarily surprised when I said my table would be for one. Lonely and only, I would have felt if i were young or old or lacking in confidence. The middle-aged are most entitled to natural gung-ho, so I didn't mind. I ordered a chicken, chilli, vegetable, black bean and noodle dish and a large glass of red wine (I'd usually go for beer but I really wanted red wine on that chilly evening) and when it arrived I remembered one of the reasons for choosing this place. You eat more slowly with chopsticks.
It's hard to linger over a solitary meal, especially if, like me, you are used to eating as if it's a race to catch the first train. I made myself put down my chopsticks after each mouthful and sip my wine slowly. I eavesdropped on conversations, incuriously. The woman who had come in just ahead of me, who was wearing lovely shoes, asked for a cup of tea while she waited for her husband. Her hair was nicely cut, but a bit uniformly dyed. One has to get coloured hair right. Nice colour but didn't hit my personal spot. I suspect I'll have to go grey in God's good time as I couldn't contemplate hair that looked as if I was trying too hard (my hair looks as if I don't give a tuppeny damn, which is not good but not as bad as trying too hard and it not working. But then I'm a 60s chick and therefore relentlessly laid-back, hem-hem).
So, I ate and I stayed, while keeping an eye open so that I didn't take up more than my fair space. After all, it's not a large restaurant. It filled up. A couple came in while the waiter was busy and sat at a table for four, which left a table for two and one for four.
I finished my meal and sat contemplating the last inch of wine in my glass. When I'd drunk it, I wasn't looked at in a *hmm* sort of fashion, but nevertheless I asked for some tea. I sat quietly, still listening, drinking a large cup of jasmine tea.
Another couple came in and the waiter showed them to the table for two. "Can we sit here?" - they went to the table for four. "Of course", said the waiter hospitably, no doubt thinking 'fuck you'. I'd not do that, you know. I know what profit margins are like. The last time I went to that restaurant, similarly on my own, maybe three years ago, there was a queue by 7.45. They need not to turn away customers.
Anyway, I duly paid and left, pleased that I'd managed to spin out my dinner to an hour and a half, including walking time. By the way, the woman with the nice shoes, who came in just before me? - she drank her tea, paid and left. She was as solitary as I was, just not able to admit to it.
But that silver lining. You know that I'd have paid £75 for a hotel room + breakfast but baulked at £99 without? Or something like that, pfft, you think I read back posts? I expected to sleep on a wooden floor.
Hah. No,darlings, really. HAH. I slept on my errant tenant's comfy sofa-bed. I slept good. (excuse me, BW, but I slept well doesn't quite convey the message. I slept good.)
It was a 3 day visit. There is more to come.
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Z sneezes
I don't have a cold - in fact, I've just got over one and it isn't the sort of sneezing that heralds a cold, but it's as if I've got an allergy. Not hayfever - I'd recognise that. Just half a dozen huge sneezes and then that's it for a while. Last night and again this morning. Oh well.
Dilly rang me up to say that Al had terrible earache in the night, to the extent that he was crying with pain. They rang NHS Direct (this is a splendid service; I've never used it but Dilly and Weeza have several times and always had helpful advice, including 'get straight on to the doctor') and, especially as by then the pain had diminished but his ear was bleeding, their diagnosis of a perforated eardrum seems the likely one. He's had an attack of laryngitis in the last few days and his voice has just about disappeared, which has not stopped him going to work (cold weather, unheated shop) and maybe a couple of days' rest would not have been a bad idea. It's difficult when you're almost a one-man band and you don't want to let down your customers - or, indeed, turn away business. Fortunately, he's not working, until the end of the day, on Monday so he'll have a couple of days break and I've got some time to spare next week so if he's still suffering I'll take over.
I'm nearly ready to go - I don't have to leave for another hour and a half. I've packed plenty of painkillers. If I'd booked into a hotel I'd only have a little case, but as it is I've got a large suitcase, which means it'll be a nuisance to go shopping when I arrive, so I've put in a packet of Ryvita which will be breakfast. I will, however, eat out tonight if I can be bothered. If ever I lived alone there is a considerable chance that I would become reclusive and peculiar. And very thin.
Anyway, what I won't get around to is going to the local internet cafe, so I won't see you for a few days. Have fun.
Dilly rang me up to say that Al had terrible earache in the night, to the extent that he was crying with pain. They rang NHS Direct (this is a splendid service; I've never used it but Dilly and Weeza have several times and always had helpful advice, including 'get straight on to the doctor') and, especially as by then the pain had diminished but his ear was bleeding, their diagnosis of a perforated eardrum seems the likely one. He's had an attack of laryngitis in the last few days and his voice has just about disappeared, which has not stopped him going to work (cold weather, unheated shop) and maybe a couple of days' rest would not have been a bad idea. It's difficult when you're almost a one-man band and you don't want to let down your customers - or, indeed, turn away business. Fortunately, he's not working, until the end of the day, on Monday so he'll have a couple of days break and I've got some time to spare next week so if he's still suffering I'll take over.
I'm nearly ready to go - I don't have to leave for another hour and a half. I've packed plenty of painkillers. If I'd booked into a hotel I'd only have a little case, but as it is I've got a large suitcase, which means it'll be a nuisance to go shopping when I arrive, so I've put in a packet of Ryvita which will be breakfast. I will, however, eat out tonight if I can be bothered. If ever I lived alone there is a considerable chance that I would become reclusive and peculiar. And very thin.
Anyway, what I won't get around to is going to the local internet cafe, so I won't see you for a few days. Have fun.
Friday, 27 March 2009
Z is firm, and so is her sleeping place
"Shall I show you how to do it?" I suggested, having told him our eBay password. "Not much point" responded the Sage cheerfully. "I'll only cock it up." "Yes, you probably will. Oh darling, you are sweet."
The Sage is hopeless on the computer. He is completely bewildered by the cursor whizzing about as his hand roams the mouse around purposelessly. I've tried to show him; or rather, I've tried to encourage him to just keep practising. I do remember the first time I sat at a computer, some couple of decades ago. I had no idea what I was doing and it took a while to find out. But the Sage has a closed mind to it. He doesn't believe it's within his capabilities or interest. Yet I know he could learn to love it.
Just as well, perhaps. Although, on the other hand, it would justify the purchase of a laptop, which I can't now, useful as it would be. No, I must be honest ... pleasant as it would be. Frankly, what I want is to sit out in the garden blogging, isn't it? Not now, it's jolly cold. But how enjoyable in August.
