Thursday 30 December 2021

Hoping that calamities come in threes…

I was feeling quite pleased with myself for unblocking the kitchen drain, so all was well for our quiet Darby & Darby Christmas Day.  The chicken was excellent, and the stuffing balls I’d knocked together were a tasty accompaniment.  I woke on Boxing Day morning to the welcome sound of our temperamental boiler firing up.  When I began to feel chilly a bit later, there was the familiar fault signal on the boiler.  We’ve usually managed to re-ignite it, but not this time, so we are now in our fifth day without central heating.  The gas company, to which we pay a service charge of the wrong side of £20/mth, cannot come before the already scheduled 4 Jan visit, though we’ve asked to be put on the list for a visit if a cancellation crops up.  Martyn, meanwhile, has blown his winter fuel payment, appropriately enough, on a couple of convector heaters.  We already had a couple: one ex-Lagrasse and one, at least sixty years old, that we got from ‘Auntie’ Phyllis when she had night storage heaters installed back in the fifties or sixties.  And we have a powerful immersion heater.  And it’s exceptionally mild.

I’d to call the gas people from my mobile phone because - yes - the land line has also gone on the fritz.  The voice channel has been very crackly for months, and every time it rains, the broadband service quality takes a nose dive.  Fortunately, we still have intermittent broadband service, and we’re due a visit from BT in the next hour (I was up and dressed in the middle of the night since they’d said they’d come between 08:00 and 13:00.  Snarl.) 

[Later: having had no word from BT, we eventually rattled their cage - the first call dropped out.  The helpful Indian chap who answered the next one told me that the fault is at the cabinet down the road, and they’ve given themselves until midnight on 5 Jan to fix it.  Meanwhile they have at least diverted incoming calls to my mobile.  And sent a triumphant message saying that our complaint has been closed….]

Expect an explosion in infection rates in early January: government has taken no action to limit New Year festivities, unlike the devolved administrations elsewhere in the UK.  Johnson is utterly paralysed by his lunatic right wing.  He has relaxed isolation rules such that people who have been in contact with someone infected can come out of isolation provided they provide six days’ worth of negative tests.  And has government arranged a sufficient supply of test kits?  Has it heck as like!

We were out to lunch with friends yesterday: just five of us, and we’d all tested negative beforehand.  And a very pleasant lunch too, with old friends and their son.  A delicious vegetable soup, followed by a spectacular  platter of home-made tapas.  We were due to see the new year in with friends in Gillingham, but various (other) health reasons have led to that being called off.  So, it’s back to Darby & Darby again for new year.


Thursday 23 December 2021

Losing it…

 for the annual ramblings, please scroll down to the 1 December entry

When I logged on yesterday to amend the order for today’s grocery delivery, I noticed - fortunately - that I’d booked it for next Thursday rather than today.  Far too late by then to bring the delivery forward, so there was nothing for it but ordeal by Sainsbury’s in person: a delightful prospect two days before Christmas.  Having awoken around 05:00, I hauled on some clothes and consciousness and was at the shop door - along with scores of others - when it opened at 06:00.  It has been a while since I pushed a trolley round the shop, and in the meantime they have moved stuff around, so this added to the fun of the occasion.  My phone tells me I have hobbled 0.64 of a km.  Learning?  I hate the chore of navigating Sainsbury’s ponderous on-line shopping site, but must take more care when booking slots, since I hate shopping in person even more.

So what achievements this week?  I’ve succeeded in unblocking the sink drain gully - a lovely job involving rubber gloves and a bin bag up to the shoulder.  Anyone else done anything quite so joyful and romantic this Christmas week?  

On a more positive note, we have improved the view from the dining room door a little by planting some pansies and cyclamens in the pots on the steps, supplementing the stalwart but slightly tired polyanthus.  Feeding the robin adds interest to the outlook as well.  Just as well, given the amount of time I sit by the window reading, surfing, word-gaming and otherwise prodding the iPad.  
The garden has had a bit of attention this week: the last of the rudbeckias are chopped down, and the bolted leeks are in the bin.  There are still more to come, and we have started sharing them with selected neighbours.  The herbs in the raised bed need a bit of tidying up, notably the dead tarragon.  

Trip to the butcher’s yesterday: a nice plump chicken for Christmas dinner, some lamb neck fillet to which  to add lots of spices, apricots and chick peas for a tagine that will do three meals.  While that was chuntering away to itself in the top oven, Martyn’s Christmas cake was cooking in the lower one, and I was fiddling around with sausage meat, breadcrumbs and some sage from the garden to make stuffing balls to go with the bird.  Quite the hive of industry sometimes, our kitchen.



Monday 13 December 2021

Grey days

for the annual ramblings, please scroll down to the 1 December entry


Dreich, for sure, but when it has been mild I’ve got out and done a spot of gardening and garden-related labour.  We still have no garden waste collection because of the shortage of lorry drivers, so I have been filling black bags and booking the occasional slot at the tip.  Killing two birds with one stone, I filled four bags last week and dumped them in the steaming municipal compost heap.  The other half of the journey was to collect Martyn from where he had left the Egg for a service and MoT, conveniently close to the tip.

