Christmas Eve

For the annual ramblings, scroll up to the 14 December entry

Quite a bit of baking hereabouts: yesterday we did a batch of mince pies, using some of Mary Berry’s tricks.  We cut the mincemeat with chopped apricots, which makes the filling a bit less cloying.  We added orange zest to the pastry, but decided this year to use the Good Housekeeping shortcrust rather than Mary’s much richer dough, which was a pain in the arse to roll last year.  Today we’ve knocked out a modest batch of sausage rolls, so we’re all set up for late lunch/afternoon tea tomorrow.

Incidentally, the Good Housekeeping basic cookery book - a present from Mum over 50 years ago - continues to serve us well.  I remember being amused to see a copy at the brocante in Ribaute some years ago.  I ought to have bought it:  my copy is starting to fall to bits, and the slip cover gave up years ago.

Well, I may post again before the end of the month, es sei denn I wish everyone all the best for the coming year.

Annual ramblings 2025

Greetings!

The world of politics becomes ever more disturbing.  The awfulness of Trump beggars belief, and his pretentions to become a Nobel Peace Prize medallist do little more than underline his malignant narcissism and cognitive decline.  Putin is clearly laughing behind his hand as he watches on, and is simply waiting for concessions forced by Trump to reinforce his imperialistic ambitions.  Closer to home, our county council has a majority of the far right Reform party, which is becoming known for its nastiness and incompetence.  Fortunately, our toon cooncil is controlled by the Liberal Democrats, and our newish LibDem MP is making quite a name for himself.  In particular, he has filled the communication vacuum during the recent water supply problems here in Disgustedville.  The water company has distinguished itself by its truculence and the failure of its head honcho to make himself available to the media.  (The supply at our end of town was not interrupted, but tens of thousands of homes were without water for several days.)  [Later: the water went off for six hours here, following a burst water main just down the hill from us.]  As for HMG, we despair, and will leave it at that.

 

One way and another, we've seen rather too much of the insides of hospitals this year.  I spent five pretty comfortable nights in our excellent NHS hospital having a complication of my 2023 surgery corrected.  It was like a reunion of old friends: several of the care staff I'd met last time in Ward 32 were still there, and I was again under the care of a surgeon we have got used to and like.  I had a nice room with a view across the Weald to the North Downs.  Before that, my year 2 checks revealed no recurrence of the cancer, so we carry on with fingers crossed.  We're both of us feeling our septuagenarian age.

I was shocked to learn this autumn that my pen-friend Ria had died.  I’d assumed that she was as fit as the proverbial butcher’s dog, having undertaken so many long hikes in recent years, and run round the show ring with her dog, Jessie, just weeks before she died.  We had corresponded for over 60 years and met a few times.  I shall miss her.

One consolation of aging is our local u3a (University of the Third Age).  We both go to a monthly Computers group, where we do a tour de table, reporting problems and sharing fixes.  I take part twice a month in a German conversation group: members take turns to host at home, and the host circulates a text or two beforehand.  We then read it aloud round the table to give each of us a chance to speak a bit of German, and go on to discuss the subject - and the errors in the original German texts.  I used to belong to a group called the Amblers, and thoroughly enjoyed our strolls, even though they reminded me how unfit I'd become.  I'd to drop out of that for health reasons, but was still up for a guided walk round the Common back in the autumn, with much fascinating commentary from the rangers.

Garden

We are doing less ourselves in the garden, which may be why it did so well.  We'd a record

crop of apples, so the freezers are well stocked, and there are dozens of apples wrapped and stored in the summer house.  Tomatoes also yielded pretty well, except that the variety that germinated was not what I thought I'd bought.  I ought perhaps to have twigged when, instead of the six seeds I usually get, there were a couple of dozen in the packet.  Rather than our old favourite Sweet Olive, I think what we got was Chocolate Cherry, a variety that ripens to chocolate brown.  It tasted really good, but many find the colour a turn-off.  So I got most of them to myself!

Gardener Ben comes for a couple of hours twice a month, and does the heavy stuff - or the stuff I'm too idle to do myself.  After my surgery I was told to take it easy for a while, so have left the care of the grass to Ben.  Roses have done pretty well again this year, and the little rosemary hedge that we planted round the front of the garden is thriving, much to the amusement of a few doubters.  After all, rosemary thrives in the garrigue, and the poor soil and hotter summers hereabouts probably suit it well.