In other news, I can't find a hotel at a price I am willing to pay close enough to the flat to be bearable. I know myself well. I need to be close so that I'll arrive early and get on. Dear and lovely Dandelion has offered to put me up, but I have to get to work first thing on Sunday morning, and it'd be too tempting to faff about and chat. I hope to meet her later in the day, however, and that is a very good reason for starting work early and getting it finished.
Don't tell Weeza about this, will you? She has so sweetly said she feels bad about calling me pigheaded; which she did in the most well-meaning fashion possible; I didn't take offence as none was meant. It was true. But, whilst I was willing to pay £70-something a night (sadly, that hotel is fully booked), I'm not willing to pay £100. It's not worth it, just to lay my head for a few hours, and that's that. I can get considerably cheaper rates - indeed, well under half that - but too far away for me to be willing to travel. I'm too weak-willed. I can only push myself if I'm harsh.
The Sage is hopeless on the computer. He is completely bewildered by the cursor whizzing about as his hand roams the mouse around purposelessly. I've tried to show him; or rather, I've tried to encourage him to just keep practising. I do remember the first time I sat at a computer, some couple of decades ago. I had no idea what I was doing and it took a while to find out. But the Sage has a closed mind to it. He doesn't believe it's within his capabilities or interest. Yet I know he could learn to love it.
Just as well, perhaps. Although, on the other hand, it would justify the purchase of a laptop, which I can't now, useful as it would be. No, I must be honest ... pleasant as it would be. Frankly, what I want is to sit out in the garden blogging, isn't it? Not now, it's jolly cold. But how enjoyable in August.
In other news, I can't find a hotel at a price I am willing to pay close enough to the flat to be bearable. I know myself well. I need to be close so that I'll arrive early and get on. Dear and lovely Dandelion has offered to put me up, but I have to get to work first thing on Sunday morning, and it'd be too tempting to faff about and chat. I hope to meet her later in the day, however, and that is a very good reason for starting work early and getting it finished.
Don't tell Weeza about this, will you? She has so sweetly said she feels bad about calling me pigheaded; which she did in the most well-meaning fashion possible; I didn't take offence as none was meant. It was true. But, whilst I was willing to pay £70-something a night (sadly, that hotel is fully booked), I'm not willing to pay £100. It's not worth it, just to lay my head for a few hours, and that's that. I can get considerably cheaper rates - indeed, well under half that - but too far away for me to be willing to travel. I'm too weak-willed. I can only push myself if I'm harsh.
Z tried ineffectually to get organised
It was a bright and sunny morning when I went out, but cold and grey again when I came home a couple of hours later. I'm by no means warm enough. I rummaged in my wardrobe for a jacket this morning and came up with one I bought from a second-hand clothes stall some 20 years ago. It's grey, Marks & Spencer, and I remember the reason I bought it was because it was nicely tailored and hand-finished. Even then, I thought hand stitching on a chain store item was pretty good, and of course you'd not get it, even for a lot more money, now. I wore it a lot for years but it's had a decade's rest so it seems new to me all over again.
I had a few spare minutes during the music lesson as the teacher had to put together all the recordings of the pupils' work. They were told they could watch a film or play some music in the practice rooms. Every one of them chose the music, gratifyingly enough for the teacher. I used the time to make a list of what to take tomorrow and what to do before I go. It's turning into a busy day. I'm becoming quite twitchy about it. Not that I need to be exactly, but it won't be easy to buy things I forget. I left paint in the cupboard under the sink - I don't see why the tenant might have thrown it out, but I'll be a bit scuppered if he has as you can't buy useful things in Islington on a Sunday easily. Chapel Market still has practical shops, but I don't think the paint shop will be open. Woolworth's closed to make way for Waitrose (still not opened up when I was last there a few weeks ago) even before the company folded.
It was lucky that I booked my return ticket for Monday and not Sunday, as I have been rung by the firm doing the energy efficiency check. This is a new certification that the government has just brought in. One has to have gas and electricity safety checks and a good thing too - I've no problem with that - but this particular one is a bit pointless. And expensive. Anyway, they haven't been able to contact the present tenant, so finally got hold of me. I said I thought it had been done, since I've already had the charge on my credit card bill. No pleased about that but there's little point in making a thing about that. I said I can be there on Monday morning only, so they are sending someone round.
I had a few spare minutes during the music lesson as the teacher had to put together all the recordings of the pupils' work. They were told they could watch a film or play some music in the practice rooms. Every one of them chose the music, gratifyingly enough for the teacher. I used the time to make a list of what to take tomorrow and what to do before I go. It's turning into a busy day. I'm becoming quite twitchy about it. Not that I need to be exactly, but it won't be easy to buy things I forget. I left paint in the cupboard under the sink - I don't see why the tenant might have thrown it out, but I'll be a bit scuppered if he has as you can't buy useful things in Islington on a Sunday easily. Chapel Market still has practical shops, but I don't think the paint shop will be open. Woolworth's closed to make way for Waitrose (still not opened up when I was last there a few weeks ago) even before the company folded.
It was lucky that I booked my return ticket for Monday and not Sunday, as I have been rung by the firm doing the energy efficiency check. This is a new certification that the government has just brought in. One has to have gas and electricity safety checks and a good thing too - I've no problem with that - but this particular one is a bit pointless. And expensive. Anyway, they haven't been able to contact the present tenant, so finally got hold of me. I said I thought it had been done, since I've already had the charge on my credit card bill. No pleased about that but there's little point in making a thing about that. I said I can be there on Monday morning only, so they are sending someone round.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Z prepares to be Blasted Out of Her Seat
Tonight, I'm off to see a school play. That is, a performance of We Will Rock You, which will be loud and extremely good. The school has great music and drama departments and they put on very professional productions.
Anyway, I have been at a governors' meeting all afternoon and didn't get home until after half past five, so I just shoved a pizza in the oven and have chomped that so that I won't be all tired and listless by nine o'clock. I was pondering whether to go by bike (in the dark and the cold, woe) or by car (and not be able to park for half a mile) but the Sage has offered to drop me off, so that's all right and I celebrated with a couple of glasses of wine, which has picked me up somewhat.
Time to go. Toodle-pip
Anyway, I have been at a governors' meeting all afternoon and didn't get home until after half past five, so I just shoved a pizza in the oven and have chomped that so that I won't be all tired and listless by nine o'clock. I was pondering whether to go by bike (in the dark and the cold, woe) or by car (and not be able to park for half a mile) but the Sage has offered to drop me off, so that's all right and I celebrated with a couple of glasses of wine, which has picked me up somewhat.
