A couple of years after the conservatory was built, I sent a snagging list to the company that built it. No response, and I nagged at intervals, but ran out of steam a year or so later. The fact that a sealed glazing unit has recently blown prompted me to make contact a month ago, mentioning a few of the items on the snagging list that I hadn't sorted myself in the meantime. A month came and went with no call to arrange a maintenance visit, so I rang again. 'Call you back this afternoon'. That was Monday. I rang again this (Wednesday) morning: fortunately their salesman was in the area, and dropped in. He has gone off with a list of nags, and we'll see what happens next, and when.
Meanwhile, antirrhinums are germinating in a pot on the window ledge. I happened to be dead-heading one that had self-sown into the pot we keep the bay tree in, and found that the seed heads had ripened well. Nothing ventured, I sprinkled the seeds on a pot of compost, and a good dozen have come up. The other bit of gardening today was to pull up the dead ceanothus. I just managed to lever it into the town's compost bin, which, fortunately, will be emptied tomorrow.
Today's other visitor was a young man from EDF, to change the electricity meter (at the company's initiative, not ours). South African, by the sound of him, and he had us back on the grid in about 20 minutes, after fitting a minuscule new meter. So we have a full complement of new meters (except for the water ditto, which we got fitted as soon as possible after we moved in, having taken fright at the bills based on rateable value). The rest of the street has since had water meters fitted compulsorily, so we shall no longer be subsidising large households with inveterate showerers and hair-washers. Don't suppose the outrageous bills will come down, though. Meanwhile, tax allowances increase by half the level of inflation. Oh well.
Wednesday, 26 March 2014
Monday, 24 March 2014
Garden
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| Magnolia 'Susan |
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| Epimedium davidii |
The old greenhouse staging that used to stand by the back door hasn't been much cop since Martyn tripped on a hose and crashed into it a while back. It was also just too convenient a dumping ground for pots and seed trays. On one of the fine days last week I moved the pots etc to a less visible spot in the garden, and dismantled the staging. The wooden slatted shelves are now beside the cold frames to act as overspill, and the aluminium frames are now populating a large bin at the local tip. It offends me not to be able recycle the metal locally, but we couldn't think of a use for it. Better that it should be recycled into Coca-Cola tins than have it cluttering up the back yard, I suppose.
Saturday, 22 March 2014
On our travels again
A week or two before we left on our latest jolly jaunt, I was literally
tidying my sock drawer and found my late mother's University of London
BA hood. A bit of research established that it was in the
colours for the whole Arts faculty. It then took several days for the
penny to drop that my cousin Frances not only graduated at London, and
indeed from the college with which Ma's college had merged meanwhile,
but in the Arts faculty. One hood thus re-homed, to reported
satisfaction of new owner.
Just as we begin to get some gardening weather, we're into the travelling season as well. As I start this entry, we are in Yorkshire visiting Annie, who is showing us round the sights of Hull and its surroundings. We have come by train, having booked in advance with the excellent Hull Trains at a fare lower than that for getting us the 40 miles to St Pancras. The journey involved three trains and a change at London Bridge to the line through the tunnel under Snow Hill. With a connection to make at King's Cross, it was faintly alarming that train 2 was over 10 minutes late. We made it with ample time to spare, but one can't help feeling anxious - well maybe one can, but I can't. More of the visit anon.
Here in Hull, we have been sampling
fine architecture, lovely gardens, art, history, cinema and the
pleasures of the table. The Ferens art gallery in town has a nice piece
by a distant cousin of Martyn's, Harry Percy Clifford, but on enquiring
at the desk, we were told it was not currently on display. We were
told we could apply to to see it by appointment with the curator, who
was currently away. Martyn filled in the appropriate form, saying that
we were in town for another 48 hours, and we went on into their current
open show to have a look round. About ten minutes in, one of the staff
came and nabbed us, saying they had sent for a curator from the museum
next door, who would take us down into the stack to show the painting to
us. Pleasant piece, of a flock of geese feeding in dappled light,
well composed and drawn, with striking economy of brush strokes. We
were charmed not only by the painting, but by the kindness and
enthusiasm of the museum staff. This is what one finds oop north, of
course.
Thence to the Guildhall to see the Hull Tapestries, an interesting document of the history, industry and cultural life of the city, which I wasn't in the best frame of mind to appreciate - v. infra.
