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.