Today in the garden

June’s the month for roses, and this year they are doing well; perhaps all the better for the administration of a spot of good muck last year.  This one is Ingrid Bergman: we planted her in memory of our lovely neighbour Rowena, who succumbed to the same illness as Ingrid. 

The thing with roses is that they need good pruning, regular dead-heading and the occasional feed, so I tickled in a handful of blood, fish and bone at pruning time.  Even the miniature roses by the front door are doing well, since Ben put the last of last year’s muck round them.  We’ve yet to replace the climber killed by the fencing people.  Perhaps we’ll get a bare-root one later in the year.

The membrane and gravel at the front doesn’t really stop the weeds, but at least it makes them easier to pull up.  I’ve pulled out dozens more verbena bonariensis today, as well as the usual suspects: dandelions, willowherb and grass.

A first lot of tomatoes are now in their final growing pots: the tall chrysanthemum pots we’ve used in years past.  I’ve prepared some wider pots with the watering trays designed for growbags, so will harden off a few more tomatoes and try them with that method.  We’re a bit late with the tomatoes this year, but ought to get something of a crop.  The first sowings in a heated propagator failed almost completely.  I might have to break down and get some decent seed compost next year - if I’m spared!

Family and things

We took a ride over to Rochester yesterday to meet some of Martyn’s Canadian cousins, who have been visiting to hear another family member sing at Glyndbourne.  They’re a very musical family, the Relyeas, and really delightful people.  They currently live on Vancouver Island, where I have lots of friends and relatives: must renew contacts.

We all met in the cathedral, where Sandra gave a guided tour: she is one of the company of meet-and-greet volunteers there, so is well briefed.  (She and the late Michael were married there, having met in the cathedral’s choral society, and Michael’s funeral took place there.)  We repaired to the Royal George for lunch, then wandered round the castle grounds before going our separate ways.  

Driving around here is dire.  We’ve been over to mid- and north Kent twice of late, and the experience has been altogether dreadful.  Decades of neglect have left the roads in a terrible state, and overdue gas main replacements are screwing things up still further.  I wonder what our new far-right county council will do to remedy matters, and am not holding my breath.

More time out

We were Sandra’s guests yesterday for lunch and a show.  The D-day Darlings did a show at the Hazlitt theatre in Maidstone.  Great entertainers, and a whole lot of fun.  As ever, though, the amplification was almost painfully overdone, which detracted a whole lot from our enjoyment.  The traffic was about as bloody awful as usual - I really dislike driving these days.  The centre of Maidstone is pretty much closed off, so we decided to head north and pick up the motorway.  His Majesty’s armed forces, meanwhile, had managed to crash or break down at the motorway junction roundabout, so we had a long wait.

A simpler outing today.  Martyn’s bike’s gear change shifters have seized up, so we took it down to our local repair café, where bike fettler Chris took a look at it.  Following his diagnosis, and with his expert help, we have ordered the necessary spare parts, and will take them and the bike along in early July for him to do the necessary.  Wonderful institution, the repair café.  We’ve had a couple of clocks sorted there.  Of course, I barked my knuckles getting the bike out of the boot, and hadn’t got the right size of plaster in the car.  The repair café sewing desk kindly applied scissors to cut something suitable.  And our neighbour Rosemary presided as ever over the kettle.

With the exception of one very unpleasant foul-mouthed neighbour (she is plainly no right in the heid) our environment is about all we could wish for.  We don’t live in our neighbours’ pockets, but lend a hand when we can, and so do they.  You need to like aeroplanes, of course, since we’re on the Gatwick approach when the wind’s coming from the west.  We’re far enough from the main road not to be troubled with traffic noise much of the time.  And the village provides most of what we need from day to day, and a decent cultural agenda too.  

So things could be worse.  I spent a while at hospital yesterday, preparing for planned surgery.  (I first wrote ‘preparing the ground’, but don’t think we’re quite there yet!).  All very professional, thorough and friendly.  Since the hospital is so comfortable, I’m not dreading the experience.