Bishop Burton College gardens and greenhouses next morning. Good experience, spoiled a little by a biting wind. But lots of interesting subjects growing in excellent conditions. I'd like to return when the summer subjects are up. They have countless varieties of hosta, for example, and borders full of roses and flowering shrubs.
Concert of pieces for piano, oboe and flute, singly and in concert, raging from Quantz (almost contemporary with JSB) through to Thea Musgrave, all beautifully performed by a group of wonderfully skilled musicians called Ellipsis. Seek them out! This was at Hull University, which also houses a pretty impressive collection of art from the 20th century, with somewhat of a predilection for the Bloomsbury and Camden Town sets, though also with some later stuff by Keith Vaughan and David Hockney.
After that I was marched off to a shoe shop to find replacements for the boots, the flapping soles of which had probably led to a fall in the street the day before. We were crossing the road to the Guildhall when I somehow tripped and subsided gently to a hand and to an already troublesome knee. Not a drop had crossed my lips at the time, I hasten to add. I got away with a graze or two, fortunately, but was left feeling rather shaky, and wondering if this sort of thing is what the future has in store. Anyway, having found suitable replacement boots, I was ganged up on to bin the old ones rather than attempt repairs. Embarrassing, incidentally, that for the second day running I had put on a certain pair of socks for the last time. The assistant sportingly demonstrated that she too had put a toe through her socks that morning.
Saturday: Home again in Disgustedville after a pretty good journey, if long. The flat landscape through much of the journey made for fine views of dramatic skies. We were chasing a violent hailstorm down through South Yorks, Lincs and Notts, including a quite wintry landscape at one point. Indeed, there had been snow or hail at Hull overnight.
Visual memories: lightning, deep purple clouds over sunlit young lime-green crops; a white curtain of hail a mile or so away, rich pink sunset colours as we approached the Smoke, skeletal trees against dramatic skies.
All legs of the journey interleaved nicely, but the stopping stage of the ride down to our little country halt was rather tedious. But the various trains got us there and back pretty economically, and the car was still in the station car park, unscathed, un-ticketed and un-clamped, starting on the first turn of the key as always.
More reflections anon, perhaps.
Just as we begin to get some gardening weather, we're into the travelling season as well. As I start this entry, we are in Yorkshire visiting Annie, who is showing us round the sights of Hull and its surroundings. We have come by train, having booked in advance with the excellent Hull Trains at a fare lower than that for getting us the 40 miles to St Pancras. The journey involved three trains and a change at London Bridge to the line through the tunnel under Snow Hill. With a connection to make at King's Cross, it was faintly alarming that train 2 was over 10 minutes late. We made it with ample time to spare, but one can't help feeling anxious - well maybe one can, but I can't. More of the visit anon.
Here in Hull, we have been sampling
fine architecture, lovely gardens, art, history, cinema and the
pleasures of the table. The Ferens art gallery in town has a nice piece
by a distant cousin of Martyn's, Harry Percy Clifford, but on enquiring
at the desk, we were told it was not currently on display. We were
told we could apply to to see it by appointment with the curator, who
was currently away. Martyn filled in the appropriate form, saying that
we were in town for another 48 hours, and we went on into their current
open show to have a look round. About ten minutes in, one of the staff
came and nabbed us, saying they had sent for a curator from the museum
next door, who would take us down into the stack to show the painting to
us. Pleasant piece, of a flock of geese feeding in dappled light,
well composed and drawn, with striking economy of brush strokes. We
were charmed not only by the painting, but by the kindness and
enthusiasm of the museum staff. This is what one finds oop north, of
course.Thence to the Guildhall to see the Hull Tapestries, an interesting document of the history, industry and cultural life of the city, which I wasn't in the best frame of mind to appreciate - v. infra.
Bishop Burton College gardens and greenhouses next morning. Good experience, spoiled a little by a biting wind. But lots of interesting subjects growing in excellent conditions. I'd like to return when the summer subjects are up. They have countless varieties of hosta, for example, and borders full of roses and flowering shrubs.
Concert of pieces for piano, oboe and flute, singly and in concert, raging from Quantz (almost contemporary with JSB) through to Thea Musgrave, all beautifully performed by a group of wonderfully skilled musicians called Ellipsis. Seek them out! This was at Hull University, which also houses a pretty impressive collection of art from the 20th century, with somewhat of a predilection for the Bloomsbury and Camden Town sets, though also with some later stuff by Keith Vaughan and David Hockney.
