Annual Ramblings, 2019

Compliments of the season! 

We've been to rather too many funerals this year.  The first was that of our 'new' cousin Gill, who succumbed to a metastatic ovarian cancer.  At her request, the funeral was as happy as such things can be, with cheerful tributes from family members, and a pretty good congregation.  Next was another Gill, a neighbour, who died suddenly at home, aged only 63.  More recently we have said farewell to our seemingly indestructible friend Dorothy Parr, who died in October of complications from an accidental injury, aged 97.

Our health has not been exactly A1.  Martyn suffered a slight stroke in April, and although he has no residual paralysis, it has taken quite a while to get his medication rightish.  My ancient joints are sporadically troublesome, though as a rule I'm walking a lot more comfortably than before my right knee was tidied up.  If anything, the left one is now the more tiresome, but I'm walking painlessly most days.  Our sister-in-law Margaret is being treated for a brain tumour, and seems to be tolerating the treatment pretty well.

With an eye to the above , we've been spending the nephews' and nieces' inheritance on some overdue home jobs, so now have functioning outside lights and a vent fan in the now refitted cloakroom, and a stout wooden gate in place of the manky old wrought iron one.  The decorators came in while we were away in the summer, so the sitooterie, the cloakroom and Martyn's study are all now looking rather smart.  We also finally got a brickie in to tidy up some of the messes left on the back wall of the house by previous tradesmen, and I replaced the extractor fan vent shutters, so it's looking as it should for the first time since we moved in twelve years ago.

I continue with my hobby, meting and doling unequal laws unto a savage race.  I'm in the home straight, however, since I have to retire when I reach my threescore years and ten.  I'll be good and ready to hang up my black cap at that stage.

I continue with the U3A German conversation group, but battle to remember new vocabulary these days.  It's not a bad little group, and there were six of us last time I hosted it here.  More often, though it's down to our minimum of four, and a few meetings have had to be cancelled when we haven't reached that number.  The bird watching group goes out four times a year, but we're definitely fair-weather watchers, and have only done one this year.  We went a few times to another group on iPhones and iPads, and picked up a few helpful hints.  Unfortunately, that group has now folded.  We might take a look at a watercolours group.  Another volunteer group we frequent is a nearby allotment association, which keeps us supplied with most of what we need for the garden: compost, grit, fertilisers, seed potatoes, gloves, twine and a whole lot more.  We'll need some new canes for the beans next year, and know where to look for them!

This time last year, I didn't think the world of politics could get much worse.  How wrong I was.

Garden

Last year's landscaping has not proved a complete success.  The slate chips do not keep the weeds down, and most of the plants supplied have been pretty disappointing.  Everything else has done unusually well.  A lot of the rudbeckias survived thanks to a mild winter, and have given us a terrific show of flowers.  As usual, I grew more from seed.  Seeds saved from our plants last year flourished; Suttons' sulked.

Most of the roses did pretty well too (except for the ones supplied by the landscapers).  We've had a bumper crop of runner beans, and were cropping them well into October.  The dwarf French beans gave a mixed performance.  The new seed from Suttons did next to nothing, whereas the old ones that had been lying around for years in a packet we got from Lidl germinated well and cropped copiously.  We again grew charlotte spuds in bags out on the terrace, and they too fed us well.  I dare say we spent more on compost than we'd pay for a comparable volume of potatoes from the shops, but the used compost is improving the awful texture of our soil.

We got young Ben, an amiable Fifer who gardens for a few of the neighbours, to come in and take out the turf from part of the back yard that was particularly difficult to mow.  He and his mate had it sorted inside two hours, including digging in copious amounts of muck and grit.  We have used the new bed for some new penstemons (a good batch of Suttons' seeds, this one!), which have done well, giving us a broader range of colours.  I sowed more antirrhinum seed than we could ever hope to use, and they gave us some colour for a while.  Most succumbed to some sort of disease (or perhaps drought and neglect).

Arrivals

We had an enjoyable visit from Annie in August, but unfortunately the weather didn't co-operate with our planned trips out.  We did make it to Standen, where there was a small exhibition about William Morris's company and philosophy, and the gardens were lovely as usual.  Other than that, our hospitality has been quite limited.  A former colleague Paul and his wife Ann came to lunch one day, so we had a good catch-up.  Later in the year we’d a flying visit from two of the musicians we met in Lagrasse, James and Janneke, whose son Otto we got to meet for the first time.  They paused with us for home-made soup and focaccia on their way to the fireworks in Robertsbridge.  Nice to catch up.

