Hearty pursuits (vicarious)

Today saw the annual Disgustedville half-marathon, for which yer local Citizens' Advice provides marshals in exchange for a modest share of the charitable donations.  Yr. obed. servt. was therefore on parade at 09:00 on the common for the pre-race briefing.  Quite a good bunch of volunteers present, from various organisations.  My job was to stop the good parishioners of St Paul's turning right into the stream of runners at chucking-out time, and to encourage any straying runners to try to keep to the left, since the road was open in the out of town direction.  All pretty routine.  As was the presence of some arse in a Corsa who had ignored the road-closed signs, and rewarded me with the finger when I remonstrated.  My only real task was to direct a car or two into a side turning when I heard an ambulance siren coming from the same direction as the runners. 

By and large, an ambiance bon-enfant.  The leaders were well ahead of the field, with the leader a good quarter-mile in front, and furlong gaps between the next few.  As the bigger numbers arrived, those with their names on their singlets appreciated being encouraged by name.   And I appreciated the etiquette among the runners - many called 'thank you, marshal!' to me as they passed.  Anyway, I couldn't have done it this time last year, so, though the knee is stiff and protesting a little, I could at least stand on it for the necessary hour or so. 

And by the time the potentially rebellious worshippers started leaving St Paul's, the road had been re-opened.

The last few days' mild weather has allowed us to get out into the sitooterie during the day, which is a real tonic at this time of year.  Today I've restored the Madeira triptych to its rightful position out here after its brief sojourn in Edenbridge.  Once again, it's covering up ugly blanking plates and superfluous switches.  (I think the electrician who did the job must have been more used to commercial/industrial premises.)  The hanging's a bit trial-and-error, but since the canvases are so light, it's a Blu-tak job.  So, counting the three canvases separately, subjects from Portugal out here are outnumbering those from France by five to three.  Current work in progress is a sunset over the Tay at Broughty Ferry, and I wasn't too unhappy with the first sketch.  I'll maybe start working it up on a board or canvas next week.  Though I'm leaving the doors open on the garden studio on mild, dry days, February is a bit soon to be painting without electric light or heating, so am just painting with the gang on Thursdays.

We're starting to think about the garden again, and have ordered up the seed potatoes, and some flower and veggie seeds.  we're planning to spend much of July and August in Disgustedville, in the hope that the weather will be good. 

Too many obits just lately

Anne-Louise, Pat, Claire and Barbara, playing Scrabble as we waited for work

Sad to learn yesterday that Pat Lalvani is no longer with us.  Aged 82, she was admitted to hospital a
few days ago with breathing difficulties, which turned out to be COPD.  With characteristic no-nonsense decisiveness, she asked to be detached from all the tubes and monitors, and put in a normal hospital room, where she died not very long afterwards.  Above is a photo of Pat taken at the UPU bash in Rio de Janeiro in 1979.  We were all waiting for translation and typing work, and had a lively Scrabble tournament in progress. 
The same complaint despatched Doreen a few years ago - another 1974 Lausanne veteran: Barbara, a mere 1979 Rio parvenue, probably died of emphysema, similarly caused.  (Also spricht an ex-smoker, trying not to be sanctimonious.)

I first met Pat in 1974 at the Lausanne Universal Postal Union Congress, and fondly remember the day of the unveiling ceremony for the centenary plaque on the monument just along the road from the Bundeshaus.  We were invited to lunch at her flat in Berne with the other translators and typists.  (Delegates  were invited to a slap-up bash at the Casino, but we other ranks were not, and had a far better time, I expect.)  One of my favourite photos of the day is of myself with Pat's daughter Anuschka and her friend Cathy Sanz sitting on my knees in a Berne tram.  I remember one of them asking me why I wore a purple shirt.  I think I just said I liked it, and wonder why, now that I notice it, I'm wearing one today.

I'm getting a little distressed at the number of obits I've had to blog lately.  Such things come with age, I suppose.  The rest of you, kindly hang in there - or provide me with a draft auto-obit in good time, please.

To return to the usual banalities, we finally have crocuses in flower.   Together with evidence of one's failure to rake up the oak leaves from our neighbours' tree.  I've potted up the remaining primulas and plonked the pots down where we can see them from the dining room.