Arrivals

Fewer visitors of late, though we've had some nice simple lunch gatherings here.  We decided against a Macmillan Coffee Morning this year, somewhat in protest at Macmillan's cuts to care and financial support, and its ill-timed advertising of highly paid jobs with airy-fairy job descriptions.  In any case, my short-notice surgery appointment would have stymied it.  (We've since relented a bit, to the extent of buying their Christmas cards...)   We had the pleasure of meeting Martyn's Canadian cousins, the Relyeas, who were over to see their son John singing in Parsifal at Glyndebourne.  We met them in Rochester Cathedral, where Sandra had given them a guided tour, and repaired to the Crown for lunch. 

 

 

 

 

We had a most enjoyable lunch here with brother John and his dynasty.  We are slowly getting stuff out of the attic, and one candidate for de-cluttering was the Scalextric set that Martyn bought me years ago.  Much as we enjoyed it, our days of playing on hands and knees are behind us, so I enquired if our great-nephews might like it.  Martyn set up a little loop to check that it was still working, which I'm glad to say it was. 

Departures

Fewer this year than we'd hoped.  We took a trip to the Isle of Wight in April: the first time I'd been there.  We rented a flat for a few nights: it was just about adequate in most respects.  It had a superb view out to sea: we watched sundry big ships sailing from Southampton, including the Queen Mary 2.  We loved the donkey sanctuary, and made a rare use of our English Heritage cards to take a look at Osborne - tasteless in the extreme, but one has to admire the workmanship.

 

We'd planned a cruise in October to Madeira, the Açores and Porto, but that too was stymied by my short-notice surgery a couple of weeks before the day we were due to sail.  We got 25% back from Cunard: a bit of a hit in the wallet, but worth it to get things moving on the health front.  And we've ploughed the refund into a cruise next February - familiar ports, but it'll get us away from the February gloom for a couple of weeks

 

Food and drink

 

A few new recipes and venues, one of which looks like going under because of the losses they have been suffering during the water débâcle.  We've used the Crown in Rochester a few times, and like it.  It is reasonably quiet, and the food is good: they are flexible too when it comes to dietary restrictions.

 

I've been doing the occasional casserole with lamb neck fillet, and we enjoy it.  Only problem is that the butcher charges the earth for local lamb, so it's a treat for special occasions.  We're continuing to make good use of the air fryer - though when the oven gave up the ghost earlier this year, unfortunately on a day when we'd planned a roast lunch for a visitor, it wasn't big enough for a leg of lamb, and we had to use the feeble top oven.  Anyway, as our Swedish friends would say, nobody threw up and nobody died.   

 

Our favourite pizzas figure sparingly on the menu, notably the Norvégienne we copied, somewhat augmented, from the menu at the Grand Café in Limoux.  Base anointed with a mix of crème fraîche and chopped spinach, smoked and fresh salmon and some big shrimps, topped with fresh or dried herbs and mozzarella.  Pizzas are a good way of using leftovers: ham, chicken, even new potatoes - another trick we learned from said café.

 

Wheels

 

We're glad we made the change to EVs, much though we enjoyed our diesel SEATs.  We enjoy the quiet - and brisk! - power delivery, and decent range, particularly in the Scénic.  When we did our IoW trip, we'd probably have had enough range to get us there and home again.  But topping up the battery in a car park in Ryde got us home with a week's charge to spare, and we had time to explore the town and have fish and chips while the charge went ahead.  It's a good bit more expensive than charging at home, but that's the only time in over a year of EV ownership that we've had to use public infrastructure.  Of course, we're not being taxed like combustion engined vehicle owners, so we suppose it's reasonable that we should pay a bit towards road maintenance.  Provided it's actually done, and done well. 

 

We took Martyn's bike along to the local repair café earlier in the year: the dérailleur had seized up, and Chris the bike fettler diagnosed problems with the shift levers.  He sent us off with details of the parts he needed and where to find them, and at the next gathering fitted them for a donation to the village hall charity.  It occurred to me to ask him whether he knew one of my former neighbours, who was a keen competitive cyclist, and it turns out that the two of them are now next-door neighbours.  The older you get, the thicker and faster the coincidence fall.

 

Arts

 

To our shame, we have produced little or nothing in the way of original artwork, and had to resort, as I mention above, to buying cards this year.  I have a work in progress for next year, but am not sure it's going anywhere.  

 

We've been to a couple of concerts this year: we're fortunate to have two decent concert venues in town.  One of them also hosted Susie Dent for her admirable one-woman show, Word Perfect.  We'd hoped to go to a performance of the Nutcracker at Benenden School, but on the day the traffic was so awful, even before we got to the middle of town, that we gave up and came home.