Departures

We did another Christmas cruise last year: Madeira, Tenerife and Gran Canaria as before, but visiting Fuerteventura this time, and Lisbon on the way home.  The ship was just back after a refit in Brest, and the terrible weather on the way south across the Bay of Biscay found a loose deck plate under the bed.  Each time the hull twisted, it popped up a couple of centimetres.  The noise and jolt were enough to keep me awake most of our first night at sea, so when it recurred the following night I made a fuss, and got us moved, to a cabin that was booked for someone else from the next port of call.  So our first three nights were spent in three different cabins.  Fortunately, cabin N°3 was available for the rest of the cruise. Though the ship was again under the command of the admirable Captain Inger, we enjoyed the cruise less than a previous one.  The entertainment programme was less impressive than the previous summer's on the sister ship, and our table, being right next to a service post, was not the best.  Our neighbours at dinner were pleasant enough, but it was our companions at the pub quizzes who were the really congenial companions.  Martyn played a few ends of bowls one afternoon with one of them.

Leaving Lisbon

We were luckier with the weather in Tenerife this time, so were able to get up into the spectacular Teide national park.  I found I coped perfectly well with the altitude this time, which may have something to do with the blood pressure pills.  Our visit to Lisbon was a bonus, and as usual we bopped around on trams, buses and metros, taking in a chicken and chips lunch in one of those spartan restaurants that Lisbon does so well.  On Fuerteventura, the weather was unhelpful, with the strong winds for which it is known, and a miasma of Sahara sand, which made me sneeze uncontrollably.

Our impressions were not helped by my returning home with a heavy cold and Martyn with a stubborn gut bug.  (We nevertheless have three more cruises lined up, starting with the Madeira and Canaries trip just before Christmas.  The ship calls at Lanzarote this time, so I've again booked a car for the day.  Lisbon is our last port of call, so are looking forward to that as ever.)

In the summer, we took a trip to France, again taking the train from Ashford to Avignon and renting a car.  We stayed a few nights in Lagrasse and caught up with a lot of friends, then motored up to Annie's for a few nights.  She followed us over to Jan and Mark's place in the Quercy, whence we visited Saint-Cirq-Lapopie and Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val.  We spent a night in the outskirts of Millau, with a distant view of the Viaduc (when the thunderstorm had passed) and another near the station in Avignon.  Although our train wasn't until mid-afternoon, we didn't leave the hotel until after lunch - 40° temperatures are not great for exploring.  We'd paused in Uzès on the way to Avignon and found it just too hot for anything more than a brief stroll and a shandy in the shade.  The Eurostar was fine on the way south, but returning north it was late leaving - no announcements or explanations - and the wifi was out of action for the entire journey.  We then had (as usual) to get off at Lille with all our stuff to do border and security checks before reboarding after half an hour or so from the stuffy waiting room.  If we do it again, I think we’ll change in Paris on the way north - good excuse for a day or two in the City of Light.

Wheels

Our familiar SEATs soldier on.  The Altea passed its ninth MoT as usual without problem, as did the Ateca its first.  Three rentals in the year: I'd specified a small automatic in Tenerife, and was pleasantly surprised to get a 4wd Volvo XC40.  Good handler, but the engine was a bit agricultural.  The Citroën C5 Aircross we had in France was more refined, but it handled less well, and the styling is utterly crazy!  And I hated the way it tugged at the steering wheel whenever I got close to the lane markings!  The performance of the 1.5 litre diesel in the Citroën, not a small car, was perfectly satisfactory: the 8-speed gearbox may have helped, of course. Just glad it did its own shifting!  I again had the loan of a nice little automatic Skoda Fabia while my car was in for service.  The thing that impressed me about the latter two was the amount of performance they get out of smaller engines these days.  In particular, the three-pot 1 litre Fabia pulled easily and quietly, with a lot of low-end torque for a petrol engine. 

Food and Drink

We had a pretty good gate of friends, neighbours and colleagues for a coffee morning in September in

aid of Macmillan Cancer Support.  Though we sez it ussen as shouldn't, we laid on quite a good spread of home-made goodies: a salmon and prawn pizza and a ham and sausage one, sausage rolls, smoked salmon and herb cheese palmiers, Martyn's scones (Mary Berry's recipe), Victoria sponge, blueberry muffins and some biscuits: Delia’s ginger nuts and Portuguese olive oil lemon biscuits.  We raised £435, well over double last year's takings, thus setting the bar rather high for next year.

Otherwise, we bumble along with our familiar repertoire.  The barbecue gets quite a lot of use in the summer, and we get through a lot of home-made soup in the autumn and winter.

