Everything changes, but nothing really does

When I was six, Russia invaded Hungary, and I first learned the word ‘refugee’.  When I was 11, Russian and American tanks faced each other in the middle of Berlin and the ensuing years saw many deaths of people trying to flee communist oppression.  When I went up to university, Russian tanks had recently rumbled into Prague.  

As I approached 40, Eastern European populations achieved an end of the USSR and its domination of satellite states, and it felt for a moment as if the world was changing for the better.  But in the ensuing chaos, the main beneficiaries have been the oligarchs and mafiosi, neatly replacing the party machine.  The populations freed of state oppression became victims of unemployment, crime and poverty instead.  Ukraine is hardly an exception, suffering widespread corruption and poverty, but the difference is its wealth of natural resources.  Today’s television footage shows the stream of traffic crawling west towards Poland, one of Europe’s least welcoming countries when it comes to refugees, and one governed by Europe’s most reactionary regime (with the possible exception of Hungary).  My guess is that Poland will be all too ready to hurry the traffic through towards its western neighbours.  

Part of Russia’s strategy is to bolster the Russian-speaking populations of neighbouring countries, and notably the Baltic states.  In the last century, they enjoyed a degree of autonomy until Russia barged in again in 1940, then again following the collapse of the USSR.  Since then, they have become technologically very advanced and relatively prosperous, and of course EU and NATO members.  But unless Russia’s annexation of Ukraine fails (and maybe even if it does), I can’t help fearing that the next targets will be the Baltic states, and at that point the balloon really will go up.  

So, as I plod on into my 70s, the Russian bogeyman is every bit as menacing as when I was six.  (And my skills in political commentary haven’t improved much either!)

Gas, air and water

Despite my explaining at length to BG why I was stopping the direct debit, I had a phone call last week to ask why I’d done so, so explained patiently once again.  The call centre fellow was perfectly polite, and made no attempt to get the business back.  I imagine he’s heard the same story many times.  Today I’d an automated call asking me to rate last week’s call.  I just hung up.  It’ll be interesting to see how they reply to my two-page snottygram.

We seem to have come through the last three storms with little worse than the disappearance of the milk bottle stopper I’d put on top of the umbrella stand on the terrace table.  I’d to rescue the barbecue cover, but in the meantime the barbie has had a good wash without my expending any effort on it!  A friend in a nearby town tells me that she was without power for 30 hours, so we’ve got off pretty lightly.  

The storms have brought mild weather down here, so the garden is starting to sprint into spring.  The roses are pruned, and my scars have healed.  Lots of yellow crocuses and snowdrops, and the first of the daffodils are in flower.  The polyanthus are putting up an excellent show already, but I don’t see buds yet on the auriculas we planted last year.  Patience (not my long suit).

We have been spending a bit of time on planning the refit of our very shabby bathroom.  It was last done by, we think, the last but one owner, hence at least 20 years ago.  Interestingly, the towel ring and bog roll holder are in the avocado ceramics that probably went in when the house was built in 1980.  We’ve tolerated the depressing beigeness of the bathroom for nearly fifteen years, and in recent times the outsize bath has been just a waste of space, so we’ve decided to replace it with a drive-in shower.  The shower over the bath delivers - when it’s in the mood - hardly better than an enuretic dribble, and our local man says a new, stronger pump will feed two showers.  At a price, of course.

Gardening friends

Annie gave us a Japanese weeding hoe a few years ago, and it has been at work this afternoon.  Excellent tool: we found we were fighting for it when we were both in the garden, so had to get another!  Our friend Bob recommended we get a folding kneeler with handles that help those of us with elderly knees to get up after kneeling.  Another excellent tool, and the other way up it doubles as a stool to perch on when weeding slightly raised borders.  Yesterday the grass was just about dry enough for its first cut, so I took a couple of boxes of cuttings, leaves and fallen twigs off the grass.  The battery of my new plaything had held its charge over the winter: I just need to remember which lever drives the blade and which the wheels: they’re the other way round cf. the old petrol job.

While doing my little-and-often weeding stint just now I was reminded of the generosity of other gardening friends: sedums from Pat and from Peter and Elizabeth are coming back to life.  The fuchsia magellanica alba I nicked as cuttings from Tony’s garden are coming back to life (and yesterday I repotted a few healthy rooted cuttings taken last back end).  The epimedium Jane gave me for - I think - my 60th birthday is doing nicely, and the cyclamens she gave me are steadily taking over.  Looking to the giving direction, the penstemon cuttings I took for neighbour Mary last year have rooted well for the most part, and should be ready to pass on in a month or so.  Lynn’s acanthus is coming into vigorous growth again, and I hope to have some fuchsias ready to give her in a month or two (I failed at the last attempt!).  