 

As for cinema, our neighbouring village hall offers a community cinema service, and we've enjoyed quite a few fillums there, notably The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and the outstanding Conclave.  It's a friendly place, and one of our neighbours runs a café while someone else administers cocktails and mocktails.  It also hosts the repair café, where, in addition to the bike, we've had clocks seen to and secateurs sharpened: art in its most practical form!

 

2026

 

Not that we're in a hurry to fall off the twig, we do feel at times that it's not so bad to be old and childless.  But there's scope for cautious optimism: the coming year ought to see the Republican majorities shrivel, which might help the Untied (sic) States to return to democracy.  Unless, of course, the orange one declares a state of emergency and cancels the mid-terms.  But turning to matters of real importance, I'm determined to get the right variety of tomatoes this time.

 

Every good wish for health, happiness and prosperity in the new year,

 

Martyn & David 

Amazon (and SE Water) bashing

Reluctant as one is to line the pockets of Mr Bezos, I have to say that the service is pretty good.  Having left it 72 hours after the failed delivery of a new monitor, I got on the phone this morning, and after the usual press this, press that and music on hold, I got to speak to a sentient being.  Not only sentient, but polite, empathetic and efficient.  He made no bones about issuing a refund, which I should see in a week or so.

An order I placed with Amazon one morning a few weeks ago arrived that same afternoon, and most stuff arrives the day after order.  It’s a shame that on-line shopping has been so damaging to the old fashioned kind: our local mall has several empty units, and when we went to London a while back, it was worrying to see row after row of shops shuttered and graffiti’d.  It’s an ill wind, of course: when I went to buy a monitor from a proper shop this week, the service was exemplary: they’re obviously trying harder.

We’ve been among the lucky minority of Disgustedville residents who have not lost their water supply.  Businesses in the town have lost tens of thousands, particularly in hospitality.  Self-employed people are also hit: on Monday alone, our cleaners lost £150 through cancellations.  Most people have now had their supply restored, but have to boil water indefinitely for cooking and tooth brushing.  When we went to our u3a computer group meeting on Wednesday, the roads were jammed with cars going to collect bottled water.  The venue had no water supply, and the planned lunch afterwards was cancelled.  

The water company, not content with sitting on its hands despite warnings over the years, has failed miserably in communicating with customers.  Our local MP has been breaking his arse filling the communication void - top marks - and has understandably called for the resignation of the head man of the water company.  He even got his boss to visit, so some collectors of bottled water had their supplies handed over by Sir Ed himself.  Meanwhile the water company continues to issue vague and conflicting announcements, and the head honcho has not made himself available for interviews.  He has been thoroughly abusive to our MP, and the minions he sends out to meet the press are becoming increasingly truculent.  Well, I suppose that’s what you get when you privatise natural monopolies.

Oh, how I love computers in these modern times!

My laptop, which is over nine years old, has been getting a bit tired.  After much agonising, I finally bought a new computer, and it was delivered a few days ago.  I should add that the DPD delivery man dumped it on the doorstep, clearly labelled HP, rang the bell without checking that anyone was home, and buggered off.  Well, it wasn’t nicked, but proved incapable of communicating with the monitor that I’d hoped to use.  So, back to Amazon to choose a new monitor.  It was supposed to arrive today, but the same  DPD driver brought someone else’s large bale of kitchen paper rolls, marked my order as delivered even though I’d told him to take it away, and once again, buggered off. 

After about an hour on the phone, first to DPD, who bumped me on to Amazon, and I gave up and went to a local Curry’s and bought a less expensive product, which works well enough.  I’ll return to the charge two days hence, before which Amazon declines to assist.

Meanwhile, having moved the laptop upstairs, I find that it has defaulted to that abomination, the AZERTY keyboard.  Given that I’d bought it with the Swiss French QWERTZ, this is a puzzle.  I shall ask the clever guys at the u3a computer group tomorrow.  I’m getting a bit old for this shit: is it any wonder I drink?

Planned obsolence

You’ll recall that I’m a big fan of our local repair café, but there are some things they can’t fix, such, I suspect, as our kettle.  It has served us here for over 18 years (and Martyn and his Mum since 2001 to my certain knowledge), but it has taken to tripping long before it boils.  I guess it has earned its retirement: it has probably worked as long as I did.  Well, having amalgamated numerous households over the years, we have no shortage of spare kettles, so our ability to make tea (if by candlelight - see below) is unimpaired.

