Alarming noises from the central heating last Saturday, after a few
days during which we’d noticed that the radiators needed bleeding too often.
It sounded as if scrap metal was being tipped down the stairs,
Management denying any such activity. Well, plumber Jez was free on
Monday, and spent ten hours here, stripping out a length of clogged pipe
and installing a filter to trap future metallic detritus. Expensive
job, this home ownership game, but less so than we’d feared - and we
treated him to fish and chips at lunchtime.
Largely a pleasant week, though I’m conscious of how rusty my German has become. It didn’t help, of course, that I loathed my first two years’ German teacher at school. Still, Tuesday’s chat class was pleasant and useful, thanks to the presence of two native speakers, sisters from Bremen, one of whom complemented me on my pronunciation. That was never a problem once I'd got the hang of the glottal stop before words beginning with vowels: we Scots start with an advantage, in that we do plenty of glottal stops, fricatives and simple (diphthong-free) vowels more easily than our southern neighbours.
We’ve decided that we could do with a new bed in the back bedroom/guest room/snoring refuge. I’m too big and fat for a 6’3x4’6, specially when sharing it, and the one we have in there is getting on a bit. So we’ve been shopping around. We thought we’d seen an IKEA job that suited us, but on hacking over to the shop to have a look, thought it rather clunky and wasteful of the limited space. I might add that the M25 and Dartford Tunnel experience was pretty nasty. I can almost begin to contemplate stopping driving.
Well, from IKEA we crossed back rather more easily - and gratefully - from bandit country, and looked in at Furniture Village, John Lewis, Dreams and Marks & Sparks, finding nothing we liked. I now wish I hadn’t given away my old Moriarty’s bed frames.
Lovely lunch yesterday at Kate and John’s. Both were on great form, and while Martyn and Kate worked a little afterwards on the Historia Facebook page, John and I relaxed in the drawing room with respectively the Sunday papers and the iPad, not to mention the occasional contrapuntal snore. There's a lot to be said for companionable silence, particularly in congenial company.
We travelled up from our little country station, since the main line was being dug up. Good prompt service and working connexions. We like public transport, and would love it were it not for the public. Diagonally opposite me on the way up was a young man with cannabis leaves tattooed on the backs of his hands. Indica on the left, sativa on the right. He showed all the signs of having lately benefited from either or both, and hence was a walking invitation to any policeman - and he was heading for a football match - to enquire what he might have in his pockets.
On the way back, we had a couple of kids in the seats across the aisle. The boy kept shrieking until I politely asked if he’d like to go and sit somewhere else. ‘Not really.’ ‘OK: either that or be quiet - one or the other.’ To my amazement, I didn’t get a stream of obscenities, but compliance. The magisterial restraint and glare must be improving - a bit late! His companion stayed on after he left the train, curling up on the seat and wiping her muddy trainers on the cushions. At this point, wiser counsels restrained me from intervening further, detecting the imminence of ‘Clean that up, you dirty little guttersnipe!’ One despairs sometimes.
Largely a pleasant week, though I’m conscious of how rusty my German has become. It didn’t help, of course, that I loathed my first two years’ German teacher at school. Still, Tuesday’s chat class was pleasant and useful, thanks to the presence of two native speakers, sisters from Bremen, one of whom complemented me on my pronunciation. That was never a problem once I'd got the hang of the glottal stop before words beginning with vowels: we Scots start with an advantage, in that we do plenty of glottal stops, fricatives and simple (diphthong-free) vowels more easily than our southern neighbours.
We’ve decided that we could do with a new bed in the back bedroom/guest room/snoring refuge. I’m too big and fat for a 6’3x4’6, specially when sharing it, and the one we have in there is getting on a bit. So we’ve been shopping around. We thought we’d seen an IKEA job that suited us, but on hacking over to the shop to have a look, thought it rather clunky and wasteful of the limited space. I might add that the M25 and Dartford Tunnel experience was pretty nasty. I can almost begin to contemplate stopping driving.
Well, from IKEA we crossed back rather more easily - and gratefully - from bandit country, and looked in at Furniture Village, John Lewis, Dreams and Marks & Sparks, finding nothing we liked. I now wish I hadn’t given away my old Moriarty’s bed frames.
Lovely lunch yesterday at Kate and John’s. Both were on great form, and while Martyn and Kate worked a little afterwards on the Historia Facebook page, John and I relaxed in the drawing room with respectively the Sunday papers and the iPad, not to mention the occasional contrapuntal snore. There's a lot to be said for companionable silence, particularly in congenial company.
We travelled up from our little country station, since the main line was being dug up. Good prompt service and working connexions. We like public transport, and would love it were it not for the public. Diagonally opposite me on the way up was a young man with cannabis leaves tattooed on the backs of his hands. Indica on the left, sativa on the right. He showed all the signs of having lately benefited from either or both, and hence was a walking invitation to any policeman - and he was heading for a football match - to enquire what he might have in his pockets.
On the way back, we had a couple of kids in the seats across the aisle. The boy kept shrieking until I politely asked if he’d like to go and sit somewhere else. ‘Not really.’ ‘OK: either that or be quiet - one or the other.’ To my amazement, I didn’t get a stream of obscenities, but compliance. The magisterial restraint and glare must be improving - a bit late! His companion stayed on after he left the train, curling up on the seat and wiping her muddy trainers on the cushions. At this point, wiser counsels restrained me from intervening further, detecting the imminence of ‘Clean that up, you dirty little guttersnipe!’ One despairs sometimes.
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