Three deliveries today: a bag of red onion sets, precisely six sweet olive tomato seeds and a new heated propagator with seven little trays and covers.  It is compact enough to fit easily on the sitooterie window ledge, and I’ve already sown the nicotiana seed in one of the trays.  Most other seeds need to wait a bit longer, and that is going to test my patience!

Modest signs of spring

More bulbs showing signs of life, and lots of flowers on the hellebores: thank you, Celia!  Most of the roses are pruned (I bear the scars), and there’s another bag of prunings and weeds ready for our next exciting expedition to the tip.  There’s so much weeding to do: my joints are telling me about yesterday’s bending and stretching, but little and often should be beneficial on both fronts.  The penstemon cuttings we’ve been bringing on under cover are looking pretty healthy, despite the green mossy layer that had grown on the surface of the compost.  I got rid of that today and refreshed the compost, so they’ll be ready for their new homes in a month or two.  

Today brings the first seedlings of onions (Ailsa Craig) and leeks (Chinook) through the surface in the heated propagator.  The next seed to be sown is nicotiana: quite a few years since we grew them, and it’s time for a change.  I expect we’ll do more tagetes and rudbeckias, tradition oblige, but they can wait a bit longer.  I found a source of Sweet Olive tomato seed on line recently, so we’ll hope for better results this time.  But we’ll go back to pots.  It’s probably unfair to blame the growbags for last year’s blight, but they were no easier to manage than the pots of previous years, and altogether less decorative.

We had lunch (home-made broth) in the sitooterie today: first time this year, as it was also for a line of washing outside.  And the longer hours of daylight are just so welcome!  The notoriously treacherous February may yet bring snow, but it might also bring some of those warm, sunny days for alfresco lunches: hope springs infernal.

And again

On Sunday evening, our celebrated boiler started making an unpleasant rumbling noise, and the following morning it started and stopped.  Each time we tried to start it, it made the same noise, then cut out.  The local man who did the last job arrived the following evening with an employee of the manufacturer in tow, found the fault and sorted it.  We had to pay his call-out charge, but it was scarcely more than the ‘excess’ we’d have had to pay BG, and he was here the day after we reported it cf. the month we’d have had to wait for BG.  And our local chap would have been here the evening before had it not been his birthday. BG, meanwhile, have still not replied to my two-page snottygram.  Ever the optimists, we have put all the convector heaters back in the attic.  No doubt to leave them cluttering the place up would be a better guarantor of boiler reliability, but let’s tempt fate.  Again.

BT’s bill crashed in electronically the other day, with no signs of the promised compensation for our ten-day outage over New Year.  A lengthy spell on the (currently working) telephone resulted in a credit of slightly more than our usual monthly combined bill for the land line, call package, broadband and two mobiles.  No wonder they need nagging to cough up, eh?

Not much of a gardening week, but we have got rid of a lot of the garden waste, doubling with a trip to dump some former model railway baseboards.  Learning: Sainsbury’s wheelie bin liners are not strong enough for a full load of garden waste.  Said bag burst just as we got it out of the car.  Fortunately, the tip provides a large broom with which we could remove much of the evidence.  My exercise for the week, apart from a spot of weeding.  

We have a couple of crocuses in flower, and it won’t be long before the snowdrops open.  The hyacinths we planted out a few years ago are threatening to flower, as are lots of narcissi, including some we planted last back end.  The cornus are providing welcome colour, but are starting to bud.  Once the magnolia has started to provide interest in the front garden the cornus will get their annual haircut.  The less welcome development is that the grass is growing.  A couple of dry, blowy days hence, I’ll give it a first cut.

Rather unsuccessful gadget day yesterday.  Earlier in the week our Magimix freebie arrived: a spiraliser.  How useful it will be remains to be seen.  The other freebie on offer was a bread cloche, which we’ve already tried and failed with.  Fearing that the spiraliser was likely to join the air fryer at the back of a cupboard, I deployed the former and dusted off the latter.  The consequent curly fry potatoes were something of a curate’s egg.  Or, as the Suitability for Promotion Form category 4 so often had it, shows potential, but needs further development.