Said Egg (a glance at the shape of the Seat Altea explains the sobriquet) sailed through its eleventh MoT with flying colours yet again.  It had perhaps burned a tank and a quarter of diesel since its last visit.

Back in the garden, I’ve got most of the dead-heading and hacking down of annuals finished.  I’ll need to get up on the new bed across the back to haul out more grass and buttercups: the muck Ben organised last January when he built the bed was nothing like well-enough rotted, and the horses responsible for it had certainly not fully digested the grass seeds!  A side effect of the richness of the soil is that a lot of our leeks have bolted, so are candidates for the next set of black bags.  But we have plenty of good leeks left, and shall work our way through them over the winter.

It’s that nice time of year when the Christmas cards start coming in.  Since we’ve hardly seen any of our friends for the best part of two years, it’s a comfort to know they’re around and thinking of us.  Martyn has set up and decorated the Christmas tree, so the place is looking quite cheerful.  Since we now have another downstairs window, both the electric candlesticks are in place.  

We got our cards printed, written and on their way last week.  One of the problems of age is that one can remember the brown tuppeny stamp that used to go on the Christmas cards. Today’s 66p stamp is eighty times that sum.  Granted, my pensions today are about fifty times my Dad's salary back then.  So this observation is about as useful as the endless discussion of house prices!

Wednesday 1 December 2021

Annual ramblings, 2021

Still alive (at the time of writing...)

Another awful year.  We keep pretty well, though our bodies keep reminding us that we're respectively in our seventh and eighth decades.  We have each had our three doses of vaccine, but are still being very careful, and doing lateral flow tests before we have guests or go to others' homes.  We aren't doing much shopping, but rather place a weekly order and have it delivered to the kitchen door.

We've said farewell to far too many friends and neighbours this year, but this comes with age: I think I've quoted the late Isla in the past: 'It's a bugger, gettin' auld'.  The art group has not met this year.  Since I need a bit of peer pressure to produce anything, my output this year has been damn' all.  So, for those of you upon whom we inflict a homespun Christmas card, I'm afraid this year's will be a case of 'here's one we prepared earlier', using pieces that, though we haven't used them before, are not from this year's output.

The world of politics has always been a a pretty ugly place, and this year has plumbed the depths.  Of the events of 6 January, all I need say is that I'm astonished that the rabble-rouser-in-chief is still at liberty.  This side of the pond, HMG is an object lesson in incompetence, vacillation, corruption and moral bankruptcy, with quite a few other adjectives competing for the prize.  

We decided early in the year to dispense with one of the garages, and have had the inner one converted into a study for us both.  We got quotes from a couple of local builders, and selected one of them.  He asked for a 50% deposit, which we declined to pay until we had planning consent.  He evidently understood and accepted this, then the day, previouly announced, before the consent came in, contacted Martyn to say he'd given our slot to someone else, and couldn't do the job until next year.  Company name on request.  So, it was back to mybuilder.com, and we had a prompt response from a chap from Eastbourne.  He came in with an estimate half those of the local firms (cartel, anyone?), and sensible requests for stage payments.   Hemen and his Dad, chatting away discreetly in one of the Kurdish dialects, completed the job promptly and well, complying willingly with our wishes on the details, and liaising for us with the Buildings Regs man, who in the course of three visits totalling roughly three nanoseconds, approved the work, and happily relieved us of over £400.  Though not great detail merchants - we'd to do a bit of the snagging and decorating ourselves - Hemen, his dad and their sub-contractors were mostly good workers, and we're very happy with the end result.  H&H Builders.  And it's nice to know that we're still capable of hanging the odd run of wallpaper.

A side issue was where to keep the lawnmower, which had previously occupied the doorway between the two garages.  A quick measure confirmed that we could get a small shed into the space next to the raised bed opposite the back door.  Assembling it almost killed us, but it now accommodates practically all of the garden tools as well as the mower. (We have replaced the petrol job with a battery driven one which works better and takes up less room in the shed.)

Garden

Big changes out the back.  We spent what we'd had refunded by Cunard on some pretty major landscaping.  I mentioned last year that the hideous leylandii hedge had gone from the back of the garden.  In January, Ben and Duncan took out a section of fence at the top of the garden and came in with a digger.  They also sent some chaps to grind out the roots of the leylandii.  Cutting a long story short, we now have two new raised beds; one to the left of the path up to the summerhouse, and another across the back of the garden, and a continuation of the path up to the little quadrant terrace under the goat willow trees.  The chaps did a fine job, fuelled by frequent mugs of tea and a spot of home baking.  We were still pretty much in lockdown, but towards the end of the work, on one of those fine days we so often get in February, we were able to treat them to fish and chips out on the terrace.

