The best laid plans…

 …gang aft agley.  Martyn checked yesterday on the weather forecast for central Switzerland on the dates we’d planned to be there: wet, wet, wet.  Cutting a long story short, we shall not be doing vastly expensive b&b in Luzern, but have booked a flat in Bellinzona, the sunny side (we hope) of the Alps, gaining more space, less cost and the ability to self-cater.  (So we can save up a bit for the winter fuel bills.)  It means that our journey home at the end of the trip will be a very long day, and our time with friends in Berne will be a touch curtailed: the last good train is around 20:00.  My current anxiety is about rail strikes hereabouts, but if need be we can spend a night in London before we leave.

As for the Tory leadership contest, I don’t think it’ll be the last of its kind in the foreseeable future.  The current head of the Untied Kingdom’s diplomatic service has refused to say whether she sees France as an ally or an enemy.  Even the current (largely absent) Rt Hon the First Lord of the Treasury isn’t that crass.  The correct answer, Madam Secretary of State, is ‘France is one of our most important allies, which of course doesn’t prevent us having robust dialogue in some areas of policy in which we differ, as is important in any durable relationship’.  My fees, on application, will be pretty reasonable - or comparable at least to the amount she has wasted on jetting off round the world to publicise herself.

Rain

At last, the weather has cooled down a bit, and we’re getting some rain water in the butts.  Too late for some of our plants: the usually resilient rudbeckias have returned in smaller numbers, and one of the daphne odoras has turned its toes up.  To be fair, it had probably reached the normal 7-8 year life expectancy of the variety, and it had certainly outgrown its place in the garden.  I can still see a few green shoots, so when I can muster the motivation I’ll cut them off and stick them in some compost.  A perennial rudbeckia is doing very well now that it has got its roots down into the clay.  It was an unintended present from former art teacher Pat aka Miss, who had labelled it ‘aubergine’.  I suspect her spirited grandchildren had been having fun swapping labels, but perhaps I do them an injustice!

The indoor tomatoes are now cropped and the plants disposed of (the fruit are ripening on the window ledge) but the outdoor lot are still going strong, despite having had to be watered with the revolting local tap water for a week or so at the height of the heatwave.  We are eating a lot ourselves, either in a ragout to have with pasta, our interpretation of bruschette, pizzas or the occasional salad with prosciutto and mozzarella.  But we’re also giving a lot away to selected neighbours, and I even sent a bag away yesterday with the friendly chap who came to clean the upholstery.

A propos heat, it was my turn to propose a text to read out and discuss in today’s old geezers’ German conversation group.  I found a couple of articles in Swiss on-line media about the heatwave, its causes and effects.  One piece was from the rather downmarket Blick, the other from Swissinfo.  The different styles of writing stood out: the former was pretty folksy though quite well researched, the latter altogether more erudite.  I had another piece about the princely house of Liechtenstein up my sleeve, but we didn’t need it: the heatwave stuff gave us enough to discuss.  (But when you get a chance, take a look at Wikipedia’s take on Prince Hans-Adam II.  Not a monarch I’d put on my Christmas card list.)

Martyn is very slowly getting better, but still has quite a way to go.  He had a first session of acupuncture on Saturday, and will continue with that.  The treatment happens at a private house on the edge of town, opposite a field where there was a pick-your-own flowers sign at the gate.  I wandered in to have a look, and came out with half a dozen stems of echinacea, which now adorn the window ledge, together with some flowering sprigs of mint and a few of our rudbeckias.  I sowed echinacea this year, but once again they have sulked.  Very friendly people at the PYO place: I think I met three generations, the older of which have a slight Germanic accent, with some transatlantic notes.  Maybe I’ll pop back next Saturday if I drive Martyn to his appointment, and unleash my nosiness.  

NHS

We’ve both had cause to visit the local pesthouse lately (routine: nothing sinister) and had differing experiences of their automated check in.  It wasn’t working at all when Martyn visited.  Today I scanned the bar code on my appointment letter, was told I’d successfully checked in, and smugly took a seat in reception as instructed.  Having not been sent for three quarters of an hour after the time of my appointment, I went and asked at reception, and was told by the fierce Glaswegian receptionist ‘och ye should’ve just went straight down’.  At outpatients’ reception I was told that the system had not in fact checked me in.  Well, I was seen (politely) about an hour later than planned, and sent on my way rejoicing.  The good news is that the car park system wasn’t working either, so I got a freebie.  I fear this is all too predictable in a cash-strapped NHS Trust (rated as being in need of improvement by the CQC).  I’ve asked to be discharged from the particular clinic, since they have far more important things to do with their time.  

We’re looking a bit more respectable today: Ben and Duncan have trimmed the hedge and weeded along the outside of the fence and at the front.  I can still do the dead-heading and watering of tomatoes and stuff in containers, but I’m convinced that having given up kneeling to get at the weeds accounts for the better attitude of my crap knees.  A propos, MRI at sparrowfart this Sunday down at Benenden, and a telephone follow-up next month.  I suppose it’s a factor of ageing that we seem to spend more time in dialogue with medics.

The garden is yielding well despite the drought.  We have more tomatoes than we can use, there are more spuds to come, and the first of our onions went in the bolognese the other day.  The runner beans, on the other hand, are a dead loss.  We may have some storms next week after the coming heatwave: if they fill the water butts, that’ll be more than welcome.