Interesting few days

We took a trip up to London last week for an evening reception for promised benefactors of a certain Scottish institution.  They had organised a talk by their prof of international political theory on the subject of democracy in the USA.  The learned prof put a lot of emphasis on norms of political behaviour as much as on the constitutional checks and balances, neither of which seems to be thriving under the current administration.  Nice to have our own observations confirmed by someone who knows better than we.

The travelling was pretty awful.  Our train arrived late, and ran short, requiring a change at London Bridge.  I got a 25% rebate on the price of my ticket, but when Martyn undertook the same application, he was turned down, seemingly because both tickets were bought with the same card.  Hardly a  comfort when our lunch cost more than a similar meal would cost in Switzerland.  Glad to report that the journey home went as advertised.  I have to say I find London exhausting these days: one has endlessly to dodge people on the footways, and the constant noise is tiring.  But we did take a few minutes to rest in Hyde Park before the reception, and enjoyed a walk in the rose garden.

A couple of days later we had a visit from friends Jackie and Nigel for a simple lunch at home: hummus, our usual pizzas, and a fruit salad.  Most enjoyable catch-up. 

Saturday brought a visit from Paul the plasterer, who has patched up the hall ceiling following the leak from the alarmingly young hot water cylinder - it lasted less than three years.  Hoping for better from the stainless steel replacement.  That evening we went to a screening of Conclave at our village hall.  Excellent fillum: highly recommended: though the action was sometimes rather slow, the performances of Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci and Isabella Rossellini (who bears a startling resemblance to her late mother Ingrid Bergman) were superb.  The only downside was the bum-paralysing chairs!

Sunday we were off to East Kent for lunch as guests of cousin Philippa and her husband David, both of whom have recently celebrated biggish birthdays.  Good lunch at the Blue Anchor in Brabourne Leas, and a good catch up with family and old friends, and a chance to meet the next generation.  

Travelling is hellish hereabouts.  It’s bad enough getting out of the village at the moment while work continues on gas main replacement, but then the countless roadworks just add delay and frustration.  Years of neglect have left our roads in an appalling state, and the gas mains seem to need replacing just about everywhere.

Our ride over to Rochester today was just about as awful, but, thanks to various diversions we at least kept moving much of the time, unlike the poor souls on the M2: as we crossed it we could see all three lanes stationary: evidently there’s a fault on the Medway bridge.  Worth the journey, though: it was the first time we’d seen Martyn’s niece Fiona and Alexander in their new house.  Copious sandwich lunch: I fear I may have overdone it.  Egg mayonnaise and coronation chicken sandwiches are the sure way to my heart.  And to my belly, alas.

A good German conversation meeting on Tuesday.  Our host Dave had found a couple of texts from Deutsche Welle about (1) German reinforcement of the Lithuanian army and (2) the doubtful legality of sending away immigrants and asylum seekers at the country’s Schengen area borders.  A small group this time, just us four blokes, but it went well nevertheless.  An amusing incident afterwards: I had parked the far side of the railway bridge next to Dave’s house, and as it was raining I had the umbrella up.  A woman on a horse was coming the other way, and evidently the umbrella scared the horse: ‘would you mind taking your umbrella down: I can feel his heart really pounding!’  One gladly complied.

The garden is growing well - the weeds in particular.  The bees are having a good time too.  I haven’t seen too many honey bees in recent days, but we’ll surely see them in their dozens when the sedum comes into flower. 

The tomatoes are coming along well at the second attempt, so I’ll get them planted in their definitive pots in the coming days.  The spuds meanwhile are also doing well, so we’re hoping for a decent crop this year.  The apple tree has set a lot of fruit, but the June drop seems to have started a few days early!  Most of our strawberry plants have been eaten by slugs and snails, but we have a few plants left, and hope for the best.  We aren’t expecting much of a crop from the blueberries this year.  I think a combination of local competition and drought have sent it off into a sulk.  Ah, the frustrations of suburban gardening on heavy clay!