Less deserving is the strip light which has worked for about four years.  Fed up with the buzzing of the old fluorescent strip light, we got sparky Colin to replace it with an LED job about four years ago.  Until a week or so it worked quietly and reliably, but having flickered off and on for a while, it gave up the ghost last night.  We finally managed this morning to separate the tube from its base, and I schlepped it along to my usual suppliers, confident that they’d come up with the goods.  No match on their system for the part number, so I schlepped it back home again, and called Colin to ask where he got it.  He couldn’t remember, but gave me the names of a few factors he might have used.  The one I could raise on the phone looked it up, and came back with the answer: obsolete.  Dashed poor show, what?  So that’s for the bin, and Colin is coming to fit a complete new unit on Friday.  It may see me out….

Family day

We’re slowly getting serious about clearing out the loft, and were thinking of taking the Scalextric to the Hospice shop.  (Our days of playing on hands and knees are over!)  But then it occurred to me that the great nephews might like it.  A good excuse for a family lunch party.  Plain fare: lasagne, pizza, apple crumble and one of Martyn’s celebrated cakes! 

Here are bro John, nephew-godson Richard and great-nephews Thomas and Toby - whom we’d hardly have recognised, not having seen them for a few years.  Apologies to Anna for the rear view only, but the photo was taken stealthily!  The kids got the hang of the Scalextric pretty quickly, as did their kids!  There’s a bit more track in the box, so they’ll be able to set up a decent little circuit in their den.  It was great to see them all, though I’m reminded that entertaining is a bit like work. 

Otherwise a pretty restful week.  I’ve done a modicum of gardening, but - cooking apart - have been pretty idle.  But then, that’s why I retired.

NHS nowadays

Though our protégée has been well cared for in hospital, the experience has hardly been a delight.  Her ward was cramped - four to a room - and dingy.  Yesterday’s discharge process was reminiscent of mine two years ago, only worse.  A long wait in the ward for transfer to the discharge ‘lounge’, and another wait there for medications to arrive: though less long than I’d to wait.

The said lounge had a number of patients in beds.  Overspill?  Or maybe they were waiting to return to beds in care homes.  Another patient awaiting discharge was firmly shackled to a prison officer, with whom he seemed to be sharing a friendly repartee.  Anyway we were glad to be out of there, free tea and biscuits notwithstanding (and gladder still today to have reports of a good night’s sleep at home).  I was a little disappointed that there was no attempt to talk through the discharge letter, nor to explain the new medication regime.  Celà dit, we ought to have done that when we got her home, but were maybe too tired to think of it. 

Modern Times, Chapter 97

We sat for some hours yesterday in the Emergency Department of the main hospital of a nearby unitary authority, though not as long as the customer of their services had had to.  It took 13 hours to complete assessment and admission (with, thank goodness, a relatively minor issue that will nevertheless need some days’ monitoring).  As always, the care received, however slow, was thorough and competent, mostly at the hands of immigrant staff.  As with my experience over the past couple of years, we got to meet a lot of lovely caring people.  But.  (1)  The Brit medics with ambition bugger off to the Gulf or Australia where they are paid appropriately for their skills.  (2)  The South Asian, African, Pilipino and other immigrant medical and caring staff are attracted by higher salaries than they would earn at home, thus depriving their concitoyens of their skills.  (3)  Meanwhile, the remaining junior hospital doctors are about to go on strike again.  Get the picture?  WTF?

As for the hospital, unlike ours it has grown and sprawled over the decades, and is plainly struggling to meet demands.  The ED (of which more anon…) waiting room was full to bursting, and we three sat for hours on hard chairs in the corridor, having constantly to dodge passing beds, trolleys and wheelchairs.

Nomenclature.  What we used to know as ‘Casualty’ came for a time to be known as Accident and Emergency (A&E).  Perhaps to discourage people with cut fingers (j’y fus!) from cluttering the place up, it has been re-named Emergency Department (ED).  A visitor might wonder for a moment why such huge resources were being devoted to erectile dysfunction.

Back at the ranch, I’m allowed to drive again, which takes a bit of the load off Martyn.  It’s nice to have the independence again, though I was reminded yesterday why I try to avoid driving at night.  Fortunately, the roads were dry.  I used to dread returning from a tiring day at the hobby after dark along busy, winding wet roads, dazzled by oncoming traffic.

