Oh, not another...

Barbara and Isla, at former's birthday bash

Not that long since we were lamenting the loss of Barbara.  A couple of weeks ago we had an email from Isla reporting, in characteristically robust terms, a terminal prognosis.  Today we have an email from Isla's daughter Nancy, announcing that she died peacefully on Wednesday.

Isla came from Blairgowrie, not far from my native heath.  She was something of a political firebrand, and an implacable opponent of the egregious Shirley Porter Cohen when they both served on the Westminster Council.

She was also memorably outspoken.  Although she had given up smoking in recent times, she used to enjoy reporting a bus-stop conversation.  She had lit up while waiting for the bus, and some joker nearby commented 'if you gave them up, you could buy yourself a toy boy!'.  Isla's response was: 'Are you familiar with the expression: "Fuck off"?'  We'll no see her like again.

A plague on public transport

We are actually big fans of public transport, but it unfortunately means contact with the public.  To cap our bloody awful experiences last week, we have both come down with nasty colds, and have had to cancel social engagements and a day at the hobby.  To take five buses and four trains in the space of two days at this time of year is risky, I guess.  Just as well we have no plans to entertain at Christmas - we shall have a few quiet Darby & Darby days at home.

Southern: avoid

For the annual ramblings, please click here.

Over the last few days our limited patience with the Southern service on the little country line has been severely tested.  The line from our rural station has so much going for it, notably low prices and free parking, but we start to suspect that Southern's deplorable labour relations (and, sure, it takes two to tango) are wrecking it.  I was due to be in London on Monday, but cancelled because of the forecast heavy snow (which did not materialise - Michael Fish over-compensation, I suppose).  Re-arranging for Wednesday, the train I wanted was cancelled at the last minute, so Martyn had to schlepp me along to Disgustedville Central, whence it costs more, and later back.

Today we had another London date for a Historia trustees' meeting, so checked at regular intervals before we left for updates on the service.  The train up arrived smack on time, but the ticket machine at the station was u/s, and the guard did not come round.  Adding to a late arrival, we wasted still more time in the queue at the excess fares window at London Bridge.  (This gives me pause to reflect on days at the hobby devoted to fare dodging cases.)  We were thus a quarter of an hour late for our meeting.

The journey home was immeasurably worse.  Our last direct train to said rural station until after the rush hour was, in the space of three minutes, shown as 'on time', 'delayed' and 'cancelled', with conflicting announcements as to reasons.  So we'd instead to travel to Disgustedville (though the sympathetic ticket clerk, bless his wee heart, discounted our tickets by the price of those for the cancelled train).  On our arrival (whither we'd to stand all the way) there were no taxis, so we'd to take a bus to the nearest bus stop, only then realising that the path through the woods has no lighting.  We groped through by the light of my dying telephone.  Next we'd to fire up car 2 and drive to said little rural station to retrieve car 1.  As my Portuguese friends would say with a resigned shrug, paciência.

But it was useful and delightful as ever to spend some time with Kate, John and soon-to-be-ex-fellow-trustee Lindsay.  I have decided to step down as a trustee of the Historia Theatre company after about 15 years: I'll go once  the next annual update goes to the Charity Commission, probably in February.  Although I set up and maintained a rather basic web site, it is now hopelessly old-fashioned and cumbersome, and solutions are available that are far easier to use.  I was never much good at IT, and the passing of the years has left me behind.  Since that was my only significant input to the charity, it's time to hand over to someone with more up-to-date skills.

Winter already, yet

Annual Rudbeckia - a survivor

Snow.  Joy.  The forecast was dismal enough for me to cancel an appointment in London.  Though I have all confidence in the sure-footed Ateca, I couldn't say the same for Southern trains, which are unreliable in the best of circumstances.  That decision was sure, of course, to bring a change in the weather, and as I write, at the time of the cancelled appointment, the snow has given way to rain.  

Dentist tomorrow, before a day at the hobby.  I remember a day, decades ago, when I had to give the same dentist's car a push to get him into the car park before a very long session of multiple crown preparation.  Nothing so dramatic tomorrow, I hope: for one thing, he no longer has a car park, and for another, it's a mere half-hour of examination and scale and polish - I hope....

The Christmas cards are on their way, and the sitting room is already festooned with cards from our friends.  Although there is much that I loathe about this time of year, it is such a joy to receive kind greetings from friends round the world.  

The sun shone on Saturday, so we took ourselves out for lunch.  Perhaps I chose unwisely, but finished up with a burnt throat, which was then further irritated (or helped, I suppose) by the over-salted fries.  Little makes me grumpier than a disappointing meal at a usually reliable venue, which I shall not name in view of good past experiences (and the fact that we're going back next week...).   But I managed to restrain myself from savaging the waiter.