Garden

An encouraging time of year, as old favourites come back to life, and we find spaces for new ones.  This pink rose is Geoff Hamilton: we planted it almost 17 years ago in memory of Martyn’s mother shortly after she died.  It’s a bit sentimental, I suppose, but it’s better than sending cut flowers.  We planted a Compassion in memory of my sister-in-law Margaret, and it is growing strongly on a trellis at the side of the house.  Elsewhere in the garden we have creamy white Diamond Days Forever (for brother-in-law Michael), Phab Gold (for nephew Tim) and Ingrid Bergman (for neighbour Rowena).  They all help to bring back the good memories. 

We went looking today for a replacement climber for the one that the fencing people killed when they added a spur to our neighbours’ fence, but couldn’t find one that would tolerate the predominantly shady position it’ll occupy.  I’ll do a spot of research before we go looking again.

At the second attempt I’ve got some tomato seed to germinate.  It means that the crop will be late and smaller, but we hope to have a supply of delicious Sweet Olive tomatoes in the summer.  We have lots of potatoes coming on in the larger raised bed, and also in the bed where we grew spuds last year.  Not part of the plan: I’d intended it to be a herb bed, right at the kitchen door.  We obviously didn’t do a very good job of cropping last year’s spuds!  I have few hopes for them, though: the tomatoes we grew there later last year got blight.

The bulbs have finished flowering in the borders and containers, and the polyanthus are past their best.  We’ve started moving the latter to nursery beds for a bit of nurture before we plant them out again in the autumn.  In their place are petunias, nicotianas and trailing lobelias for summer colour.  The oriental poppies are coming into flower again, much to our delight - and that of the bees.  Unfortunately they have a short flowering season, but they are spectacular.  We have a pale pink one at the front of the house: it took a year or two off after we had the front garden laid to green slate clippings, but they are notoriously difficult to kill, I’m glad to say.  

Another short-life beauty is the iris sibirica.  We have a lot of the lighter blue kind, descended from my mother’s plants, but only one of this richer blue, given to us by my art teacher Pat.  

Another gift from her is a very vigorous sedum, but that’s a month or two off its rather longer flowering season.  That’s another subject that attracts dozens of honey bees in summer, so that’s something else to look forward to.  Unfortunately, the bees are as attractive  to the hornets as the sedum is to the bees, so we get to watch nature at its harshest as well as its most beautiful.

The grass is cut, the laundry is up to date, so we can take some time off.  Today we have taken a trip down to Rye Harbour for lunch at a favourite pub, the William the Conqueror.  Martyn can seldom resist fish and chips: I went for a rather good halloumi burger.  It came piled up with aubergine, tomato, red pepper and a big field mushroom, and was rather delicious.  Back to work tomorrow, I think:  there are lots more containers to plant up for summer colour.

 

EDF - ever get that sinking feeling?

When we got the solar panels fitted last year I registered with our energy supplier, Électricité de France, under the Smart Export Guarantee scheme, a process that took months.  I emailed a few days ago to ask where my money was, and got an automatic reply today, telling me how to register…. It doesn’t help that the phone number they gave in the email gets the ‘number not recognised’ tone.  I have fired off a terse email.  Watch this space.

I did not choose to get my supply from EDF: the regulator slammed us to them when our old supplier went tits-up.  It then took them getting on for a year to act on our direct debit mandate, so we finished up with a whopping first bill.  We have stayed with EDF so far because, with everything else that’s going on in our lives, switching is an ordeal we prefer to avoid.  But next time our contract ends, I think we’ll be changing supplier and export customer malgré tout.

Calamities come in threes - I hope…

The oven packing up was a minor inconvenience.  My tumble in the street is still bothering me ten days on.  And last Tuesday we came down to find water dripping from the hall ceiling.  Again.  We had a new hot water cylinder fitted barely three years ago, and the bugger was leaking already.  Anyway, the Taylor twins have fitted a new stainless steel cylinder which should, they assure us, see us out.  Famous last words.  Plasterer comes tomorrow, then we have to decide whether to repaint the ceiling ourselves or GSI.

Well, the fettled oven did its job yesterday, roasting a chicken for our lunch with Marion and Derry, and some amuse-bouche with the aperitifs.  Palmiers with red pesto and prosciutto: our usual ones use garlicky cream cheese and smoked salmon, but Marion can’t eat fish.  Nice afternoon in good company.  We have been dining since then on the leftovers!