The leaves have been falling for a while now, so - to put a positive slant on matters - we are starting to enjoy the coloured bark of the cornus shrubs.  The magnolia stellata is budding up nicely, and the little cyclamens are flowering fit to bust.  Our rather confused cistus pulverulens bloomed yesterday, and we have quite a lot of antirrhinum flowers - all self-sown.  It’s almost time to chop down the sedums and hellebores.  We still have a lot of pansies and bulbs to plant in the pots on the terrace, so are hoping for fine weather tomorrow.

Good idea. Hmm.

It occurred to me a while go that my watch strap could do with a wash.  It’s a woven stainless steel job, and had got rather darker over time.  Well, I detached it and soaked it in kitchen degreaser for an hour or two, which resulted in something resembling ox-tail soup.  Rinsed in fresh water, it was still looking manky, so I soaked it again overnight in the same product, and came down this morning to an equally unedifying spectacle.  

Talking of cleansing, it’s good to see that the establishment is taking some modest steps to clean up the royal family.  It would be nice to think that this process would lead to some decent results.  It would also be nice to think that the manifest opposition to a certain orange tyrant might bring him down, or at least under democratic control.

A brief holiday

I’ve spent the last five nights being waited on hand and foot in an establishment that’s almost as good as a hotel - except for the menu and wine list.  I refer of course to the Tunbridge Wells Hospital, where I’ve had a repair done to a hernia that resulted from my cancer job almost exactly two years ago.  I was in the care of the same surgeon as last time, and a lot of the care staff were also the same as last time: it was like a reunion with old friends.

I had a nice room looking east across the Weald towards the North Downs.  It’s a pity it was right next to the sometimes raucous nurses’ station, but at least that meant that, if I had to ring the call bell, someone was there quickly.  Of course, the catering was pretty institutional and bland, but I wasn’t using a lot of energy, so better fare would have been wasted.  The surgeon is happy with the results, and a modest extra benefit was that he had seen the encouraging results of a CT scan I had a week before.

Of course, I had drains for a few days, which made trips to the loo a bit complicated.  But in the early days I couldn’t get out of bed anyway.  Mercifully, I didn’t need a catheter or an epidural, so the external plumbing was limited.  Another mercy is that I don’t need anti-coagulants, so am spared the self administered jabs I had to do for weeks after the last do.  Even better, I didn’t have to hang around in the discharge lounge until the pharmacy got its arse into gear.  That took over three hours last time, and was the worst part of the whole experience.

So I was discharged straight from the ward as soon as my discharge letter came through, and Martyn was on hand to see to my case: I have to avoid heavy lifting for six weeks.  Getting up from bed and from low chairs is still pretty painful, though that’s starting to ease now.  Of course it doesn’t help that I’ve caught a cold - and there’s only one place I could have got it!  Coughing and sneezing are no fun!  

But I have in general nothing but praise for the hospital and its staff, a clear majority of whom are immigrants, all of them unfailingly competent and caring.  The threat from the so-called Reform party that they would end indefinite leave to remain would wreck the NHS, which wouldn’t need a lot of wrecking these days.

Good service

The gutter on the back of the house has been overflowing for a while, and the jokers who put cards in the mailbox advertising such services didn’t trouble themselves to reply to messages.  We took to the internet to look for someone to sort it, and give the sitooterie roof a wash while they were at it.  The outfit we chose responded clearly and helpfully, and sent a polite young man with an unpronounceable name this afternoon.  It has been a showery day, so (a) he had a lousy job, and (b) we could see at once that he’d done a good one.  Since we can do less and less for ourselves as the clock ticks on, it’s good to know that we can GSI that we can trust.  Not cheap in this instance, but value for money.  Company name on application.

Martyn has been labouring mightily at taming a new computer, and at a bit of spring cleaning in the kitchen.  We’ve both been peeling and chopping apples, so the old hands are complaining a bit.  Plenty more to do in that department: I think we have enough unblemished fruit to store for a while, but we have at least two batches of windfalls to peel and chop.  Meanwhile, the tomatoes are yielding quite well, but we shall definitely look for Sweet Olive seed next year!

Mellow fruitfulness

Martyn harvested the Bramley seedling apple tree this morning.  We have already had a lot of fruit, frozen several batches of purée and given some kilos away to friends and neighbours.  Best crop ever, but unfortunately the wee beasties agree.  We might be able to store some of the undamaged fruit, but I suspect we’re going to be busy peeling, slicing and stewing.  We shall need more containers, which the generous, philanthropic and altruistic Mr Bezos will deliver tomorrow.

