Saturday, 12 March 2016

Rough Justice...

...being the name we chose for our quiz team  last night, seems about right.  We came fifth out of 18 teams, and a spiritual third, since the second place was tied three ways.  All good fun: six of us took part: three beaks, two partners and a friend of an absent usual suspect of the beak persuasion, whose new pooch is a bit too young to be left alone at home.  The quiz was in aid of the local Citizens' Advice service, calls on which, some might say, are bound to increase exponentially in view of current government measures, notably in relation to benefits for the disabled.  Not, of course, that I could comment on what some might say on the matter.  As for the quiz itself, it was a completely random set of general knowledge questions, plus a three-part marathon round, so our remaining little grey cells were well challenged.

I ought not to have had home-made garlicky baked beans at lunch time, given that the nibbles included sliced peppers and carrots, hummus and chouriço croissants, and that the catering for the evening was fish and chips.  Of the quality of the ensuing night's sleep, the less said, the better.

It's feeling a bit spring-like.  I wrecked my back yesterday, weeding out and recycling compost from last year's spud pots.  Still, with the addition of some good muck and topsoil, our raised bed will soon be ready for us to plant out the 'rumba' onion sets that arrived yesterday.  If there's space left, I might stick in some shallotts, but don't plan to waste time with beans this year after last year's fiasco.  Some of the herbs are coming up, notably the chives, well-isolated mint, sage and thyme.  No signs of life from the oregano yet, but I doubt if it'll let us down.

The wee burds are also showing signs of life.  I watched a beautiful wren one morning as it poked around in the gutter below the bedroom window.  The robin and blackbird were giving it big licks just before dawn this morning when I'd rather have been getting back to sleep, but there are worse reasons for insomnia.  As for domesticated livestock, we gather that Dawn's miniature Schnauzer is settling in well, and that the resident marmalade cat is coming to terms with the idea of cohabitation.  On the way back from our last Fortnum's trip, however, we came close to squashing some sort of tan retriever as it dashed out into the road in front of us.  I managed to stop in time for it to wander back, and proceeded on my way, snarling gently about the waste of adrenalin and diesel involved.  The cars that had been behind us before the incident no longer were, so I suspect there may have been a shunt.

Letter arrived this morning about my recent trip to see the learned professor of opthalmic surgery, confirming that no action is needed in the short term, if ever.  In the window of the envelope was the name and qualification of said surgeon as well as my name and address.  Good job I hadn't been keeping the consultation a secret from Martyn, eh?

Art class on Thursday was a bit mixed.  Someone in the old Broughty Ferry facebook group had posted a picture of the Northern Lights over Beach Crescent, and I tried to tackle it with acrylics and inks.  Result disappointing.  Others had turned out impressive stuff, so the experience was good, and I  spent the last little while playing with water colours.  Hell's bells: three media in two and a half hours.  No wonder I lay down for a while in the afternoon.

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