Time to go. Toodle-pip
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Z examines herself
A good thing about becoming old and cynical is that one turns the jaundiced eye on oneself. I realised, on the way home from Weeza's house, that I'd turned the subject of our conversation to the question of sleeping at the flat because, in truth, I wanted to be talked out of it.
I also worked out why I'd needed to be talked out of it, rather than taking the simple common-sense view that it'd be better not to. I said the other day that I'm too cheap, but I'm not mean really. If Al and Dilly were coming, I'd be more than happy to take them out for dinner and not spare the price (having booked the restaurant of my choice, hem hem) and that's just as one-off a spending experience as paying for a hotel room. So, it had to be because it would be spending the money on me. True, there is a slightly puritanical streak in me, but I was not entirely convinced. I think, you know, that it's partly because I'm so fond of the flat and I rather wanted to stay there. Anyway, it's not on. I haven't booked anywhere yet, but hey, it's only Wednesday.
Weeza did talk tough to me. I'm okay with straight talking and few things give me offence. When I'm given what-for, my usual reaction is no longer defensive but, usually, to ponder whether the accusation is true. Then whether it's levelled maliciously. Anyway, the whole thing went through with good humour and ended with hugs, kisses and a reiteration of the acknowledgment that Weeza is always right unless I overrule her, in which case I am.
This morning I went into the shop to let Al have a couple of hours off, but in fact we both stayed. He having taken a couple of days off meant that things weren't quite up to his standard, so we did a lot of chucking out (he hates leaving the best produce in the back room while putting yesterday's stuff on show, and that was the sorry state he discovered) and sorting. I took all the onions out of the rack, for instance, to get rid of the stray pieces of papery outer skin and check for soft ones. It needs to be done frequently - ideally, every time you top up. Afterwards, everything looked beautiful. New season English tomatoes are in and the price of celery (Spanish, at this time of the year) has suddenly dropped by a third. He's not stocking sprouts any more, as the quality is going down, but sprouting broccoli is at its best.
Oh, last night I couldn't sleep. I did to start off with, but woke up just before 2 o'clock and that was it until nearly 5. I turned on the light and read until I woke the Sage, when politeness dictated that I turned it off again (within ten minutes of finishing the book, frustratingly enough). He threw a loving arm and leg over me and went back to sleep. After half an hour, I surreptitiously turned on a torch and finished the book. This morning, of course, I overslept. Ro got up and dressed, but realised he didn't feel at all well - dizzy, with a headache - phoned in sick and went back to bed. Squiffany was sick last night - fortunately, she called out and her father was able to bundle her to the loo in time. So we're a bit of a plague-pit around here, in a minor sort of way. Well, very minor. Everyone's fine again now, including Al who has completely recovered from his bee-stung bulges.
I also worked out why I'd needed to be talked out of it, rather than taking the simple common-sense view that it'd be better not to. I said the other day that I'm too cheap, but I'm not mean really. If Al and Dilly were coming, I'd be more than happy to take them out for dinner and not spare the price (having booked the restaurant of my choice, hem hem) and that's just as one-off a spending experience as paying for a hotel room. So, it had to be because it would be spending the money on me. True, there is a slightly puritanical streak in me, but I was not entirely convinced. I think, you know, that it's partly because I'm so fond of the flat and I rather wanted to stay there. Anyway, it's not on. I haven't booked anywhere yet, but hey, it's only Wednesday.
Weeza did talk tough to me. I'm okay with straight talking and few things give me offence. When I'm given what-for, my usual reaction is no longer defensive but, usually, to ponder whether the accusation is true. Then whether it's levelled maliciously. Anyway, the whole thing went through with good humour and ended with hugs, kisses and a reiteration of the acknowledgment that Weeza is always right unless I overrule her, in which case I am.
This morning I went into the shop to let Al have a couple of hours off, but in fact we both stayed. He having taken a couple of days off meant that things weren't quite up to his standard, so we did a lot of chucking out (he hates leaving the best produce in the back room while putting yesterday's stuff on show, and that was the sorry state he discovered) and sorting. I took all the onions out of the rack, for instance, to get rid of the stray pieces of papery outer skin and check for soft ones. It needs to be done frequently - ideally, every time you top up. Afterwards, everything looked beautiful. New season English tomatoes are in and the price of celery (Spanish, at this time of the year) has suddenly dropped by a third. He's not stocking sprouts any more, as the quality is going down, but sprouting broccoli is at its best.
Oh, last night I couldn't sleep. I did to start off with, but woke up just before 2 o'clock and that was it until nearly 5. I turned on the light and read until I woke the Sage, when politeness dictated that I turned it off again (within ten minutes of finishing the book, frustratingly enough). He threw a loving arm and leg over me and went back to sleep. After half an hour, I surreptitiously turned on a torch and finished the book. This morning, of course, I overslept. Ro got up and dressed, but realised he didn't feel at all well - dizzy, with a headache - phoned in sick and went back to bed. Squiffany was sick last night - fortunately, she called out and her father was able to bundle her to the loo in time. So we're a bit of a plague-pit around here, in a minor sort of way. Well, very minor. Everyone's fine again now, including Al who has completely recovered from his bee-stung bulges.
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Bug-eyed
Al's bulges are moving down the face. His forehead is getting better but his cheeks are puffy. He can open his eyes, which have big pink eyelids, but they feel scratchy and prickly and, whilst yesterday he couldn't look up (when he managed to force his eyes open a chink), today he can't look down. It's getting better by the hour and he thinks he'll be pretty well back to normal by the morning. I've said I can man the shop in the morning if a whole day would be a bit much for him. We'll see tomorrow. It's more likely that he'll say that he's okay.
Weeza is not too thrilled to discover that Zerlina thinks egg is delicious. Weeza thinks eggs are a bit yucky. This dates right back to her childhood when she used to go and stay with her friends Jacoba and Helena and they camped out in the garden and told ghost/horror stories to lull each other to sleep (or not). One of Jaco's stories involved an Alien-like tale of an egg hatching in its victim's stomach and afterwards neither of them could stomach an egg. Weeza has never really liked them since.