Lots of time at the hobby lately.  I think it may be that the new automated rota site makes it rather easy to cancel (or 'vacate') scheduled sittings.  Infirmity of purpose comes into it, of course: having agreed to a fourth sitting in the month, I blocked out all the other dates.  It was enough for the administration to send out an anguished vacancy notice for me volunteer again.  Oh well, think of the £7.45 daily sandwich money, eh?

Annual ramblings 2017

Compliments of the season!

Scant cause for optimism this year, certainly as regards politics.  But for the moment we're solvent and have a roof over our heads.  I'm glad to report that the knee I had knifed last year started behaving itself six months after the operation, so I'm walking almost pain-free again.  The eighteen months of impairment have taken their toll: the relative inactivity has not helped muscle tone.  Martyn is well, and keeps busy with piano practice and railway modelling.  My hobby gets me out of the house a few days a month, but I admit that I'm starting to struggle with the pace of change in the criminal justice system.

We no longer have the house in France.  Much as we love the Corbières and our friends there, we were starting to find the long drive a bit much, and the alternative flight and airport experiences pretty awful.  Civilised though the Eurostar experience is, it still leaves a long drive from Avignon on my least-loved motorway.  Add to that the knee problems and the expense of owning a little-used house in France, and it became clear that we could do better than tie up the money in medieval stone and lime.  It took the best part of eighteen months to get it shifted, and although I didn't get what I was asking, I did get what I expected - and under the capital gains tax regime for EU citizens.

Garden

The dwarf French beans and leeks failed this year, perhaps because they were smothered by the supposedly climbing yellow courgettes, which finished up draped across the soil - and the barbecue!  We've had a few bowls of soup and plates of roast veggies, to which they have contributed.  The charlottes cropped very well, and were, as usual, delicious.  The Bramley also cropped well: I shall reward it presently with a good winter pruning and a sticky band to discourage the beasties.

Cistus purpureus, rose Abraham Derby

We've had a lot of pleasure from flowering subjects too.  The cistus pulverulens was still flowering in early November, and the penstemons and hypericums have also kept going.  Roses have been a bit of a mixture this year.  Geoff Hamilton (aka Edna) and the Justice of the Peace stand sentry to either side of the steps up to the grass, and have flowered very well.  Some others have done well, notably the climber Compassion, but others will probably come out (and I don't mean into flower) next year.

Arrivals

With the exception of a few lunches and suppers, we haven't entertained a lot here this year. But we had a delightful afternoon here with three generations of Martyn's family, plying them with pizzas and badminton, the latter a brainwave on Martyn's part, boisterously enjoyed by participants and spectators alike.  I decline to specify to which constituency I subscribed.

Departures

Sta Cruz de la Palma, with Queen Elizabeth in the background

Our big adventure over Christmas time was a cruise to Madeira and the Canaries on the Queen Elizabeth.  We'd neither of us been on a commercial cruise liner before, so were a little nervous, but surprised ourselves by enjoying it very much.  It was a tonic to be be out and about in shirt sleeves in December, which we could in Madeira, La Palma and Gran Canaria.  What we saw of Tenerife was mostly wet, miserable and depressingly vulgar.  Snow at altitude prevented us from seeing what we wanted to up in the Teide national park, though the drive up through the forest as far as the roadblock was pleasant enough.  We called in at A Coruña on the way home, and took an excursion in fog and frost to Santiago de Compostela.  By early afternoon, the sun had warmed the air a bit, so we basked for a while on the steps at the west door of the cathedral.

The late Marco, yr obed servt and Jackie Guild, née Craigie

In the summer, we took a trip to a rather chilly, wet Scotland, staying a few nights in Broughty Ferry, where I had a delightful reunion with two old schoolmates, Jackie and Marco (who, I have just learned, has since died).  We'd flown to Glasgow from London City, which was altogether more civilised than Gatwick.  After that we had a few days with Pam and Geoff in Dunoon, and did a bit of touring in Argyll, which was delightful (when the sun shone).

On arrival in the Ferry (after a very wet drive from Glasgow) we found that our otherwise pretty decent little flat lacked a teapot.  Brook Street, like most shopping streets these days, is largely furnished with building societies and charity shops, and it was in the fifth of the latter that we found a 1960s teak-handled pot for £1.99.  Intending to leave it in the flat, we snapped it up (donating all the change to the collection box...), and found that it was an excellent pourer.  It came home in Martyn's cabin bag, unchallenged at security, and has become our daily servant.

We've made five trips to Lagrasse this year, one of them unplanned.  Our former neighbour Henry died in July, having become very frail and emaciated in recent times.  Gatwick airport is not somewhere you want to be in July, and neither is Toulouse.  The queue for passport checks took a good half-hour (three flights had arrived from the UK in quick succession), and that for the car hire desk - a van in the car park - took another hour in intermittent drizzle.

