And another funeral

Today’s was that of one Iain Hamilton, who used to organise our German conversation group.  A formidable intellect: he spoke more languages than you can shake a dictionary at: French, German, Dutch, Afrikaans, Czech, Danish, Italian, Spanish - and he was evidently studying Swahili and Scots Gaelic when he died, just days short of his 87th birthday.  Another ‘state funeral’, lasting an hour and a quarter or so, attended by I’d guess a good 150 at the surprisingly vast parish church down the road: Iain was a member both of the church choir and of the town’s Orpheus choir, so the congregation’s singing was well augmented.  Anthems, hymns, lengthy tributes, prayers and all the rest, and his best friend and companion Lesley read - in impeccable French - a lovely Jacques Prévert poem about two snails who went to a funeral.  

I suspended my attendance at the conversation group during last year’s health episode, but Iain kept me in the body of the kirk by asking me occasionally to find a text for the group to discuss: I usually found something Swiss, having typecast myself as a helvetophile - and got distinctly snotty when he turned his nose up at my offering!

Fellow German  conversationist Sheila came to us for a sandwich beforehand, since she was concerned about finding a parking place at the church.  I drove there, and luckily found a slot near the door.  She very kindly brought us a pot of fritillaria meleagris in flower, and they will improve our garden for years to come.

Frühlingsrauschen

 

Some welcome signs of life in the garden.  We’re beginning to see signs of the bulbs we planted last back end, and we’ve been busy with last week’s delivery from Parker’s: lilies of the valley, oriental poppies in colours we hadn’t already got.  The order came with a freebie bag of lilies which aren’t yet planted: we haven’t yet decided where to put them: decision criteria are:  close enough to see the colours, and far enough to avoid the strong scent.  I’ve dug out some perennial geraniums to make way for oriental poppies by the front door: said geraniums are good at covering a lot of ground in a hurry, but they are not among my favourites.

Good old Ernie came up trumps this month, yielding nearly enough to pay for my new specs.  I collected the same yesterday, and they seem broadly satisfactory: the distance correction area seems wider than in previous lots.  The reading correction is set a bit low, however, so I’ll need to see if the frame can be adjusted.  Given what they cost, I’m disinclined to put up with anything short of perfection.

IKEA again.

When we moved here (gawd! - almost seventeen years ago) I nabbed the smaller south-facing bedroom as a study, and took down some top-hinged wall units.  I kept them as floor standing storage for the domestic files, adding castors.  (I also bought a bit of melamine laminate to glue to the top, but measured it too small.  Measure twice, cut once!)  The box moved down when we had the garage converted, but was just a little too narrow for the job - a number of lever arch files had to be shoved to the back.  Not a problem when one was 57 and less arthritic.  Significantly more of a problem for one with shite knees and recent abdominal surgery.

I did a bit of on-line research, and found quite a nice shelf unit, deep enough for said files and wide enough to take them all in one rank.  £170.  The egregious Mr Kamprad’s Billy is too shallow fore and aft for the job, but his successors at IKEA do a satisfactory line called Kallax.  £39.  OK: it meant getting on hands and knees and making with Allen keys, but they now provide a plastic Allen key holder that adds useful leverage.  The new box is made of solid shit, but it does the job, fits the space well, and matches Martyn’s rather more substantial desk.  

The amount I’ve spent at IKEA over the years hardly bears thinking about, though a lot was reimbursed under my expat deals.  So I do IKEA in English, French, Schwyzertüütsch, German, and even a bit of Vlaams.  Much of the stuff from various flats stayed behind in Lagrasse to help buyer Alain get started, and will no doubt have found its way to new homes - or the déchèterie.  Anyway, the non-IKEA storage box on castors is on its way to our local déchèterie tomorrow.

Interesting if grim

Today we went to an inquest.  We discouraged the rest of the family from coming, and of course reported back to them afterwards.  There was little in the day’s business that we didn’t know: we had read the evidential bundle, which the coroner had to read in open court for the record.  The consultant pathologist who did the PM gave evidence by audio link (video having failed), answering questions from the coroner and from Martyn.  That process ruled out any question of foul play or self injury, so if we didn’t find out the precise cause of death, at least it was made clear what it wasn’t.  Open verdict.

We were met when we arrived by two volunteers, Janice and Declan, and one or both of them stayed with us for the best part of an hour, briefing us on procedure, and then just making pleasant conversation, until the case was called on.  The premises were remarkably smart for crown estate, and the coroner was businesslike and polite, if somewhat scripted and impersonal.

The proceedings were held in a newly refitted building in the County Town, where I had been many times before.  There had in the past been a restaurant, bar and hotel rooms, but that must all have come to an end during the pandemic.  I recognised some ornamental iron work on a staircase, but precious little else.  I’d done lots of interviews there of people offering to serve as Magistrates, and attended quite a lot of bench meetings, before govt stopped paying for decent accommodation for such work.

Bitterly cold day, so the overcoats got an outing, but it was brilliantly sunny all day.  The low sun made for difficult driving, but we got home safely enough.  A 57 mile round trip, including feedback to the family, so I guess I’m recovering.