It is cold, but at least the sun came out this afternoon. I checked the greenhouse, just to make sure the propagator is working. It's all nice and warm in there. I've got about 20 or so half-size seed trays in it as well as 11 pots with cucumber seeds. I'll have to see what the temperature is like by the time everything needs pricking out - I suspect I'm not going to have to heat up the other bench. I use one of my greenhouses to start everything off as it's the one with electricity laid on, and plant out into the other one. The third needs major repairs and it won't happen this year I shouldn't think. There are other priorities for our limited time.
Weeza is not too thrilled to discover that Zerlina thinks egg is delicious. Weeza thinks eggs are a bit yucky. This dates right back to her childhood when she used to go and stay with her friends Jacoba and Helena and they camped out in the garden and told ghost/horror stories to lull each other to sleep (or not). One of Jaco's stories involved an Alien-like tale of an egg hatching in its victim's stomach and afterwards neither of them could stomach an egg. Weeza has never really liked them since.
It is cold, but at least the sun came out this afternoon. I checked the greenhouse, just to make sure the propagator is working. It's all nice and warm in there. I've got about 20 or so half-size seed trays in it as well as 11 pots with cucumber seeds. I'll have to see what the temperature is like by the time everything needs pricking out - I suspect I'm not going to have to heat up the other bench. I use one of my greenhouses to start everything off as it's the one with electricity laid on, and plant out into the other one. The third needs major repairs and it won't happen this year I shouldn't think. There are other priorities for our limited time.
Monday, 23 March 2009
Don't go by train on a Sunday
I wasn't proud or independent, but I was practical. I looked up what work is due to be done on the railway line next Sunday. The travelling to be done by bus doubled the length of the journey to nearly three hours each way. This is absurd. It meant that Al and Dilly would spend more time on the train than in London. So I am coming up alone after all - there's some bus travel on the Saturday too, but not for quite so long and service is normal on Monday. So what I'm going to do is clean the flat on Saturday evening - I trust it'll have been left clean, but you have to clean it yourself to be quite sure, don't you? - do the painting on Sunday, do something else on Sunday - probably go to an exhibition, I haven't looked to see what's on yet - go and do the second coat of paint and it'll either give me Monday morning free or time to sort out any problems.
I'll be sleeping on the floor. I'm too old to sleep on floors, but I'm too cheap to book into a hotel when I've got the prospect of another bill from the agency. Odd, the way one's mind works, isn't it? If I was having a jolly few days in Town, I'd stay in a nice hotel and not think about the bill, but because it's working in an empty flat, I think it'll be far too indulgent to stay in the cheapest dive. Though mind you, I suppose I could have a look and see what's available. It does rather make me ache to think about it.
In other news, Al got stung on the forehead by a bee yesterday and, since there's nowhere much to swell on the forehead, he found that this morning his left eye had swollen shut. He went to help Eileen set up shop and came home again, but now both eyes are thoroughly swollen and he can't see. He says he feels fine and he's taken anti-histamines, and promises to go to the doctor if he feels ill, breathless or just 'wrong'. But I can't take over the shop this afternoon as I've got an appointment, so it'll have to be closed unless he's a lot better in two hours time. The Sage will help Eileen shut up shop - Al can't do that if he can't open his eyes.
I'll be sleeping on the floor. I'm too old to sleep on floors, but I'm too cheap to book into a hotel when I've got the prospect of another bill from the agency. Odd, the way one's mind works, isn't it? If I was having a jolly few days in Town, I'd stay in a nice hotel and not think about the bill, but because it's working in an empty flat, I think it'll be far too indulgent to stay in the cheapest dive. Though mind you, I suppose I could have a look and see what's available. It does rather make me ache to think about it.
In other news, Al got stung on the forehead by a bee yesterday and, since there's nowhere much to swell on the forehead, he found that this morning his left eye had swollen shut. He went to help Eileen set up shop and came home again, but now both eyes are thoroughly swollen and he can't see. He says he feels fine and he's taken anti-histamines, and promises to go to the doctor if he feels ill, breathless or just 'wrong'. But I can't take over the shop this afternoon as I've got an appointment, so it'll have to be closed unless he's a lot better in two hours time. The Sage will help Eileen shut up shop - Al can't do that if he can't open his eyes.
Sunday, 22 March 2009
Z is Remarkably Cheerful
It's all gone jolly well today. Lots of families in church - mind you, free bacon sandwiches were on offer, need I say more? The funny thing is that we started with just a couple of rashers and five slices of bread, but after feeding dozens of people, some with second helpings, there was still a lot left over. Hmm.
This afternoon, we finally got going in the greenhouse. I know, terribly late, but that's the way it is. I'm old and lazy and busy, and whilst I used to start sowing seeds in propagators really early, I usually found that there was a cold snap and I had great difficulty keeping the seedlings warm. It is still a week or so later than I meant to be, but I don't care that much. I mean, I care, but not that much. It will all come good in the end.
Tonight, Ro is cooking dinner. I think we're having goat cheese tart, baked potatoes, roasted sweet potato, garlic and shallots, and calabrese. Ooh, that reminds me, do you say callabreeze or callabraisee? Or do you cop out and say broccoli? I had to get my own wine though. I asked for some, but the Sage forgot.
Tomorrow ... let's see. I'm meeting friends for lunch - that is, I'm picking up two on the way and six of us are having lunch together. Then I'm looking after the children for a bit. That seems enough for a day's work. Tuesday, I'm taking and fetching Squiffany to/from nursery school and I've a meeting in the evening, so I've no excuse not to do some work in between whiles. Wednesday, I'm having my hair cut. How often do you have your hair cut? Mine seems to get shaggy in no time. Then I'm going to meet Ro in John Lewis to look at televisions. Mainly for screen sizes. I keep telling him he can choose, but he insists on involving me.
Things smell good. I think Ro may be serving up. Toodle-pip, darlings.
This afternoon, we finally got going in the greenhouse. I know, terribly late, but that's the way it is. I'm old and lazy and busy, and whilst I used to start sowing seeds in propagators really early, I usually found that there was a cold snap and I had great difficulty keeping the seedlings warm. It is still a week or so later than I meant to be, but I don't care that much. I mean, I care, but not that much. It will all come good in the end.
Tonight, Ro is cooking dinner. I think we're having goat cheese tart, baked potatoes, roasted sweet potato, garlic and shallots, and calabrese. Ooh, that reminds me, do you say callabreeze or callabraisee? Or do you cop out and say broccoli? I had to get my own wine though. I asked for some, but the Sage forgot.
