Ignominy

What must the world think of us?   The length of time it took to get rid of a corrupt, immoral, lying, self-serving, entitled, privileged idiot of a prime minister.  The execrable debating skills of the jokers looking to replace him.  The endless mud-slinging between the partisans of the remaining two mediocre candidates, and between the candidates themselves.  Right now, what is needed is statesmanship.  What we shall get is a feeble prime minister chosen by 160,000 elderly right-wing men on the basis of lying, undeliverable promises.  Discuss.

Good news, if trivial, is that my ancient teeth need nothing radical done to them for the time being.  I’d a pleasant drive up to the town where I used to prefer to practise the hobby, only these days the government no longer pays the mileage: I used to try to book dental appointments early on days when I had to be in court.  

Speaking of outgoings, the bathroom refit is almost paid for: we’re just waiting for the sparky’s bill.  It’s a whisker less, so far, than I’d feared, so we’re keeping the rest in the housekeeping account in preparation for our September trip to CH, which should drain it pretty damn quick.

And as for the really serious stuff, the rudbeckias are flowering fit to bust, we have daily crops of spuds and tomatoes, and we at last have enough in the water butts for the daily watering.  The runner beans are another story, however: crops are minimal thanks to blackfly and drought.  The latter seems to be discouraging the former, at least.  Onions grown from seed are outgrowing those planted as sets, though quite a lot are going to seed.  We’ll probably crop one of this year’s leeks soon to see what sort of flavour they offer.  Not the weather for blanquette or leek and potato soup - but then vichyssoise might be an option?

Half a gross on...

Yesterday was an enjoyable 72nd birthday.  Hardly an entertaining start to the day: a couple of (very hot) days earlier, the car had put up a 'loss of tyre pressure' warning.  I verified at the time that there was nothing the matter, but of course had to go round re-setting all the tyre pressures before I could reset the electronics.  That's the third or fourth time we've had false alarms on this and the previous car, but we've also had two real and timely ones, so they're not to be ignored.

The warning showed up on a very hot day when I was on the way home from Benenden Hospital, where I'd finally managed to get a consultation with an orthopaedic surgeon.  Meanwhile, of course, the knee has started behaving rather better - a bit like the toothache that goes away when you've finally steeled yourself for a visit to the dentist.  Anyway, I'm to have an MRI, and the very thorough and pleasant Mr Sawbones will telephone me when he's seen the pictures.  Benenden Hospital is very flash these days, which doubtless accounts for the rise in fees and the drastic reduction in services.  

The high temperatures have eased a little, thank goodness, but it's still warm and humid.  Yesterday evening was cooler and quite still, so I had a delightful birthday supper - Martyn's treat - in the back garden at the Hôtel du Vin in town.  Taxis there and back: we are trying to convince ourselves that we don't need to scrimp and save.  Or he is trying to convince me, but old habits die hard!  Nice meal, and we were on the way home before the town centre started to get rowdy.  Martyn coped very well with wearing a shirt for the first time in about six weeks.  He's starting to feel a little better, but shingles takes ages.  I managed the walk down to the taxi rank slowly but almost painlessly.

The tiler was here yesterday, and seems to have done a better job of cleaning off the grout residue (which, of course, he ought to have done before it dried).  I've washed off the residue of his residue remedy today, which also ought not to have been necessary, but as we end week 9 of the project, pragmatism starts to prevail.  But I shall be looking carefully at the bill.  

Back to the usual cooking, laundry and housework today. We had our favourite home-made salmon and prawn pizza for lunch, but the spinach crop was pretty small today, and the usual underlay was consequently a bit short of greenery.  We shall refer to the freezer for a low-effort supper, and will cook properly tomorrow.  Or so it says here, most days.

Two rousing cheers

Looks like we may be coming to the end of one period of mendacity, corruption and moral bankruptcy.  Though I won’t be sorry to see the back of the outgoing PM, a part of me wishes he’d stayed until the next election, thus wrecking the tories’ chances of re-election.  Just wondering whether he plans to pull a Trumpian rabbit out of the hat.  He seems to want to hang on until a new leader is elected, and that could take months.  Interestingly, our local man has been appointed Sec of State for the nebulous concept of ‘levelling up’.  He has been in the wilderness for a while having voted against Johnson’s cockamamie  Brexit plans.  Can’t help feeling it’s a mistake to appoint an MP for one of the most prosperous parts of the country to the rôle, but then there’s not much point expecting sound judgement from the outgoing PM.  

