Getting back to normal

The chippy came round on Friday to fine tune some of the kitchen fittings, and to fill a gap in the skirting board.  This last needs a lick of paint, and the work surface people have yet to come and deal with the imperfections.  Otherwise, we're pretty much sorted.  Local family and friends couldn't use the surplus dishwasher, so we've freecycled it to a local retired nurse who can no longer stand at the sink doing dishes.  She and her son collected it a little while ago.  So, with a few other bits of fettling and turfing out, we now have garages for both motors.

We had Andy's company last night for supper: Celia was still in dock for another night or two, so we weighed in with company and catering.  Roast chicken, with stuffing made from left-over home made bread, home-grown Bramley and sage, and a local egg (other bits from Fortnum's), then apple crumble with fruit from said Bramley.  We're nowhere close to The Good Life, nor aspire thereto.  But it's always nice to serve up something home or locally grown.

Meanwhile we are still without a telephone line.  I noticed on Friday that one of the extensions (and all five others, we later found) was displaying 'Check Tel Line'.  Incoming calls ring, but when we pick up, we just get a series of raspberries in ring-tone cadence.  Curiously, the data side is working normally, so we're mercifully not deprived of the internet..  A nice chap from India got shouted at on Friday when he told me to expect it to be fixed by 17h00 on Wednesday.  (I did apologise...)  I'm sure BT was quicker off the mark when I worked there.  Sickening when I think how much sleep, weight and hair I lost peddling TQM under the banner 'Meeting Customers' Requirements'.  Two wasted years, though the exposure to senior management admittedly opened doors for my remaining years with the firm.  Given, however, that  on Thursday we had no fewer than five calls purporting to be from 'Windows Technical Department' reporting 'problems' with the computer, perhaps one should be grateful for BT's lacklustre customer service.

Anyway, it's generally peaceful here for other reasons.  The washing machine having been banished to the garage, today's two batches didn't disturb the peace of the kitchen.  And the wind's from the east, so we're spared the noise of aircraft on final to Gatwick.  Martyn, meanwhile, is crashing and banging around in the loft, having rethunk his railway layout a bit.  I ought to be adding to noise levels by cutting the grass, but the old frame is hurting enough for me to yield to laziness without too bad a conscience.