Then, of course, came the job of planting it all up.  We moved a few roses and bought more, and have planted a camellia, a Japanese cherry, clematis and much more.  We grew some annuals from seed as usual: the old faithful rudbeckias and tagetes, of course, and also Musselburgh leeks which have cropped magnificently, cheek by jowl with flowering subjects.  The potato crop was modest this year, and although we had a fair crop of tomatoes, the plants succumbed to blight.  We learn that we are incapable of growing carrots, the crop of which amounted to precisely three runts.  French beans were also poor, but the runner beans fed us for a couple of months until the fragility of the wigwams I'd put up brought them down. 

Neighbour Lynn gave us a couple of splits of her acanthus in the spring, so that will quickly take over a lot of the new top bed.  Another neighbour, David, has given us some agapanthus seedlings, which I shall try to bring on in the sitooterie this winter, alongside some penstemon and fuchsia cuttings that we plan to give to neighbours in the spring.  As I’m sure I’ve said before, sharing is one of the joys of gardening.


Arrivals

Our first visitors this year were Celia and Andy, who came round for tea once we were allowed to entertain outdoors.  Afternoon tea out on the terrace one sunny April afternoon.  I froze.  But Martyn's scones and my sponge buns went down well enough.  Topped out with a glass of prosecco.  More recently, we've done a couple of lunches for our neighbours while their kitchen was out of action.  Annie, recently widowed, had signed the contract for the kitchen work shortly before Julian died, so perhaps the need to deal with building work provided some welcome distraction.

Departures


Scarborough 

Very few.  We've taken a few drives down to the coast on fine days, but our only stay away was a few days house-sitting in Cottingham for Annie while she and Chris went off to the Wye valley and Wales.  While there, we got to meet our friends Janet and John from Wakefield for lunch at a suitable half-way point, and had a good catch-up over lunch.  Annie's friend Linda in Beverley invited us to a splendid lunch another day.  We toured a little, visiting Scarborough, Beverley, Hornsea and Filey in unseasonably fine weather (and evidently better than Annie and Chris got further west).  I also got to meet some lovely people at Beverley Urgent Treatment Centre and Hull Royal Infirmary, having attempted to shorten my right thumb with the door of Annie's dishwasher.  Oddly enough, said thumb, now nicely healed and no longer aching much, is rather longer than its sinister counterpart: scar tissue, I guess.

We had a splendid lunch with Christine and Jon in their beautiful garden in the late summer.  I wish I had Jon's grilling skills, and Christine's flair in designing accompaniments. 

Wheels

The only other vehicle I've driven this year is the late Julian's Polo, to move it from their drive to ours while Ben and Duncan were using the drive next door for building materials.  Hardly enough to qualify for a road test report.  My Ateca has had its five-year service, which calls for a new cam belt, water pump, brake fluid and goodness knows what else, leading to a four-figure bill, and rather sweeter running.  Oh well, it's only money, and we're managing to keep the wolf from the door.  The good old Egg2, now 13 years old, drives like a new car, and has just passed, as always, its eleventh MoT.

Food and drink

Since we've been at home so much, we've been resorting to old favourites rather a lot.  A favourite decadent lunch is based on the pizza norvégienne that we used to have at the Grand Café in Limoux.  Ours, on a home-made base made in the bread machine using a handful of wholemeal flour in the mix, is rather more generously topped.  Heat the pizza stone in the oven at max temperature for a quarter of an hour at least.  Wilt and chop a good handful of spinach which, once cooled and chopped, mix with a couple of generous dollops of crème fraîche.  Anoint the base therewith, then lay on smoked salmon, big peeled shrimps and a sliced pavé or fillet of fresh salmon.  Sprinkle on preferred herbs (ideally fresh dill in season), season to taste, cover generously with grated mozzarella, and add a figure 6 of olive oil, then bake for 8 minutes.  A 300gm dough makes two pizza bases, and we tend to freeze the leftover to use later with ham, mushroom and chouriço.

Runner bean soup is not a great way to use up the surplus crop, though it's OK half and half with leek and potato, or broccoli and cauliflower. Better to leave the oversized beans to ripen for next year's seeds.  We usually make stock with the chicken carcass, then use some of the leftover meat together with mushrooms and stellette in a soup.  The recipe calls for spring onions, but chives or some sliced leek greens do the job as well.

Arts

Martyn has dismantled the huge model railway layout in the loft.  It had become a bit of a monster, and he'd got fed up of banging his head on the roof timbers.  This is part of the reason for the garage conversion, which frees his old study to become a model railway room on a manageable and less hazardous scale.  My old study, meanwhile, still houses all my art kit, but also a decent-sized bed.  We’ve neither of us done much painting this year, lacking the peer pressure of the Thursday art group.  Martyn’s brushes have been busy on the new model railway, of course, and I’ve been doing the occasional Brusho piece.  

2022
 
I can scarcely imagine a worse year than the one that’s ending.  But we cautiously hope for better, and send you our most positive thoughts for the new year.
 
Martyn and David