So as ever, we take modest satisfaction from the garden.  The second generation of tomatoes is yielding ripe fruit, and the first lot look like taking over the conservatory.  There are twenty or so more plants outside on the terrace, and they are starting to set fruit.  We may be sick and tired of tomatoes ere long, but meanwhile are enjoying caprese salads and bruschette, and I shall add a few tomatoes to tonight’s pizza.

I need hardly add that the weeds are enjoying the warmth, and I have a horrible feeling that blackfly are ruining the runner beans.  We’ll see.  I  cropped another bag of Charlotte potatoes yesterday: my word, they’re delicious!  There are plenty more to come.

Martyn is still struggling with pain from shingles, which has forced us to dip out of our dear friend John’s 85th birthday party tomorrow night.  He’s planning a mop-up event in September for those who couldn’t make it in July, so we’ve that to look forward to, so long as it doesn’t conflict with our plans for a little holiday.

Week 7 of the bathroom project drags on.  We at last have functioning taps on the basin and bidet, and are expecting the chippy here tomorrow to fit a new threshold to the doorway.  The new tiles are pretty thick, so there’s a toe-stubbing step into the room.  After that, all that remains is to get the grout residue off the floor tiles: my efforts so far have achieved little, and I’ve asked the prime contractor to find a solution.  As with all major household projects, there has had to be a lot of re-work, which offends what remains of my long-dormant quality manager instinct.  But most of the tiling is good, the shower is very good, the lighting is rather smart and the new wall cabinet with its LED lighting is rather snazzy.  So we’re almost there.

More stamping of feet

I have bored you already about the state of my rotten knees, and shall do so again in future, no doubt.  Physiotherapy did not help, and indeed made matters rather worse.  At the end of the session, I was advised to take advice on pain relief, and Benenden offered me a consultation with a surgeon.  I decided to wait and give ibuprofen a chance.  A couple of months later I went back and said I’d like to take them up on the offer of a consultation, and was refused.  As a neighbour in France used to say, j’ai sorti ma plus belle plume and fired off a letter asking for reconsideration, pointing out that I have been paying my subs for over 50 years, and asking why the change of mind.  Silence.  A month later I wrote to the CEO.  Apologetic phone call yesterday from their complaints lady, saying that I would indeed be offered a consultation.  Three further phone calls later, I have an appointment in just over two weeks’ time.  It’s a pity things don’t happen these days until you make a fuss.  I’m getting better at it.  Next target: British Gas.

Martyn is still not out of the woods.  Though the rash is starting to fade, he still feels as though someone is sticking pins in a voodoo effigy of him.  He still can’t bear a shirt against his skin - which makes for an easier washing day at least.  I think he’s on the mend: he’s focusing on planning a little holiday in September.

The bathroom project drags on.  Week 6 is coming to an end, and the tiler has been here to finish tidying up behind the wc.  The bidet and basin taps have yet to be changed, but the door was painted yesterday, so I can at last get on and give the place a good cleaning.

I unbagged the first of our charlottes a few days ago: a slightly better yield than last year, and they are as delicious as ever.  The tomatoes have been cropping well, so we’ve had a couple of caprese salads and bruschette for lunch.  Also delicious.  The original four tomato plants are between crops at the moment, with only a few ripe fruits on the vines, but with plenty to come.  We have three of the next generation growing in the conservatory, and rather a lot more out on the terrace.  The gardeners were here during the week, and have done the much overdue weeding of the front garden, which was starting to look pretty dreadful: I can’t spend too long kneeling without putting myself out of action for days.  So with a bit of help from Ben and Duncan, the garden is looking good.  I’m quite pleased with the dwarf nicotiana I grew from seed: Martyn planted them out along the side of the pond.  I quite like the subtle colours, but one man’s subtle is another’s insipid, and there’s a school of thought here that might prefer a better range of brighter colours…