Arts

Watercolour by Martyn: Pian, N Italy

Martyn's painting has really taken off of late.  He finds that he prefers watercolours to acrylics, and has a very delicate touch plus a whole lot of patience.  I'm still working mainly in acrylics, and am trying hard to interpret rather than just reproduce.  Our inventive art club friend Joan gave us some brusho crystal paints to thank us for giving her a lift to meetings, and we've had lots of fun with the rather random results they give.  As usual, our group gave an exhibition at Bridges in Edenbridge this September.  Pat sold a print, and a few of Joan's little vignettes went as well.  Pat bought one of mine privately afterwards, so that was another £20 in the Macmillan pot.

Keep well, warm and nourished through the winter and throughout the new year!

Best wishes from us both

Martyn and David

Rites of autumn

The garden is looking rather bare now: the runner and French bean plants went away in the garden waste collection last time, and most of the rudbeckias have followed, together with some rose prunings.  When the sun shines, as it has lately (between downpours), there are some fine autumn colours in the countryside near us.  Our little beech tree is turning as well, so we’re doing our modest part in decorating the roadsides.

Sad occasion on Friday: the funeral of our friend Dorothy, who died in October, age 97.  It was pretty well attended - I guess around 50 - and I’m glad to report that the newly extended crem chapel was a much less dismal experience than heretofore.  Dorothy had been in failing health for some years, but need not have died as she did, of complications from an injury she got when she took a tumble while out shopping.  (Inquiry follows, I gather.).  It escaped me on the day that it was the 36th anniversary of my father’s death.

Talking of tumbles, I’m glad to report that my Technicolor bruise is fading at last, though I’m still conscious of having twisted my back when I landed.  A fall does rather shake the confidence of us old geezers, and I’m aware of being extra careful as I slither up to the compost bin with the spud peelings!

We were lucky with the weather for yesterday’s remembrance service: sunshine and only a little breeze, though I was glad I’d opted for insulated trousers, a lined thick pullover and an overcoat.  (A scarf concealed the fact that I’d opted out of collar and tie this time.)  Quite a good public turnout, but there were fewer of my co-hobbyists than ever in the civic procession this time.  The Orpheus choir sang much better this year than in the past: they have a new musical director, and he’s at last knocking them into shape.  Of course, I can never forget on Remembrance Day that we carelessly accepted the funeral slot offered for Dad: 11:00 on 11 November.

We have both seen our lovely new doctor recently, and are full of praise for her.  We called in on Thursday to see if we could bring forward Martyn’s appointments, and although there were none available in the next day or so, she saw us there and then without fuss, took blood samples and did a thorough examination.  My visit today was routine and as pleasant as ever.  How lucky we are!  I notice that it’s taking longer to get appointments, however: almost certainly a measure of her popularity.

Scottish literature

Nothing too highbrow: I’ve just devoured an Ian Rankin thriller, Doors Open, about a rather clever Edinburgh art theft.  Excellent characterisation and a few nice twists in the plot.  Recommended.  I must admit to rather galloping through it, since I was keen to start on the next one.  My schoolmate Jackie introduced me a couple of years ago to her old boss Bill Graham’s debut thriller, Vermin, which I got through in one sitting.  The hero and first-person narrator is a retired crime reporter turned private investigator based in Dundee, and indeed living in a flat in Broughty Ferry.  Jackie alerted me the other day to his new thriller, Blood on the Law, which shows all the signs of being just as good.  The résumé of the first book in the early chapters of the second one made me frown a little, but I’m not sure how I’d achieve the result more subtly.  The Chandler-esque use of the first-person narrator can also be a shade irritating and self-conscious, but it certainly reinforces the characterisation. That said, the characterisation of the third parties is also very strong by other means, so maybe the narration would benefit from a touch more transparency.

I’m reading it with Google Earth open on the iPad beside me, and loving all the local references.  I suspect I may not sleep before finishing the book!  More thoughts later, maybe.

Meanwhile, I sit like a care home resident in the comfy armchair at the window, watching the driving rain and flying leaves.  I ought to be outside transferring the runner bean plants to the now charged-for garden refuse bin, which is due to be emptied on Monday.  (Last time it didn’t go until the Tuesday afternoon, which is part of the reason why our streets are decorated with miscellaneous garbage receptacles all the time.  I hate it.  My unassuming little street of terraced and small semi-detached houses in the neighbouring town just looks dreadful now.  I wouldn’t now be able to accommodate the four bins and a recycling box out of sight without quite a bit of rehashing of the back garden.)

I managed to get the grass cut a few days ago, wet though the ground is, and in the process scooped up a lot of the leaves.  Even better, with a strong wind from the south-west, most of next door’s oak leaves are landing in their garden for once.