In the decorative department, I potted up some dozens of pansy plug plants yesterday, so must remember to keep them watered.  A lot of the plants in the containers are getting past their best, though the fuchsias in the hanging baskets are doing pretty well.  

My geranium cuttings have been disappointing this year, so it’ll be time for new stock in the spring, if I’m spared.

While Martyn was picking apples, I was down at the local repair café, getting a pair of secateurs overhauled.  I’ve wittered on plenty in the past about this wonderful institution, and make no apology for returning to the subject.  Even if you only want to drop in for a cup of tea, it’s a great place to catch up with friends old and new.  One surprise was to meet the organiser of our u3a German conversation group, who had brought in a VHS recorder for repair.  Why, one asks?  Surely this is a case of Auntie’s good gramophone?  

But make no mistake: the volunteers who offer clock and bike repairs, tool sharpening and so much else are without exception likeable and friendly people.

Likewise our u3a friends.  Our computer group normally meets at a tennis club in town, but since the key holder couldn’t come, and the rain excluded tennis, the clubhouse remained stubbornly shut.  Organiser Eryll gamely invited us all to her place, where we had a pretty good conversation, despite the awful congestion of Disgustedville traffic.

Well, what to make of this week’s news?  I think it’s best I leave it to the Rory & Alistair podcast, The Rest is Politics.  But I’ll just say it’s a great shame that Angela Rayner has dropped such a resounding bollock.  She is - was - one of the best front bench advocates for HM Government, and her rise to high office from very difficult origins is a tribute to her energy and commitment.  I hope she’ll be back.

Unerwünschte Arzneimittelwirkungen

Aka side effects in a more economical language (though Nebenwirkungen is a slightly easier version available to those of the Teutonic persuasion).  Two days after the RSV vaccination I started a feverish cold, and five days on I’m still coughing and sneezing, and having trouble sleeping thanks to stuffed up airways.  I should grateful for the protection it’ll give me: on googling side effects I found that quite a few had similar experiences, but one comment from a no doubt US American contributor reported reluctance to pay the $500 the shot would cost!  I don’t usually have problems with jabs, though I do recall a similar reaction to a flu jab some years ago, and a smallpox vaccination when I was in my teens laid me low for a few days.  (I was due to go to Orléans that summer, and since there had been an outbreak in Wales, France wouldn’t let anyone in without a vaccination certificate.)

Well, I seem to be on the mend: I did some overdue dead-heading and hacking back yesterday, and filled a bucket to fill up the council’s garden waste bin.  One believes in getting one’s money’s worth.  A propos garden, I think we may need to set aside a day for apple stewing.  The Bramley is groaning with fruit, and we don’t want to leave them to the beasties.  I think we might need the preserving pan!

One word from me…

…and the garden does what it bloody well likes.  Annie next door had a verbena bonariensis or two in her front garden last year.  This year our front garden looks like this:

Decorative, sure, and it might be suppressing other weeds like oxalis.  I guess the roots must have penetrated the membrane under the slate chippings.  I suspect we’ve got it for good now.  I’ve scattered some eschscholzia seeds on the same area, so they can slug it out next year.  I’ll mix it up next year with seed from the poppies that arrived unbidden, probably from Lisa, our neighbour on the other side.

You’ll have tolerated patiently my chunterings about the sweet olive tomatoes.  Well, they are ripening now and are quite delicious.  What they aren’t is Sweet Olive!  They ripen to a dark chocolate brown, so I guess they’re Chocolate Cherry.  So apologies to those I’ve given cuttings thereof: but I’m sure you’ll enjoy them nevertheless.

I’ve had a prompt or two over the last couple of weeks to book an RSV jab.  This is a common respiratory virus which is possibly a problem for people my age, since it can develop into the Old Man’s Friend (pneumonia).  I rang the local practice yesterday, and they offered me an appointment that same afternoon.  Let’s not slag off the NHS, eh?  I have a slightly sore arm today, and feel pretty wabbit, as nurse Helen predicted.  

But the washing is drying on the line, and the dead-heading and grass cutting can wait for a cooler, less humid day.

Modern times

As we drove up yesterday to Kate and John’s, we were struck by how much has changed in SE London and the East End.  There are vast towers of posh flats everywhere, yet many of the shop fronts along the A13 are shuttered and covered in graffiti.  Driving etiquette seems to be a thing of the past, and lots of young men on bikes and in hot hatches weave in and out of traffic as though they think themselves immortal.  One is glad to be elderly and comfortably installed in genteel Disgustedville.  And driving a bright red car the arbitrary manoeuvres of which at least say ‘watch out!’.