Getting old

Nasty surprise on Easter Sunday: we’d prepared a leg of lamb to feed Sis-in-law Sandra.  I did my usual OCD cooking timetable, but having set the oven at the appointed time, found that it had not heated.  Fortunately, we have a small combi oven in the same column, so lunch was only delayed by half an hour.  We have meanwhile contacted our excellent fettlers of electricals, who sent a chap within a few hours to replace the heating element.  Haven’t had the bill yet…

I was already starting to get nervous about walking on the uneven footways hereabouts.  Sure enough, after a u3a new members’ meeting yesterday, I tripped and fell on the way back to the car park, grazing my knees and cutting the tips of a finger and a thumb.  A young chap of SE Asian appearance rushed to help me: there are some kind people around.  The right knee was already sore following a fall in our holiday flat on the IoW, and it’s a bloody sight sorer now.  I left a trail of blood to the car - which it took me ages to find in the unfamiliar car park.  The 1999 vintage German first aid kit was little help: plenty of gauze, but no plasters or adhesive tape.  (Now remedied.). To add insult to injury, despite thorough preparation of our u3a stall (v. supra) we failed to sign anyone up for the German conversation group we were representing.  

Oh well.  I’ve been out in the garden today doing token watering and weeding.  We’re sort of between seasons at the moment: the bulbs have practically finished, and the roses are starting to bud.  Needless to say, the greenfly are back on the three roses we planted last year, so a suitable product is on the shopping list.  The viburnum at the side of the house will be magnificent in a week or so, and I’m looking forward to seeing how the oriental poppies will do.  We bought some new ones last year, and some of the others appear to have spread or self sown.

Driving hereabouts becomes ever more of a trial.  We’ve just finished two weeks of disruption when a key road to our end of town was closed for work on the gas mains.  Now the main road through the village is being dug up for the same purpose, with single track operation and temporary traffic lights.  The knock-on effects paralyse various other roads - including the one that has just re-opened.  Said road took me about 25 minutes yesterday afternoon cf. the usual 2-3.  Glad I don’t have to use it for work: I expect a resurgence of ‘working from home’ will ensue.

And home again

What do I make of the Isle of Wight?  Mixed bag, really.  I was expecting it to be quaint and old-fashioned.  Although I saw some little clusters of thatched houses and pubs, there are sprawling 20th century suburbs like everywhere else, and all the familiar names: Morrison, Sainsbury, Co-op, Aldi and Lidl.  Traffic, even off-season, was busy in the towns and on the main roads, and there was no shortage of aggressive young drivers in white vans.  

But the landscape is varied, ranging from bleak moorland to spectacular coastal scenery, and the place was blooming fit to bust with subjects that wouldn’t stand a chance further north.  The gardens at Osborne are a picture at the moment, and even at the IoW Steam Railway, the roses have responded well to my kind of pruning (hard!) and look really healthy and promising.

The railway visit was fun but rather expensive.  Pre-war rolling stock hauled by an ex-Army saddle tank 0-6-0.  Very comfortable, in stark contrast to modern rolling stock.  There is also an interesting and well-labelled museum.  Primroses and wind anemones in profusion along the track side, and of course lots of blossom in the trees.  We filled Monday with visits: the donkey sanctuary in the morning and Osborne House and gardens in the afternoon.  The donkey sanctuary is much bigger than we’d expected: they have about 180 donkeys, a mule and a white pony.  The donkeys are lovely tranquil beasts - except when they bring round a barrow of hay!  

Osborne is spectacular and period-correct ostentatious.  Vulgar though it all is, you cannot but admire the workmanship, particularly of the ceilings.  Lots of well-informed and enthusiastic volunteers to explain stuff as you go round.  My step count for the day was close to three times my target, so I was a shade footsore by evening.

Between the two visits we went across to Ryde for a stroll round and fish and chips on the Esplanade, and watched the hovercraft leaving and returning on the short crossing to Portsmouth.  Part of the reason for going there was that there is an EV charging point in the car park closest to the seafront: it delivered a full charge while we explored and had lunch.  Glad I’ve got the hang of that at last.  Much dearer than charging at home overnight, of course, but it’s still cheaper than combustion fuel.