Testing the springs - successfully

We did one of the journeys by train to Avignon again, renting a car there.  That was our June trip, and when we arrived in Avignon, the temperature was not far off 40°, which may have contributed to the deplorable driving on the A9.  The train ride is altogether the most civilised way of doing it, and  the passport and security experience at Lille seemed rather easier this time.

We drove in September, via Berne, where we were invited to a terrific lunch party to mark Geoff's 80th birthday.  Thence to Lagrasse for a couple of weeks of clearing out the house in preparation for sale.

Wheels

A mixed bag of rental vehicles in the past year.  Rather than sign up for excursions in Tenerife and Gran Canaria, we booked rental cars and went off to explore on our own.  The car we got in Tenerife was not bad - a Fiat Tipo.  A bit breathless on the long hills, but comfortable and nimble on the flat.  The car we got in Gran Canaria was more expensive: a filthy, battered old Clio with 103,000 kms on the clock.  It went steered and stopped, but that's the best that could be said for it.  Orlando.  Avoid.  In Avignon we rented a little Fiat 500X, and I managed to blag an automatic one for no extra cash.  It was quite good, lively and comfortable, but I never got the feeling that I could place its rather bulbous shape precisely in lane.  Still, we got it back to Avignon unscathed.  

On our flying trip to Lagrasse, we rented - eventually - another Tipo, which was satisfactory.  For our Scottish trip, I used the same consolidator, who took us, after a long wait, by minibus to a sort of fenced bomb site in Paisley.  I'd ordered an automatic Passat or similar: unfortunately the Mondeo they'd lined up for us had come in damaged, and we declined to pay a supplement for a C-class Benz.  We finished up with a vast Ssangyong Turismo, over 5 metres long and with seven full-size seats.  It was actually not bad to drive, though the American-style pedal parking brake was a nuisance, and the instrument panel was next to useless. Policy decision: use the big names in future.  

When I went south to complete the house sale, I rented a Mégane in a rather startling tone of what someone once described as come-f#@%-me red.  It went well enough, if bossily, grizzling if I got too close to the car in front, making farting noises if I deviated from my lane, and delivering a percentage figure from time to time on the quality of my driving.  Zippy and nimble, though, but difficult to lower the stiff old frame into.  As for the domestic fleet, Egg2 chunters along gruffly, doing about 1000 miles between MoTs.  The Ateca impresses us with its quiet composure, zip when required, nimble handling and frugality.

Arts

We dipped out of the Lagrasse piano festival this year.  In previous years we'd found it just too long for comfort, and the organisation left much to be desired.  Martyn treated me to an afternoon concert at the Albert Hall in the autumn : lollipops including some organ solos (which were long on decibels and short on finesse).  A good experience nonetheless.

We met Annie in London one wet day in the summer for a visit to the National Portrait Gallery to see the BP portrait competition show.  We disagreed with the judges, who gave the first prize to an almost photographic piece.  Technically stunning, but it seemed to us to lack artistic interpretation.  I have fiddled around this year with acrylics, watercolours (including a few little vignettes done at classes on the ship), watercolour pencils and even oil pastels.  Good job I don't need to earn from it.

Food and Drink

Nothing too surprising this year.  We've cooked a few nice meals in the slow cooker, and Martyn's creativity has put many delicious meals on the table, some of them including home produce.  The catering on board the Queen Elizabeth was copious and excellent.  Dinner portions were sensible, but the temptation to pig out at breakfast and lunch buffets was considerable, not to mention afternoon tea!  I was afraid that we'd return home spherical, but in fact we didn't put on weight.  I suppose that having a cabin quite just behind the bridge meant we got a bit of exercise, since all the catering is at the blunt end.  In Madeira, we were encouraged by our tour guide to try the local scabbard fish, which we duly did, enjoying our lunch at a little restaurant a bit back from the main drag, beneath a false teeth lab.  The accompaniment of a fried banana was not something I'd have gone for spontaneously, but good all the same.  And the waitress distinguished herself by making me speak Portuguese, rather than lapsing into her doubtless perfect English.  Restaurante O Arco.

I get a daily menu sheet from a French web site, and have picked up a few of their ideas.  One is for palmiers with garlicky cream cheese and smoked salmon, and I plan to inflict the same on the art group at our end of year session.

Finally - and for goodness' sake, if you've got this far you deserve a medal - we send our warmest greetings.  The year ahead brings so many challenges that are frustratingly out of our control.  So best to focus on things close to home, and on the love that we enjoy and have the privilege to give.

Best wishes from us both

Martyn and David