Tomorrow ... let's see. I'm meeting friends for lunch - that is, I'm picking up two on the way and six of us are having lunch together. Then I'm looking after the children for a bit. That seems enough for a day's work. Tuesday, I'm taking and fetching Squiffany to/from nursery school and I've a meeting in the evening, so I've no excuse not to do some work in between whiles. Wednesday, I'm having my hair cut. How often do you have your hair cut? Mine seems to get shaggy in no time. Then I'm going to meet Ro in John Lewis to look at televisions. Mainly for screen sizes. I keep telling him he can choose, but he insists on involving me.
Things smell good. I think Ro may be serving up. Toodle-pip, darlings.
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Z is a fatalist
Last week, when I mentioned the lost dog that we'd have adopted if she hadn't been microchipped and therefore could be reunited with her owners, Martina said that she thought a puppy would be fun for Tilly and Dandelion asked how Tilly was when Chester died. So I'll tell you.
Chester had just had his 13th birthday and I remember looking at him and thinking how well he was. But a week later he became ill, and when it turned out that he had cancer the vet asked if we wanted him to operate. I said no. He was very ill and he was old, and it was a large tumour on his liver. He hadn't eaten for a week. I was sure it would be kinder to let him go and the vet agreed - actually, I think that if I'd said yes he'd have tried to talk me out of it. The vet came to do the deed here and I held Chester and we looked at each other, so that I was the last thing he would see. The Sage had spent the past week making an oak coffin - this went even beyond me for sentiment, but he was put in it. This was in the porch. Then we let Tilly and Khan out into the porch and they sniffed Chester's bed and then the coffin, so they knew.
It was only a couple of months later that Khan was run over and killed, so since then Tilly has been an only dog. And her personality has adapted to that. She used to be very much in Chester's shadow, in a good way. He used to leave food in his bowl for her, and she deferred to him in other ways. They were very good friends, and if Tilly wanted to go out, Chester would go to the door so that we'd open it for both of them. If someone came to the house, Chester was in charge of security. If I sat on the sofa, Tilly would snuggle behind me, or else Chester would sprawl along the top of the cushion like a leopard in a tree.
Now, Tilly is still too polite to ask to go out, she waits hopefully by the door, occasionally wagging her tail, until someone notices, unless she's really desperate, in which case she emits a single quiet whine. However, whilst Chester threw himself against the door with a thump to tell us they wanted to come in, Tilly scratches the door, which now has deep gouges as a result. She is also a guard dog now. Instead of hiding behind someone when someone comes to the door, she bursts out barking, hackles raised - which is an act of course, she's completely unaggressive.
We intended to have another dog after a while. I wanted a puppy again. In the summer would be sensible (although, since Chester was born in October we got him a few days before Christmas - he always adored Christmas). But then Al and Dilly got married that summer and the party was here, so it was put off. Then Squiffany was born the next Spring, so it was put off again. That summer, Weeza and Phil got married and the party was here, so that wasn't the best time to have a puppy. The next year, the excitement was that Pugsley was born.
However, by that time I was keeping an eye open. I have few requirements, mostly negative; that is, the dogs I didn't want to have. I've written about that before, I know. I prefer a mongrel, because so many dogs are have had ill health bred into them, and besides I'd be intimidated by a dog with a better pedigree than I have. Specifically, I don't want a terrier, especially a Jack Russell (more courage than sense and they disappear down rabbit holes), a greyhound (no rapport), a Springer Spaniel (they need too much exercise and are working dogs and misbehave when bored), a very large (don't want a dog bigger than me, and very big dogs don't live that long) or a very small (I'd fall over it) dog. I'd like a boy with long blond hair. I have to say that my children think a girl with short hair would be much more sensible. That is the only whimsical preference however, all others are based on sound common sense.
Anyway, I didn't hear about a dog. I didn't want a rescue dog this time - with small children about I didn't want to risk a dog that had been badly treated and I'd become less than trusting of the RSPCA, where my mother had always gone for rescue dogs. This had been fine at one time, but they'd stuck a couple of really difficult dogs her way and at this time of my life, I wanted a dog to be a pleasure, not a worry. It had to be trainable and trustworthy, as we have fields all about our partly unfenced garden, and we have free-range chickens, and I thought that although a puppy is harder work, it would be a better bet.
By this time, I was starting to think that it was high time - Tilly was getting older and I didn't want her to be so old that a puppy would exhaust her. Friends were hoping their dogs would have puppies together - one of them was a collieish mongrel and one a labradorish mongrel, which seemed ideal, although the pups would probably be black or black and white. Unfortunately the pregnancy didn't happen.
Tilly is 13 now, and although she's in good health, she's slowed down a lot in the past year or so. She loves her life and, although I think she could adjust to another female dog (though I also think she'd be jealous), I don't think it would be fair to bring a puppy into the house. She adores the children, but wants extra cuddling after Zerlina has visited, to make up for the fuss made of a baby. I think a pup would be more stress than pleasure for her now. She's a dear little dog and I wouldn't like to upset her.
Chester had just had his 13th birthday and I remember looking at him and thinking how well he was. But a week later he became ill, and when it turned out that he had cancer the vet asked if we wanted him to operate. I said no. He was very ill and he was old, and it was a large tumour on his liver. He hadn't eaten for a week. I was sure it would be kinder to let him go and the vet agreed - actually, I think that if I'd said yes he'd have tried to talk me out of it. The vet came to do the deed here and I held Chester and we looked at each other, so that I was the last thing he would see. The Sage had spent the past week making an oak coffin - this went even beyond me for sentiment, but he was put in it. This was in the porch. Then we let Tilly and Khan out into the porch and they sniffed Chester's bed and then the coffin, so they knew.
It was only a couple of months later that Khan was run over and killed, so since then Tilly has been an only dog. And her personality has adapted to that. She used to be very much in Chester's shadow, in a good way. He used to leave food in his bowl for her, and she deferred to him in other ways. They were very good friends, and if Tilly wanted to go out, Chester would go to the door so that we'd open it for both of them. If someone came to the house, Chester was in charge of security. If I sat on the sofa, Tilly would snuggle behind me, or else Chester would sprawl along the top of the cushion like a leopard in a tree.
Now, Tilly is still too polite to ask to go out, she waits hopefully by the door, occasionally wagging her tail, until someone notices, unless she's really desperate, in which case she emits a single quiet whine. However, whilst Chester threw himself against the door with a thump to tell us they wanted to come in, Tilly scratches the door, which now has deep gouges as a result. She is also a guard dog now. Instead of hiding behind someone when someone comes to the door, she bursts out barking, hackles raised - which is an act of course, she's completely unaggressive.