After that I was marched off to a shoe shop to find replacements for the boots, the flapping soles of which had probably led to a fall in the street the day before. We were crossing the road to the Guildhall when I somehow tripped and subsided gently to a hand and to an already troublesome knee. Not a drop had crossed my lips at the time, I hasten to add. I got away with a graze or two, fortunately, but was left feeling rather shaky, and wondering if this sort of thing is what the future has in store. Anyway, having found suitable replacement boots, I was ganged up on to bin the old ones rather than attempt repairs. Embarrassing, incidentally, that for the second day running I had put on a certain pair of socks for the last time. The assistant sportingly demonstrated that she too had put a toe through her socks that morning.
Saturday: Home again in Disgustedville after a pretty good journey, if long. The flat landscape through much of the journey made for fine views of dramatic skies. We were chasing a violent hailstorm down through South Yorks, Lincs and Notts, including a quite wintry landscape at one point. Indeed, there had been snow or hail at Hull overnight.
Visual memories: lightning, deep purple clouds over sunlit young lime-green crops; a white curtain of hail a mile or so away, rich pink sunset colours as we approached the Smoke, skeletal trees against dramatic skies.
All legs of the journey interleaved nicely, but the stopping stage of the ride down to our little country halt was rather tedious. But the various trains got us there and back pretty economically, and the car was still in the station car park, unscathed, un-ticketed and un-clamped, starting on the first turn of the key as always.
More reflections anon, perhaps.
Tuesday, 11 March 2014
Think frequency
The struggle continues. No definitive comments yet, since I haven't had any real reaction from the car rental firm. I reported the overdue service and the worn tyres and wiper blades to them sur place, then by email to customer services, and got a reply that said, more or less, 'we note that you weren't happy, and will pass your grizzles on'. I (predictably - you know me...) responded asking what their policy was in relation to maximum age and mileage of their rental vehicles, since 2 years 9 months bzw. 77,000km (48,000 miles) were both higher than I'd expect from a name like theirs. Reply: please call reservations on 0870 xyyxyy. I took the precaution of finding the geographic number* so as not to pay them even more under 0870 revenue sharing - just as well, since I had to wait 10 minutes to speak to a sentient being. Said SB was in fact an intelligent young man with a clear Irish accent: it didn't start too well when he said 'Well, I don't know why they sent you to reservations: it isn't a reservations matter'. I said that I shared his puzzlement, and asked where we went from there. He is emailing Funchal to ask for an answer on vehicle age policy, and will respond in due course. There was some muttering about compensation: I'm really more interested in getting some information to help me decide whether to do business with them again.
I'm not sure whether it was the same lot who rented me a Focus with a clapped-out gearbox in Glasgow some years ago. (Residents of Kelvinside may recall the stench of burning clutch when the only gear I could get at the traffic lights was fourth.) They were unhelpful then, and I had to go to British Airways, through whom I'd organised the rental, to get a sensible response (a full refund in that instance). I wonder how many car rental companies' blacklists carry my name? I had a good old bleat at another last year, again over bald tyres, and later at a consolidator who failed to tell me at the time of booking about the ludicrous French daily 'environmental' tax on automatic cars (which these days are less polluting than the stir-'em-yourself variety). As the services sector goes, car rental firms are close to displacing home and car insurers at the head of my Meldrew list.
Dull, chilly day today, but the batteries were well-charged by yesterday's sunshine. The vertical windows in the sitooterie have had a clean, so it's small wonder that the hands are aching. The doctor suggests paracetamol. I opt for Fortnum's best Pedro Jimenez. It also seems to work on the weather - the sun is coming out.
* http://www.saynoto0870.com/
I'm not sure whether it was the same lot who rented me a Focus with a clapped-out gearbox in Glasgow some years ago. (Residents of Kelvinside may recall the stench of burning clutch when the only gear I could get at the traffic lights was fourth.) They were unhelpful then, and I had to go to British Airways, through whom I'd organised the rental, to get a sensible response (a full refund in that instance). I wonder how many car rental companies' blacklists carry my name? I had a good old bleat at another last year, again over bald tyres, and later at a consolidator who failed to tell me at the time of booking about the ludicrous French daily 'environmental' tax on automatic cars (which these days are less polluting than the stir-'em-yourself variety). As the services sector goes, car rental firms are close to displacing home and car insurers at the head of my Meldrew list.