Our digs were expensive and disappointing.  The kitchen was well-equipped but cheaply furnished, and we had to wash most of the crockery, cutlery and pans before we could use them.  Storage space everywhere bar the kitchen was close to non-existent, and we had to buy toilet and kitchen paper, as well as seasonings, which we usually expect to find in holiday lets.  Granted, they had provided a pint of milk, but we’d brought that anyway.  We’ve had bigger and better flats for substantially less, even in Switzerland.  But the place was quiet, and the view was stupendous.

We got to Fishbourne this morning in time for the ferry before the one we’d booked, so were in Pompey by the time we were due to leave Fishbourne.  Not a bad drive home (particularly since Martyn drove!) but the noisy M25 surface on much of the south-west seems to be exaggerated by the low profile tyres on the present car: most unpleasant.  Anyway, we were home in time for lunch of the sandwiches I’d expected to have somewhere en route.

The garden has not stood still, and the grass now definitely wants a cut!  Token gardening today: I’ve dead-headed a few daffs and hauled out a handful of weeds.  We seem to have had some decent rain while we were away: the big water butt is full to the brim.  Where we were, I think there was overnight rain one night, but we didn’t get wet: temperatures were on the chilly side, particularly first thing, but we were able to get out in the fresh air: not bad for a British April.

On the move again

We are treating ourselves to a few days away on the Isle of Wight: this the view from our digs.  The drive rather tired me out: I’m a bit short of stamina these days.  Before we checked in, we found a supermarket and an EV charging station in nearby Shanklin, so that’s the admin sorted.  We’re looking forward to exploring, or rather I am, and Martyn is looking forward to revisiting old haunts.  

Quiet afternoon and evening today: we brought our supper with us, so are getting to know the kitchen.  The flat has all we need: it’s not up the standard of places we’ve used in Switzerland, but at least there are comfortable chairs to relax in (unlike at our digs in Bern last year).  The view is delightful, and changes constantly as the day wears on, and the place is very quiet.  Watch this space.

More gardening (what else?)

Today being the last of a spell of fine days, we’ve been out being strenuous in the garden.  Martyn has cleared out the pond, and I’ve finished hacking down the cornus.  The front looks a bit desolate in consequence, but it’s a necessary job if we’re to have winter colour again.  I was pleased to find that one branch of the lime green cornus had layered quite well, so that’s potted up ready to go to its new home with one of my German conversation crowd.  

At the back, the roses are responding well to my pretty ruthless pruning, and we’re happy to see that the cream hellebore has bounced back from similarly harsh treatment from gardener Ben.  It’s nearly time to start cutting the grass again, but I’ll leave that until the next dry spell.

Puzzled, Disgustedville

I still struggle to believe what I’m hearing from the Untied States.  It seems to me that N°47 is being an elohesra for the sake of being an elohesra.  (Invert.)  Meanwhile, in the Untied Kingdom, the government seems to be doing much the same: stealing from the poor to give to the rich.  How about a wealth tax, Madam Chancellor?  How about some additional levels of Council Tax to haul in a bit of dosh from the mega-rich and absentee oligarchs sitting on vacant high-value properties?  We are very glad to be shot of the incompetent tories, but aren’t convinced that the new lot are a whole lot better.

Phew

Thanks to Martyn’s quiet supervision, I finally managed to charge the car today at Sainsbury’s.  Must admit that it was a case of RTFI: Read The …. Instructions.  I ought to have got this worked out long ago, but with our driving pattern, it’s usually enough to do an overnight charge at home.  

Garden waking up

The roses are all pruned, and I’m about to make a start on the various cornus shrubs, which are hurtling out of dormancy.  A nice surprise today, when I looked at the mini greenhouse: the fuchsias in the hanging baskets are coming back to life.  Their geranium and lobelia neighbours, however, did not make it through the winter, but there are geranium cuttings in the sitooterie - one of which I’ve had to discourage from flowering too soon.  Anyway, the hanging baskets are tidied up, top dressed with fresh compost and grit, watered well nd put back under cover.  The roses are responding well to my usual brutal pruning and feeding.  The crocuses and snowdrops are starting to go over, but we have various lots of daffodils in flower, and tulips and hyacinths are coming on.