We intended to have another dog after a while. I wanted a puppy again. In the summer would be sensible (although, since Chester was born in October we got him a few days before Christmas - he always adored Christmas). But then Al and Dilly got married that summer and the party was here, so it was put off. Then Squiffany was born the next Spring, so it was put off again. That summer, Weeza and Phil got married and the party was here, so that wasn't the best time to have a puppy. The next year, the excitement was that Pugsley was born.
However, by that time I was keeping an eye open. I have few requirements, mostly negative; that is, the dogs I didn't want to have. I've written about that before, I know. I prefer a mongrel, because so many dogs are have had ill health bred into them, and besides I'd be intimidated by a dog with a better pedigree than I have. Specifically, I don't want a terrier, especially a Jack Russell (more courage than sense and they disappear down rabbit holes), a greyhound (no rapport), a Springer Spaniel (they need too much exercise and are working dogs and misbehave when bored), a very large (don't want a dog bigger than me, and very big dogs don't live that long) or a very small (I'd fall over it) dog. I'd like a boy with long blond hair. I have to say that my children think a girl with short hair would be much more sensible. That is the only whimsical preference however, all others are based on sound common sense.
Anyway, I didn't hear about a dog. I didn't want a rescue dog this time - with small children about I didn't want to risk a dog that had been badly treated and I'd become less than trusting of the RSPCA, where my mother had always gone for rescue dogs. This had been fine at one time, but they'd stuck a couple of really difficult dogs her way and at this time of my life, I wanted a dog to be a pleasure, not a worry. It had to be trainable and trustworthy, as we have fields all about our partly unfenced garden, and we have free-range chickens, and I thought that although a puppy is harder work, it would be a better bet.
By this time, I was starting to think that it was high time - Tilly was getting older and I didn't want her to be so old that a puppy would exhaust her. Friends were hoping their dogs would have puppies together - one of them was a collieish mongrel and one a labradorish mongrel, which seemed ideal, although the pups would probably be black or black and white. Unfortunately the pregnancy didn't happen.
Tilly is 13 now, and although she's in good health, she's slowed down a lot in the past year or so. She loves her life and, although I think she could adjust to another female dog (though I also think she'd be jealous), I don't think it would be fair to bring a puppy into the house. She adores the children, but wants extra cuddling after Zerlina has visited, to make up for the fuss made of a baby. I think a pup would be more stress than pleasure for her now. She's a dear little dog and I wouldn't like to upset her.
Kith and kind
I'm likely to be coming to London next weekend. My tenant is leaving, so I want to read the meters, check the flat and do a few little jobs - the oven hadn't been thoroughly cleaned (it was okay but not perfect) before he moved in so I will do that, and I've got to repaint the kitchen ceiling and a wall where he leaned his sofabed - he told me about it and I said it was acceptable as wear and tear - I was being kind really because it was immaculate when he moved in only a few months earlier, but it won't take long to do and I don't mind.
Anyway, I'd asked Dilly if she wanted to have a weekend in London with the children and we could do a few things together and then, either in between times or after they left, I'd do the work. However, she and Al have evidently decided I shouldn't go up ladders on my own any more. It was all right last September, but apparently it isn't now. So now they both want to come, leaving the children with Dilly's parents.
It's lovely being cared about and cared for, but it's really hard to drop the proud independence thing. Mind you, it was lovely when Dandelion came and helped me in September, but that hadn't been arranged before and she was being enormously kind rather than looking after me. But (apart from the fact that I rarely engage in arguments I am doomed to lose) it's sometimes better to meekly give in and be grateful than be proud and determined and reject an expression of love.
I'm hoping they'll let me take them somewhere nice for dinner on Saturday though.
Anyway, I'd asked Dilly if she wanted to have a weekend in London with the children and we could do a few things together and then, either in between times or after they left, I'd do the work. However, she and Al have evidently decided I shouldn't go up ladders on my own any more. It was all right last September, but apparently it isn't now. So now they both want to come, leaving the children with Dilly's parents.
It's lovely being cared about and cared for, but it's really hard to drop the proud independence thing. Mind you, it was lovely when Dandelion came and helped me in September, but that hadn't been arranged before and she was being enormously kind rather than looking after me. But (apart from the fact that I rarely engage in arguments I am doomed to lose) it's sometimes better to meekly give in and be grateful than be proud and determined and reject an expression of love.
I'm hoping they'll let me take them somewhere nice for dinner on Saturday though.
Friday, 20 March 2009
Z keeps 'em guessing
This morning, I went to my music lesson (where I'm an unpaid teaching assistant) at the high school. At the start, the Year 9 class came in, dumped their bags in the corner and sat down. One boy didn't put down his bag and only remembered when the teacher was taking the register. When she was putting it away again, he chucked it (well-stuffed rucksack) over the heads of the other pupils and onto the pile of bags. It skimmed just above the head of a tall lad, who looked up, puzzled, stroking his head to see what had ruffled his hair. Only N, the boy who'd done it, a few children around him and I saw it. It was incredibly funny and I grinned. "Good aim, wasn't it?" he said. "Very good aim" I said mildly "but perhaps not a good idea, could cause an accident."
Later, the children were in small groups practising the musical arrangements they've been working on (they don't know it yet, but next term they'll write their own compositions) ready for recording and I went to help N's group with the drum accompaniment. It's just started to dawn on them that I don't behave quite like anyone else in the school. Last week a lad in a different class asked me what I do there, and today N asked the same question. I told him, I'm in to lend a hand as a teaching assistant, and I'm an unpaid volunteer. He looked bemused. "You can't tell us off though?" asked a girl. "That is, you didn't when N chucked his bag, you laughed." "I can," I explained. "I just don't have to."
Oh, by the way, and I realise this is a pathetic thing to think of as an accomplishment, but I finally made it all the way up the hill without having to get off the bike and walk at all.
Afterwards, I went to take over from Al at the shop for a few hours so he could go and help Dilly with Squiffany's birthday party. 8 little friends from nursery school, plus their younger siblings and their mothers. When Al returned so that I could join the end of the party, we chatted for a few minutes as I got ready to leave. He told me something that quite upset me. A nearby small town had a branch of Woolworths, which closed just after Christmas. The discount store QD is taking it over and they advertised for staff. They had 25 places. 1,000 people applied. Yes, one thousand. They were asked if they were interested in part- or full-time jobs. Nearly everyone said that they would accept anything at all. I wanted to cry at the sadness of their desperation.