Dull, chilly day today, but the batteries were well-charged by yesterday's sunshine. The vertical windows in the sitooterie have had a clean, so it's small wonder that the hands are aching. The doctor suggests paracetamol. I opt for Fortnum's best Pedro Jimenez. It also seems to work on the weather - the sun is coming out.
* http://www.saynoto0870.com/
Monday, 10 March 2014
Fresh Air
We've had a few fine days. What a diffierence it makes to be able to get out and move about in the fresh air after so long. We met friends for lunch on Saturday and walked a little in the grounds of Penshurst place, which has a number of surfaced paths that come in handy when the ground is so soggy. Yesterday we legged it into town for lunch - a couple of miles on the flat or downhill - and got the bus back to the village, leaving only a short walk up through the new development. Enough for a first reminder of exercise, provided we ramp it up gradually.
Shocking, though, that those who have to pay the bus fare now pay £2.60 for the 10-minute ride! I wonder how much longer my bus pass will last. I can well afford the odd £2.60, but admit that the pass does come in handy on visits to London. When I was in London last week, the buses I rode on were frequent and comfortable diesel-electric hybrids. They glide away silently from the stop, and run on electric power when shuffling through traffic jams. But in ordinary running, the diesel motor kicks in soon after the bus moves off, with a big lag in acceleration as the transmission works out what it's being asked to do.
Today's exercise has been rather more practical: cleaning the white plastic in the sitooterie, and replacing the ceiling fan control box which, of course, sits in the apex of the roof. I bought the replacement unit years ago, but have been putting off fitting it because of the slightly vertiginous step ladder experience involved. Well, it's in place now and working like it oughter, so all's well that finally ends well. It's shocking how grubby white plastic can get, particularly when it has been crawled over by bees, butterflies, wasps and the like for a few years. Clean now, though I'll have to tackle the glass soon as well. Anyway, I've been up and down the step ladders often enough this morning to make me ashamed of regarding yesterday's little stroll as exercise.
Shocking, though, that those who have to pay the bus fare now pay £2.60 for the 10-minute ride! I wonder how much longer my bus pass will last. I can well afford the odd £2.60, but admit that the pass does come in handy on visits to London. When I was in London last week, the buses I rode on were frequent and comfortable diesel-electric hybrids. They glide away silently from the stop, and run on electric power when shuffling through traffic jams. But in ordinary running, the diesel motor kicks in soon after the bus moves off, with a big lag in acceleration as the transmission works out what it's being asked to do.
Today's exercise has been rather more practical: cleaning the white plastic in the sitooterie, and replacing the ceiling fan control box which, of course, sits in the apex of the roof. I bought the replacement unit years ago, but have been putting off fitting it because of the slightly vertiginous step ladder experience involved. Well, it's in place now and working like it oughter, so all's well that finally ends well. It's shocking how grubby white plastic can get, particularly when it has been crawled over by bees, butterflies, wasps and the like for a few years. Clean now, though I'll have to tackle the glass soon as well. Anyway, I've been up and down the step ladders often enough this morning to make me ashamed of regarding yesterday's little stroll as exercise.
Saturday, 1 March 2014
Spring?
It's so good to see a bit of colour in the garden (though I shall be cursing the bedraggled bulb foliage ere long, I expect). I guess we'll be able to walk on the grass again in six weeks or so, so we'll just have to try to be patient meantime. There is so much to do, and so little of it accessible without leaving four-inch deep welly prints in the grass. We've pretty much decided to GSI to dig over the recently cleared bed, and heave in the compost: neither of us is in a great state for digging these days.
On the positive side, having been sent for a chest x-ray 'just to make sure there isn't anything nasty going on in there', the report came back 'normal'. So why the devil am I still coughing? The hundred-day cough after the autumn cold stretched to 150, and having caught another cold on the way to or soon after arriving in Madeira, I'm just hoping that the trip counter hasn't zeroed itself, as it were.
Promises of action on the building work in Another Place in March/April, so we'll probably hop down there for a couple of weeks in May. It seems from Martyn's researches that the best deals are to be had on the ferries, so perhaps we'll settle for a more leisurely progress this time. This has, of course, nothing to do with my having watched a Nat Geog documentary about the building of the tunnel the other day, complete with graphic detail of floods and fires...
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