Today's entertainment, apart from laundry, was a trip to the fang man to have the latest spare part fitted.  The anaesthetic has pretty much worn off now, and I like the new china champer rather better than I did the old gold one, which broke off and took a ride down the grand canal just before we went off for our Christmas Cruise.

The knee is behaving just a little better of late, which is presumably why the back took it upon itself to muscle in on the act and protest at yesterday's shopping.  But when I see the problems that face so many of my clients at the hobby, I start to realise that I should moan less and be more grateful.

Spring, spring, spring!

Well, to be more accurate, spring, spring, spring, spring, spring, spring, spring, spring, spring.  Oh, and Spring.

The repair to the for'ard rail of the chair seemed to have set solid after an overnight rest, so yesterday morning we set about the task of fitting the new springs to it.  Nine of the brutes, as you'll have gathered from the above.  Before that could be done, the upholstery had to be released from the rail and the bottoms of the arms.  There was no way I could stretch the springs into place and secure them with the nails single-handed, so Martyn willingly allowed himself to be pressed into service with the tack hammer - which he bought me some years ago, together with the mallet, Jack the Ripper (ripping chisel) and much else.  Well, much sweat and vile language later, the chair is now re-sprung, and the finishings re-applied to the rail.  It is better nor it was, but I'm still going to need a new cushion.  Maybe I'll just go and see my upholstery gurus in Sevenoaks and get them to do it.  Or I could order up a few miles of cotton felt and re-do it, myself.....oh come on, man: spend some money!  I've pretty much come to the conclusion that upholstery is no longer part of my repertoire, except perhaps for re-covering small pieces.  My hands are hurting like hell.

Hellish too was Sainsbury's this morning.  I opted for the self checkout thingy, which didn't like my bags, and needed a further human intervention to approve my vinous purchases.  Lengthy waits each time.  Getting out of the car park was even more fun.  I suppose I ought to know better than to go shopping on a Sunday, which now seems to be the nation's favourite food shopping day.  Why?  Perhaps working people are forced to do Saturday overtime in order to pay the rent/mortgage.  I'm glad I'm old, by and large, and blessed with a decent pension - and just need to do a bit of work on scheduling the shopping trips.

There are signs of Spring here and there, notably buds on deciduous subjects, and a bit of white showing on the snowdrops - a gift from Celia, some of which I've shared with the Coopers in Mèze, where I gather they're also coming through. I really look forward to some flowers in the garden at this time of year, but I expect I'll be grizzling about untidy bulb foliage ere long.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, Chapter n+3

When I moved into my first house in 1980, Uncle Charles flogged me a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and an armchair.  The wardrobe and chest have found new homes, but since the armchair was my first upholstery project, I'm in no hurry to part with it.  It has suffered my vast weight for over 30 years, so it's hardly surprising that the springs (already a good 30 years old when they came into my ownership) have sagged a bit.  Full of misplaced confidence, I bought a new set, for rather more than Charles charged me for the chair.  At this point the sports commence.  Releasing the springs from the rail at the back of the chair provoked language that sent Management scurrying for sanctuary upstairs.  Well, the rail is screwed and glued back in place, with the new springs attached.  Turning to the for'ard rail, I had to release the upholstery before I could lever out the retaining nails.  This done (more vile language later) it transpired that the for'ard rail had split quite badly, thanks, doubtless, to said vast weight.  So, the current status is that that the chair is in the sitooterie, much glue injected into split beech and G-clamps applied.  Progress tomorrow perhaps.  Is there ever a DIY job that doesn't lead to numerous snags?

Until the weather turned wet and squally, it was just about OK to work outside, so I've replanted the basket that hangs on the wall by the front door.  On the way home from art class yesterday, I called in at the nearby Fortnums' and found that they were flogging little primulas at £5 for two trays of ten plants.  Healthy little chaps, if a touch pot-bound, so we'll wait and see how they do.  More await out in the cold frames, but they can stay there till the storm passes.

One's first cash sale, in aid of Bridges, Edenbridge

After yesterday's art class, I came home with rather more canvases than I'd hoped following our little show in Edenbridge - but then, only three out of seven were up for sale.  Still, one little piece sold, and today I've made space for the ones I'd put in NFS, and reorganised the pictures in the sitooterie.  Perhaps I ought to pay the vast fee for this year's open studios thing, and get shot of a few paintings.  There's too much of my stuff on the walls.