When I got back, the party was nearing the end and 15 or so toddlers were milling around happily. Zerlina smiled to see me and I gave her a cuddle. She was 7 months old yesterday. "I'll give everyone 2 more minutes to finish eating tea" said Dilly "and then we'll have a last game of Musical Statues." She's very good - for each round she told them what they should do when the music stopped, such as be a dragon, be a princess, hop like a frog, hold up an umbrella like Mary Poppins. The children loved it and I felt all emotional again. Fortunately, this is permitted for a granny, being sentimental.
Oh, and another couple of pictures of Zerlina
A wry moment
Her more usual expression. No teeth yet, as you see.
Later, the children were in small groups practising the musical arrangements they've been working on (they don't know it yet, but next term they'll write their own compositions) ready for recording and I went to help N's group with the drum accompaniment. It's just started to dawn on them that I don't behave quite like anyone else in the school. Last week a lad in a different class asked me what I do there, and today N asked the same question. I told him, I'm in to lend a hand as a teaching assistant, and I'm an unpaid volunteer. He looked bemused. "You can't tell us off though?" asked a girl. "That is, you didn't when N chucked his bag, you laughed." "I can," I explained. "I just don't have to."
Oh, by the way, and I realise this is a pathetic thing to think of as an accomplishment, but I finally made it all the way up the hill without having to get off the bike and walk at all.
Afterwards, I went to take over from Al at the shop for a few hours so he could go and help Dilly with Squiffany's birthday party. 8 little friends from nursery school, plus their younger siblings and their mothers. When Al returned so that I could join the end of the party, we chatted for a few minutes as I got ready to leave. He told me something that quite upset me. A nearby small town had a branch of Woolworths, which closed just after Christmas. The discount store QD is taking it over and they advertised for staff. They had 25 places. 1,000 people applied. Yes, one thousand. They were asked if they were interested in part- or full-time jobs. Nearly everyone said that they would accept anything at all. I wanted to cry at the sadness of their desperation.
When I got back, the party was nearing the end and 15 or so toddlers were milling around happily. Zerlina smiled to see me and I gave her a cuddle. She was 7 months old yesterday. "I'll give everyone 2 more minutes to finish eating tea" said Dilly "and then we'll have a last game of Musical Statues." She's very good - for each round she told them what they should do when the music stopped, such as be a dragon, be a princess, hop like a frog, hold up an umbrella like Mary Poppins. The children loved it and I felt all emotional again. Fortunately, this is permitted for a granny, being sentimental.
Oh, and another couple of pictures of Zerlina
A wry moment
Her more usual expression. No teeth yet, as you see.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SQUIFFANY
My lovely little Squiffany is four years old today. I'll write more later, but this post is for her.
Happy day, darling. Granny and Grandpa love you very, very much.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Death of a pigeon
Sad to say, the most humane thing to do would be to wring the unfortunate pigeon's neck. That was the advice of Ro, whose office it was sitting outside; but in fact he was overruled and the others rang the RSPCA. By the time the officer arrived, the pigeon had keeled over - not sure if it was already dead, but apparently he looked pretty bemused, shook his head and left. Death was pretty well inevitable - a wing doesn't break itself and it had obviously been through a traumatic time already. Besides, it was a feral town pigeon and they are, actually, vermin. Ro asked his boss if he'd have phoned the RSPCA if it had been an injured rat?
But on humanitarian grounds, that isn't the point. When a wild creature is badly injured it's under considerable stress and possibly in great pain. It is very unlikely to live. Be brave and do the decent thing and kill it.
Anyhoo, the Sage is home and terribly excited to see me. He phoned me in the middle of my lunch meeting - I was sorry to have to turn the phone off unanswered, but really... "Sorry, I didn't know the time", he said. "It was lunch time" I said fruitily.
This evening, I cooked him a lovely dinner. He has poured me several glasses of wine and brought me ice-cream and coffee. He has also kissed me. We are very happy to be together again. I held things together pretty well in his absence, and hardly any disasters happened.
The worst one was that I thought my library books were due back today, rather than last week. I owe 70p per book. 9 books. Blimey.
On a book theme, I'm presently reading The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga, which won the Booker last year. Any of you read it? Especially my Indian friends? It's pretty cynical about India - I'd be very interested to know what you think. I'm halfway through at present so haven't reached a conclusion, in either sense, myself.
But on humanitarian grounds, that isn't the point. When a wild creature is badly injured it's under considerable stress and possibly in great pain. It is very unlikely to live. Be brave and do the decent thing and kill it.
Anyhoo, the Sage is home and terribly excited to see me. He phoned me in the middle of my lunch meeting - I was sorry to have to turn the phone off unanswered, but really... "Sorry, I didn't know the time", he said. "It was lunch time" I said fruitily.
This evening, I cooked him a lovely dinner. He has poured me several glasses of wine and brought me ice-cream and coffee. He has also kissed me. We are very happy to be together again. I held things together pretty well in his absence, and hardly any disasters happened.
The worst one was that I thought my library books were due back today, rather than last week. I owe 70p per book. 9 books. Blimey.
On a book theme, I'm presently reading The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga, which won the Booker last year. Any of you read it? Especially my Indian friends? It's pretty cynical about India - I'd be very interested to know what you think. I'm halfway through at present so haven't reached a conclusion, in either sense, myself.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Unlucky with cars, lucky in love*
This arvo, as I understand the young people put it (though probably it's way outdated by now) I went over to see Weeza and Zerlina. We went to the local garden centre. When we went back to the car, because it was time for Zerlina's early afternoon nap, the car wouldn't start. It didn't even try. It lit all its warning-of-problem lights and did nothing else. Not a sound, not even a dismal whine. I tried several times and then we got a bit dismayed, then became practical, because we are. Weeza went and persuaded a random couple just returning to their car to give her a lift home (aren't people lovely?) and I said I'd stay with z and wait for her to return with her car.
After some minutes, I decided to try the car again. It started without fuss. Since, I've started it three times and driven 20 miles. I dunno. Do you?
Anyway, knowing I had to be next door early to babysit, I kept waking up last night, or maybe it was just aloneness. I didn't lie awake, but woke half a dozen times, finally just before the alarm was due, so I turned it off. Tomorrow I don't have to be about early so we'll see how it goes. The Sage is safely back with Wink after his Cornwall trip and expects to be home about lunchtime tomorrow. Sadly, I'm out for lunch (assuming the car starts, of course).
