Home and - fortunately - away

As for the ‘away’ bit, I won’t dwell too long on Wednesday’s events in the Land of the Free.  Sufficient to say that N°45 must be held accountable for them, and that I fear it’ll need a more vigorous president than N°46 to sort things out.  Closer to home, the realities of Brexit are slowly becoming evident, eg delays in deliveries of vaccine, the spurning of the offer for artists and musicians to travel visa-free, suspension of parcel delivery services - the list goes on and on, so let’s move on before my blood pressure goes sky-high.

As for deliveries, we are getting a lot of them.  Yesterday brought a new wall cabinet for the shower room, and between us we managed to get the brute installed.  I’ve yet to test the demisting mirror, but the lighting is good enough to depress me at the sight of my January-pasty face when I shave.  Next was a case of wine, a couple of days later than promised, hence all the more welcome.  Today brought our first delivery of groceries, delivered an hour or so early by a cheerful young chap.  

I haven’t yet studied the current etiquette of dealing with grocery deliveries, which must surely have evolved a bit since I last performed the task.  One customer used to tip me 6d, another gave me one of her Cadets cigarettes (anyone remember them?).  Anyway, the job, though miserably paid, relieved my parents very slightly of the cost of sending me to university.  On reflection, I ought to have sued my then boss for the damage to my back caused by carrying huge boxes of canned goods up two flights of stairs to his flat: it has never recovered.

Friday’s visitors were the chaps from the fencing contractor hired by the agents of next door’s absentee landlords.  It struck me that, by letting them work from our side, they could shore up the rotten fence posts  at less expense, so I made the suggestion, and they responded pretty promptly.  While they were at it, I asked them to spur one of our rotten fence posts (25-year guarantee, my arse!).  The chaps came about when they said they would, did the work well, and offered to do some work on other wobbly bits of our fence, also very well.  Much brewing of tea, of course, and a modest tip of brownish plastic.  Just hope there won’t be any nasty surprises when the bill crashes in.

We’re slowly working through our last meat delivery, and I’ve made lentil soup with the stock from boiling the delicious gammon.  The pressure cooker was back in action before it could cool, making stock from the chicken carcass.  Things are a lot more expensive under our present regime, so we’re all the more enthusiastic about making the most of leftovers.  Next in line will be some bread: the last batch was predominantly wholemeal, and the proving finished while we were grunting and groaning at the hanging of the new shower room cabinet.  The dough had consequently sunk, and the loaves, though tasty, are somewhat adamantine.  Can’t win ‘em all, eh Donald?