All this may have been down to the extraordinarily mild weather in recent days.  This may change: we had quite a heavy hail shower this afternoon: short sleeves one day, hailstones the next.  Well, let’s hope for the best.  Our neighbour’s pink camellia is covered in flowers.  Our white one is budding up pretty well, but the red one is less promising.  

The mild weather has encouraged me to get out a bit on my hind legs, which is helping me towards my still very modest daily step count goal.  The knees are not encouraging such efforts, and winter inactivity has sapped energy levels and added weight.  But I’m still the right side of the grass, so that’s something to be grateful for.

Having lately had major expenditure on the fence following storm damage, wind has been somewhat on my mind (as well as elsewhere, of course).  For yesterday’s German conversation gathering it was my turn to host, so I sent out a couple of pieces about the winds that afflict Switzerland, the Bise and the Föhn.  For such a banal subject, the dialogue was really pretty good, and we all learned some new vocabulary.  It’s a friendly little group, and it helps me to cling on to what remains of my fluency.

Nice day for a drive…

…were it not to a funeral, and routed via the M25 and A12.  There was a very decent turnout, and the service was a bit shorter than my cousin Gill’s, Chris’s late wife’s, nearly five years ago.  (Tempus don’t half fugit!)  Chris’s daughters each contributed beautifully to the service.  I shuddered on reading the order of service that the service would end with Widor’s Toccata (from his Symphony N°5), since the organist got spectacularly lost that time.  Well, he got lost again this time, but retrievably.  We didn’t hang round till the end…. Though there was no wake afterwards - the crem slot was straight after the service - but we did get a chance to speak briefly with the four cousins as we left.

Having left plenty of time for the journey, we had a chance to look round the historic centre of Lavenham, and for an early lunch in a quaint tea shop on the main drag.  (I’m now paying for the generous salad…)

The travelling was not too unpleasant, but the roads were pretty busy.  Since the journey involved a round trip of 180 miles or so, I had a touch of range anxiety: motorway driving notoriously eats up battery charge.  But we got home with close to 20% - 60-ish miles - left ‘in the tank’.  The range is proving disappointing, so I need to master the art of using public charging stations.  I’d hoped to charge the battery this morning at Sainsbury’s, but the only available charging slot had an incompatible plug.  Saturday morning is plainly not the day to charge the car: the shops were jumping, and the car park was consequently jam packed.  I did wander along to the garden shop nearby, and it does have compatible equipment: not all that helpful, since one doesn’t want to spend time and money in the the café while the car does its voltaic stuff.  Anyway, the car is plugged in for an overnight charge at home, and I’ll check Sainsbury’s the next time I need to shop on a quieter day.

On Wednesday we had supper with old friends Jenny and Andy: Jen’s mother Jean lived next door to me when I was in my first little house, and we became friendly during her last months - 42 years ago, for goodness’ sake!  I used to cut her grass, and occasionally took her loveable Jack Russell, Daisy, for a walk.  Jean’s garden backed on to mine by my back door, and Daisy was always up at the fence for a bit of fuss when I got home from work.  I remember an evening during Jean’s last days when I was painting the door to the West Wing (outside WC).  Jean came up to the fence with a gin and tonic that would have stunned a horse, just to say thank you for the really modest help I’d given her.  I still have a couple of pot sinks that she’d brought down from Liverpool, and which Andy and Jen passed on to me: one is planted with bulbs and primulas, the other with oregano and thyme.

Jen and Andy have two endearing rescue dogs, Yana and Evie, the latter of which is loud and vivacious despite lacking a right front leg.  I’m not a great dog fan, but often find that I like the ones I’m introduced to!  Jen had prepared a delicious supper: a salmon, jumbo prawn and scallop gratin, which I shall be looking to emulate.