Meanwhile, as befits one’s advancing years and limited ambition, the laundry’s done, and the grass is cut.  And it has been good to stay at home, charge the car and enjoy an afternoon nap.

Auld acquaintance

A delightful lunch today with Kate and John at their home in Islington.  John had barbecued a delicious rack of lamb and corn on the cob, and Kate had done Delia Smith roast vegetables and a summer pudding.  They were on fine form, and we had a good catch-up round the table after aperitifs in the garden.  I first met them in Lagrasse a few years before I retired: they still have a house there, and jet off south several time a year.

Since I wanted to take them some plants, we took a deep breath and drove up.  I hadn’t driven in London for about ten years, and today’s experience reminded me why that is!  The 20 mph speed limit tames matters somewhat, but the traffic is as bad as ever, and drivers are less courteous than hereabouts.  Giving way to other drivers rarely gets an acknowledgment, so not a few earned a Trumpington salute.  We used the new Silvertown Tunnel in both directions: it is longer and more sinuous than the Blackwall, but does the job as well or better.  The M25 was OK on the way up, but when we tried to join it from the A2 on the way home we found it blocked solid.  We headed back up the A2 and knitted an alternative route home.  On balance, it was easier than travelling by train and bus: and a damn’ sight cheaper, tunnel tolls and congestion charge notwithstanding.  But I won’t be repeating the experience soon: it’s a bit tiring.

Back here in the garden, the rain has brought a lot of stuff on, notably the grass, which I’ll tackle tomorrow (it says here on the wall…).  Ben did a good job weeding the front last time he was here, but we agreed that he’d leave the self-sown verbena bonariensis, which is, I grant you, quite pretty, even though it’s growing in practically nothing.  We’ve been cropping spuds, but the yield is poor.  The tomatoes are being a bit slow to ripen.  Maybe I’ll have to bite the bullet and get produce from the shops.

Another funeral

We sent off our neighbour Geoff today.  He was diagnosed with acute leukaemia around the same time I was diagnosed with a different variety of the crab, so we occasionally swapped oncology war stories.  We learned at the funeral today that he had been a project manager on the Rio-Niteroi bridge, and that he was a competent pianist.  What a lot of stories and music we could have shared.

A few days earlier, I joined a ‘walk and talk’ session on the nearby common, organised by the local u3a, guided by friendly and knowledgeable Commons Rangers Gemma and Dan.  Very informative and interesting, and another chance to meet nice people with similar interests.  It did, however, take me to the limit of my endurance: a mere 3000 + a few paces, since the day was warm and humid.  Must build up.

Sonst: we had a nice Sunday with Martyn’s sister Sandra.  A simple lunch: a chicken casserole alongside charlottes from the garden, followed by an apple crumble, using apples from our tree.  It shouldn’t be too long before we’re cropping tomatoes, and we have lots of potatoes to lift.  Let’s hope for some good cropping conditions.

My pen friend

In the early 60s - back in the days of letter writing - I signed up with an outfit called the International Youth Service.  Based in Turku, Finland, it put you in contact with people in countries you were interested in, paid for in international reply coupons.  Sometimes a letter would arrive out of the blue from someone looking for a correspondent in your country.  One such was Ria Maartense, one of the thirteen children of a postman in The Hague.  She and I exchanged hundreds of letters and postcards over the years, though more recently we stayed in touch through social media.  But it was via snail mail that I learned this morning that she died earlier this month, aged 74.

It must have been a sudden thing: my last contact with her was in June when she posted a clip on Facebook of her and her dog Jessie dashing round an obstacle course.  She’d always seemed as fit as a fiddle, going on long hikes, including the Camino.  Perhaps this has spared her the slow decline that others have to suffer, but it will have come as a terrible shock to her family.  Very sad.

The preoccupations of advancing years

A glance at the diary reveals visits to the optician, doctor, pharmacy, sleep study, x-rays, blood tests and the like.  To be expected, I guess, now that we’re over the hill.  Nothing too dramatic, though Martyn is struggling with a persistent gut bug.  

Fortunately the weather is cooling down a bit after three heatwaves in the space of about three weeks.  We’ve had a few good downpours, so we have plenty of rainwater for the tomatoes and flower containers.   We are starting to enjoy home-grown potatoes, starting with the ones that got away last year, and shall soon be harvesting this year’s Charlottes.  The tomatoes are setting nicely, so it won’t be too long before we’re enjoying them, diseases permitting.  We had some blight last year, so are keeping fingers crossed.  I sowed spinach the other day, and the seedlings are starting to come through.