Meanwhile, back at Forges-l’Evêque we have been doing household stuff to keep our minds off it.  The twin beds in the guest room are twinned again and various sets of unused bedding, curtains, surplus bedside lamps and the rest are now cluttering up the Hospice shop rather than our wardrobes and airing cupboard.  Sandra, meanwhile, is disposing of the late Michael’s clothing, much either unused or hardly used.  So we each have a couple of lambswool pullovers - and I shall next get on line and order more moth discouragement.

And in the wider world, HMG’s plans to send asylum seekers to Rwanda looks somewhat imperilled: two Tory vice-chairs have resigned because their agenda is not being adopted.  It also emerges that the UK has allowed asylum applications from people fleeing persecution in the supposedly safe country to which HMG wants to send applicants for ‘processing’.  Wot wiv Trump looking like heading for power again, and Putin also heading for re-election by a marginally less transparent process, I again feel grateful to be old and childless.

One year on

It was on Friday 13 January last year that I took my symptoms to see the doctor.  He didn’t give me a diagnosis there and then, but launched the process.  A couple of weeks later a colonoscopy confirmed what I thought.  Unfortunately, it also provoked serious bleeding, then a ride in an ambulance and a few nights in hospital.  Thank goodness Martyn was at home to see me pass out.  The ensuing year has been one hospital visit after another - well over 30 - and another stay of a week or so after surgery in September.

Maybe no surprise that I didn’t feel like making marmalade last year.  Back on course this year: the batch in the photo is now made and in its jars, having set well, and the electrical contraptions are back in the cupboard.  Batch 2 soon followed, so with luck we won’t have to resort to the shop-bought variety, or the half-way house of cans of prepared Seville oranges.

On Thursday evening we went with Sandra to choral evensong at Rochester cathedral.  She and the late Michael had endowed that evening’s music, and the service was pretty well attended.  I’m not interested in the liturgy, but the choir was very good, and the organ, well, very English.  We repaired afterwards to a nearby fish restaurant, where the food was good, the ambiance suitable for conversation and the service prompt, if largely charm-free.  An eyebrow rose slightly on finding an automatic 12.5% service charge on the bill.  In the circumstances I would have tipped a bit less.  But a decent meal in the best company is already worth a lot.

Here’s hoping….

 ….that 2024 will be better than the year just gone.  The Christmas decorations and cards came down today, which is always sad, but it has been lovely to be surrounded by the good wishes of all our friends, and they remain even though the cards are in the recycling box.

We kicked off the year with a lunch party, as heralded in my last blog.  Thoroughly enjoyable day in good company, but I have to admit that the preparations, though pretty simple, were quite tiring.  But it was lovely to socialise, and Christine’s light chocolate gateau was superb.  The chicken casserole was its predictable success: Martyn had bravely boned all the chicken thighs, and the stock we’d made with the bones helped make it that bit more wholesome.  Reliable BBC recipe.

I think I need to give myself a little more time to get my strength back bit by bit.  Annie and I walked the circuit to the village and back yesterday.  We did the one-mile route, and I found the mild gradient on the way back just a bit testing.  

Train services are still up the spout.  Martyn had to go to Tonbridge to collect Annie on Tuesday, and we’d to take her back there this morning.  Evidently there has been a land slip at Robertsbridge - hardly surprising given the rain of recent weeks.  Glad I’m no longer commuting to the smoke!

For the last few days we’ve had a mistle thrush serenading us from a tree at the top of the garden.  He’s a bit secretive, so I had to identify him from his song with the help of the RSPB’s excellent web site.  We’re seeing a bit more of the small birds too: blue tits at the feeders, plus the occasional robin - I saw one having a fight with a dunnock just outside the window a few days ago.  The blackbirds are much in evidence, as are the usual wood pigeons, magpies and crows.

The mild weather has given the garden a boost.  We have a blue hebe in flower, not far from a rather sulky winter jasmine, and the clematis Freckles is flowering well again.  (Must get another for the back fence.)  Bulbs are coming along well, and there are some promising buds on the camellias, one of which has sulked for the past few years.  Hoping for the best.

Another one bites the dust

 For annual ramblings, please scroll down to the 2 December entry

It should surprise no one that we are glad to see the back of 2023, though my health issues brought me into contact with a whole lot of thoroughly likeable and very caring people: it’s an ill wind, eh?

We’ve had a good time over the festives in our elderly way.  As planned, Martyn’s sister Sandra spent Christmas Day with us and stayed overnight, and we had a splendid lunch outing a couple of days ago, visiting our friends Claire and Richard and their kids, not far from where we used to live.  Kids: Steph and David have turned out to be charming and responsible adults approaching middle age…

I suspect we’ll see the new year in through closed eyelids.  We’re looking forward to welcoming Annie on 2 Jan, and have invited friends Chris and Jon to lunch as well: the time-honoured chicken casserole, I think: never a bad idea when we’re at the mercy of the train timetable.  We had hoped Annie’s brother Terry would join us, but he’ll be on babysitting duties.

The remarkably mild weather is kicking a lot of stuff into growth.  Lots of daffodils and snowdrops are poking through, and I see new shoots on at least one of the roses.  I wouldn’t normally prune them just yet, but may need to.  Similarly, the hellebores are putting up new growth, so it’s time the manky old foliage was hacked down.  Mild, sure: but the winds have been anything but.  I fished the barbecue cover out of the pond this morning, and it has already blown away from where I hung it out to dry.  It’ll get wetter again in no time, so it can lie where it fell for the moment.  And we’ll see whither it has flown tomorrow.