We have a full complement of fences again, and a less full housekeeping account in consequence.  The day after the fence work began, BT turned up to lay the fibre optic cable to the house.  Fortunately, that cost falls to BT, which is phasing out its circuit switched copper network, so as to shrink its vast property estate - and capitalise on the scrap value of its copper cables.  Just as well, since three or four chaps were here for three days.  My tea-making skills have consequently been in much demand.  Nice to know that one can be modestly useful in one’s declining years.

Noises off

 

The replacement of our side fence began yesterday, so we’ve been treated to sounds of drilling, sawing and angle grinding: more to come tomorrow.  The chaps are doing a cracking job, and I think the new concrete posts and gravel boards promise a longer life than the old timber ones.  Or let’s hope so anyway.  This is the second time we’ve had to have this fence replaced.  The December ‘named storms’ wrought havoc at the other side of the garden, so they’ll move on to that next.  At the top of the garden, another of our neighbours’ fence posts has rotted: I suspect all that’s keeping it standing is our rose training wires. 

Out the front, work has began to install our new fibre optic telephone cable, so there’s a digger making a hole in the footpath, and a powered circular saw cutting a trench from the hole along to where the cable will come into the garden.  We didn’t get any notice of the job, so a lot of the fencing materials are lying right where the cable needs to run.

This all requires a steady supply of teas and coffees for the five workmen, of course, but they all seem nice chaps and they’re certainly grateful.

The world of politics has gone quite mad.  As each days brings yet another outrage I no longer find myself thinking ‘this can’t be happening’ as I did in the first days following the inauguration: rather I’m wondering how we are to cope with the awfulness to come.  

Fortunately, the garden is coming alive again after the gloomy months, and the days are getting longer at last.  The climbing roses are pruned; bush ones next.  The cornus is starting into growth, but I’ll put off the annual hack-down until the magnolia is in flower: it’s rather bleak out there when the coloured stems have gone.  And goodness knows, we need something to lift the mood.

Two emails from BT this morning.  One to say my pension will be going up by 1.7%.  The other to say my mobile phone subscription is going up by 35%.  Go figure.

Sad news

We learned yesterday that Chris Burnford has left us, aged 92.  Today would have been his 93rd birthday.  He was the widower of my cousin Gill Routley.  Her father Frank was boarded out at birth, since my grandparents, both teachers and then unmarried, were not in a position to give him what we would regard as a normal family life.  It was only through Gill’s and cousin Philippa’s genealogical research that we learned of the relationship.  We sometimes bemoan the times we live in, but in many ways we’re better off now. Anyway, we remember Chris fondly as the father of four fine first cousins once removed, and of course for his impish sense of humour.

C’mon, spring!

We’re still getting hard frosts these mornings, but there are plenty of signs of spring in the weedpatch.  Some snowdrops in flower, daffodils budding up and tulips poking through.  Today I’ve finally got round to chopping down/pulling up the lobelias, and planted up some rather empty pots with primulas - £4.99 for ten at Fortnums, so I’ll probably pick some more next time I’m there. 

Though the sun is now behind the clouds, the mid afternoon electricity consumption is being supplied from the solar panels and the battery, which the sun charged up earlier in the day.  Staying on matters electrical, we charged the car twice in January - about the equivalent of a full tank - for an estimated £13.99, somewhere between a fifth and a quarter of the price of a tank of diesel.  Of course, the capital cost of the new cars and the solar installations will never be paid off by savings on motor fuel, but one nevertheless feels modestly virtuous.  (And they’re so much nicer to drive!)

We’ve been reasonably sociable of late.  Sister-in-law Sandra came to lunch on Saturday, and we plied her with Wiener Schnitzel with pasta and ratatouille.  Next day we visited a former colleague of Martyn’s for lunch: roast lamb (which I got roped in to carve) and a vast array of vegetables.  

Surprisingly, my weight was down a bit when I got on the scales this morning, but I’m still short even of my interim target.  I’m a little surprised that my dry January didn’t contribute more weight loss, but I don’t suppose Nozeco and the like are hugely less calorific than wine!  