Today I’ve hoiked up some polyanthus from pots on the terrace and replanted with antirrhinums grown from last year’s seed.  The polyanthus are now in a raised bed, recently vacated by our freebie spuds.  I’ll maybe ask Ben to plant them out in the autumn when the ground is less baked.  Roses are for the most part between flushes, so I’ve been dead-heading assiduously in the hope of promoting more flowers.  Two that we got last year from a huge shopping mall garden centre have been doing exceptionally well: Precious Gold and Precious Ruby.  Of the old guard, Queen Elizabeth has put up some vigorous new shoots despite being planted in next to nothing next to the sink drain!

Though it’s cooler today, it’s really steamy, so a scant hour in the garden was enough.  I hope the storms forecast for the coming few days bring a bit of relief.  Meanwhile, I’m watering from the fullest of the water butts to make space for new rainfall!  As you see, I live by the Yorkshire dictum: see all, hear all, say nowt.  Eat all, sup all, pay nowt.  And if tha does owt for nowt, do it for thissen.

Apologies for Absence

Not that it’s much of an excuse, but we’ve had quite a busy month, with a fair few medical visits, a spot of entertaining, gardening and the inevitable home and vehicle admin.  

We had a very pleasant lunch here with our friends Chris and Jon.  Chris and I met at art classes, which gave way to largely unstructured Thursday morning meetings where we’d sometimes work to a theme and at other times just pleased ourselves.  That all ended during the pandemic, alas, though the group has met once since then, but for tea and chat rather than painting.  Anyway, Chris and Jon were on fine form, and we had a good catch-up.  Another day we had tea and cake with our neighbour Annie, Martyn having baked a superb chocolate sponge cake - gluten-free: he has the knack of getting the texture perfect.

As to vehicles, Chris and Jon rolled up in a rather natty red Tesla.  My Scenic was in dock for a couple of days on a recall to deal with a potentially troublesome fault in the battery cooling system.  Martyn’s Fiat too has to go in on a recall: evidently there is work to do to ensure compliance with emission regulations.  Er, hello?  Aren’t EVs supposed to be emission free?  All will doubtless be revealed in due course, and we’ll book it in for an overdue annual service at the same time.

Our other form of locomotion, Martyn’s bike, has also been in for some attention.  Bike fettler Chris diagnosed it a couple of months ago, and sent us off to order up new brake and gear shift levers and cables.  Chris does a monthly session at our village’s repair café, where you may remember we’ve had the clocks fixed in the past.  Next month I’ll take some secateurs along for sharpening.  Wonderful institution.  While we were there I asked Chris whether he knew Nick (The Bike) Gritton, a keen competitive cyclist and bike fixer.  Nick lived directly opposite me when I was in our nearby homophone town.  He is now Chris’s next-door neighbour, just down the road from us.  We’ve thus re-established contact, and hope to catch up soon.  I’ve noticed before that, the older I get, the more frequent are the coincidences.

The garden is doing well.  We’ve had a first lot of potatoes: we’d inadvertently left quite a few in the ground last year, and they have done well.  We have another bed of potatoes further up the garden, and they have not appreciated the drought and 30°+ temperatures.  A good spell of rain last night seems to have refreshed them, but we’ll need to get them up soon.  The tomatoes are starting to set fruit - we started them rather late this year.  I couldn’t restrain myself from rooting a handful of side shoots, so we have another half dozen plants to add the the dozen originals.

Driving hereabouts continues to be hellish.  There are many road closures on account of the need to replace the crumbling network of iron gas mains.  I had to go to the County Town on Friday to collect a sleep study test kit from the county diagnostic centre.  Fortunately, I’d left enough time, since I had to reroute to avoid the very long queue at the local road works.  It didn’t help that on the alternate route an absolute Arschloch in a Range Rover decided he didn’t want to wait while a car approached from the opposite direction down the single track stretch.  He consequently had to reverse, and almost hit me.  I had to sound the horn!  A bit closer to my destination, I got stuck behind a tractor for five minutes or so.  I was pretty shaky by the time I got there.  Small wonder that I no longer enjoy driving.  That said, I’m enjoying the silence and responsiveness of our EVs - ah: that reminds me to go and disconnect the Renault from the charger!

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.