And a question. This is what Ro asked me...
If there were a wild (town) pigeon on the ledge outside your office and it was obviously injured, probably with a broken wing, what would you do?
He didn't give options, but I will -
a - Call the RSPCA
b - Call Norwich pest control
c - do nothing
d - try to catch it and wring its neck to put it out of its misery
e - something else - please specify
Whatever you say, I will not suggest you are an android.
*I know it's a misquote
After some minutes, I decided to try the car again. It started without fuss. Since, I've started it three times and driven 20 miles. I dunno. Do you?
Anyway, knowing I had to be next door early to babysit, I kept waking up last night, or maybe it was just aloneness. I didn't lie awake, but woke half a dozen times, finally just before the alarm was due, so I turned it off. Tomorrow I don't have to be about early so we'll see how it goes. The Sage is safely back with Wink after his Cornwall trip and expects to be home about lunchtime tomorrow. Sadly, I'm out for lunch (assuming the car starts, of course).
And a question. This is what Ro asked me...
If there were a wild (town) pigeon on the ledge outside your office and it was obviously injured, probably with a broken wing, what would you do?
He didn't give options, but I will -
a - Call the RSPCA
b - Call Norwich pest control
c - do nothing
d - try to catch it and wring its neck to put it out of its misery
e - something else - please specify
Whatever you say, I will not suggest you are an android.
*I know it's a misquote
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Z is an Abandoned Woman
An absolutely terrific lecture today about Bonnard. As usual I did the vote of thanks and for once I remembered the structure I planned and said everything I meant to. That is, I linked it to what we'd learned in previous lectures about Japanese art, particularly Hiroshige, whom Bonnard greatly admired, and German Expressionism, as that lecturer had demonstrated the use of colour with a colour wheel - something that anyone who has studied art knows all about but that was particularly appropriate in that lecture. Then I linked to another lecturer (yes I know, I probably spoke for too long, but it was only a couple of minutes, honestly) who advised focusing on one picture you especially liked, and deciding to remember it. I referred to three in fact, because I am greedy: a lovely standing female nude in a room with a couch with a patterned cover, another pattern on the wallpaper and sunlight coming through the window. She wore high heels and lifted her face to the light. The next was a naked woman on a bed with a nude man in the foreground. Beautifully painted and, as I said, we girls don't have half enough good male nudes to enjoy. The third was a view from a window of a mimosa tree in brilliant bloom. As I looked at it, I had a great longing to smell mimosa flowers - I looked on the market on the way back to the car but there weren't any for sale. I agreed with the speaker that Bonnard was a great, and now underrated, artist and said that if the pictures hadn't convinced us, the lecture and the speaker's enthusiasm would have.
I give praise where it's due, you see.
The thing is, I'm getting relaxed. Probably too relaxed. I'm finishing my stint as chairman in June, and then I can retire to happy obscurity and a mere three months away seems closer than it really is. I'll come down to earth when I have to write my annual report - the only written speech I ever deliver. I can't do that unscripted as there are specific occasions and people to mention and once someone was missed out (years ago, not by me) and it caused some offence.
Anyway, back to the title of this post. I could just as accurately have said that the Sage has left me, for both are true and yet quite misleading. The Sage has gone on a day trip to Falmouth. Falmouth, which is near the far end of Cornwall, is some 450 miles away and takes a long time to get to, so he's spending the night at Wink's house, which is halfway, driving down to Cornwall tomorrow morning and back in the afternoon - quite a long enough day, to be sure - staying with Wink again and then returning home on Thursday. I have a meeting tonight, but tomorrow Ro and I will cook something too spicy for the Sage, or else containing a lot of mushrooms.
We might have acquired a dog this week, but fortunately she has been reunited with her owners. A friend and his girlfriend were returning from Ipswich at the weekend and saw a lost dog running at the side of the road. She was scared and muddy, disheveled and hungry and they brought her home. Assuming they wouldn't be able to track her owner, they asked us if we would consider having her - we didn't make a commitment until we were sure of the situation. Fortunately, when they took her to the vet, it was found she was microchipped. She had been missing for more than a week and I'm so thankful on her owners' behalf that she was found by kind and responsible people. If she hadn't had the ID, yes, we'd have taken her and given her a home, but I'd rather she was with her owners - she was friendly and obedient and obviously loved.
I give praise where it's due, you see.
The thing is, I'm getting relaxed. Probably too relaxed. I'm finishing my stint as chairman in June, and then I can retire to happy obscurity and a mere three months away seems closer than it really is. I'll come down to earth when I have to write my annual report - the only written speech I ever deliver. I can't do that unscripted as there are specific occasions and people to mention and once someone was missed out (years ago, not by me) and it caused some offence.
Anyway, back to the title of this post. I could just as accurately have said that the Sage has left me, for both are true and yet quite misleading. The Sage has gone on a day trip to Falmouth. Falmouth, which is near the far end of Cornwall, is some 450 miles away and takes a long time to get to, so he's spending the night at Wink's house, which is halfway, driving down to Cornwall tomorrow morning and back in the afternoon - quite a long enough day, to be sure - staying with Wink again and then returning home on Thursday. I have a meeting tonight, but tomorrow Ro and I will cook something too spicy for the Sage, or else containing a lot of mushrooms.
We might have acquired a dog this week, but fortunately she has been reunited with her owners. A friend and his girlfriend were returning from Ipswich at the weekend and saw a lost dog running at the side of the road. She was scared and muddy, disheveled and hungry and they brought her home. Assuming they wouldn't be able to track her owner, they asked us if we would consider having her - we didn't make a commitment until we were sure of the situation. Fortunately, when they took her to the vet, it was found she was microchipped. She had been missing for more than a week and I'm so thankful on her owners' behalf that she was found by kind and responsible people. If she hadn't had the ID, yes, we'd have taken her and given her a home, but I'd rather she was with her owners - she was friendly and obedient and obviously loved.
Monday, 16 March 2009
Norfolk 'n' cluckin' good
I say, it's tremendously exciting. The world-renowned Ch1cken R0undabout has its own website. Do take a look, darlings.
It's not all about chickens. There's the famous Leaning P0stb0x of D1tch1ngham and the Karate Nunn, too!
It's not all about chickens. There's the famous Leaning P0stb0x of D1tch1ngham and the Karate Nunn, too!
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