We had a visit yesterday from BT to do the preparatory work for the cut-over to digital telephone service.  The footpath and the front garden will have to be dug up to get the fibre optic cable to the house, with a long dotted line of spray paint presaging the chaos to come.  But the modem is installed, the terminal block is on the wall outside and the new router has arrived, ready to be hooked up.  Stand by for shrieks of anguish as we try to get everything communicating with the new stuff.  We were at the u3a computers group this morning, and were somewhat humbled by the skills and savviness of people substantially older than us.  I dare say we’ll have more problems than usual to bring to the group next month…

As for the world of politics, each day brings another example of the orange one behaving like a mediaeval emperor, ignoring the legal and constitutional framework of his country, and threatening a trade war that will upset the world economy.  His Majesty’s Government seems paralysed in this context, so I just hope that things are happening in the background.  I can’t imagine that the Noble Lord ambassador designate will cut much ice with N°47, but - assuming that his credentials are accepted - he will perhaps be Macchiavellian enough to have some influence, on or beneath the surface.  As ever, I’m grateful to be old and childless.

More of the same

 After yet another stormy night, I came down to find the fence between us and Annie leaning over at 45°.  The fencing contractor has a contract to fix it, but have scheduled it for a month hence.  They sent someone round last week to do a temporary lash-up.  Temporary’s the word: last night’s little zephyr pretty much finished off the steel sockets - the fence has to be fixed for part of its run on top of a low brick wall.  A phone call to the friendly installation manager led to a visit from two fitters, including the chap who did last week’s job.  I got them to take the offending panels out altogether and dispose of them, together with the remnants of the fence on the other side of the garden.  So we’re even more open than usual, but safe and disencumbered, if that’s a word.

The wind dropped during the course of the day, so I was able to get out and do violence to some rather overgrown potentillas, the apple tree and the clematis montana, and whatever else got in the way of my destructive frenzy.  The garden is dreich but promising: lots of bulbs are pushing through the surface, and most of the shrubs are looking encouraging: the Fuji cherry and the magnolia stellata in particular.  Fresh air and garden work are good for the Weltanschauung at this dismal time of year.

That time of year again

I’m always a bit reluctant to start on the marmalade, since I know the hands are going to hurt from scraping the pith out of the skins!  But after staring at the oranges on the work top for a few days, I got cracking yesterday.  I use plenty of technology; an electric citrus juicer and the magimix for slicing the skins - once through the coarse disk then once through the fine one.  But I still use mother’s preserving pan: it might even be Granny Smith’s.  I need to find someone who can replace the rivets that hold the handle to the pan, since two have come off.  Anyway, a kilo and a half of fruit plus a couple of lemons have made eight and a bit jars.  I’ve only done one lot this year: we’ve been using less lately, and I found half a dozen jars in stock.  Judging by the colour, two jars are from the year before last.  I’ve never been much good at managing the pantry.  Anyway, this year’s lot has set nicely and apart from the part-filled baby jar with the last drops, it’s all tucked away in the cupboard.

Quite a lot of traffic this morning at the feeders on the apple tree: a robin, a wren, great and blue tits and a nuthatch.  Very pleased to see the nuthatch: it’s years since we’ve seen one in the garden.  The great tits were pecking away at the frosty tree branches, perhaps to get some water.  I’ve put out a pan of water for them, and break the ice from time to time.  Roll on spring.

Is it me?

I asked the chemist last weekend for a repeat of my batch medications A and B.  Got an email back saying ‘batch expired: contact GP’.  Did so, told chemist so, and got reply saying ‘OK: I’ll watch out for it’.  Went to collect yesterday, and on opening the packet today, found meds C and D.  By which time I’d just ordered fresh supplies of C and D.   Called in on chemist: ‘Yes, the batch for A and B has been renewed, but you need to order it’, and it won’t be ready till Thursday.  The last time I was there to collect medication E, they had two prescriptions of it awaiting collection.  Given that I’ve also been having trouble with other prescribed supplies, it seems there’s a mix of non-dispensing, wrong dispensing and phantom dispensing going on.  Either that or I’ve finally lost my marbles.  Discuss.