What passes for excitement hereabouts

We had a pleasant Sunday lunch and afternoon with Sandra: Martyn had found a lamb casserole recipe which looked worth a try, so we got some local neck fillet from our usual butcher.  It’s nice in these days of plastic-wrapped everything to see the butcher return from the back shop with part of a carcass and carve out a neck fillet.  Lamb from Penshurst, less than five miles from here.  Three fillets came to just over a kilo.  Trimmed and browned, then veggies sweated, spices and home made passata added and a long slow cook - and we had a good meal for two left over after we’d served three decent portions.  Pudding used up a lot of this year’s apple crop, so two ingredients from the garden, which is always a comfort.  (I’ll pass rapidly over the fact that the blackberries in the crumble came from Guatemala.)  We had some houmous and tapenade for starters, and although we didn’t grow the chickpeas and olives ourselves, we can at least take the credit for their transformation.

As we sat and digested with a cup of tea, we could hear pneumatic drills going nearby.  Martyn had noticed some neighbours stopping outside Mary and Charles’s, then going and ringing the bell.  They had presumably spotted a water leak, so as it turned out the water company’s contractors beavered away for hours into the night, the water pressure dwindling away meanwhile.  I’d calls during the evening from two elderly neighbours seeking reassurance that it wasn’t just they whose water supply had dried up, so I was able to reassure them on that point, and advise them to fill their kettles from the tap in the cloakroom rather than the mains tap in the kitchen.  Before bedtime the water came on again, and it didn’t take long before it was running clear again.

This morning Charles and a friend were standing contemplating the huge hole outside N°4, so I accused the former of getting bored and deciding to drill for oil.  Remains to be seen what happens next: I guess they’ll have done a lash-up pending a definitive repair.

Modest amounts of gardening: we’ve taken down the hanging baskets, since they were starting to look tired.  They’re in the mini greenhouse pro tem while I summon the energy to replant them.  There’s still a bit of colour in the garden, though I have started to haul out the verbena bonariensis in the hope that it hasn’t seeded too much already.  The little beech is turning into that wonderful palette of colours that comes each autumn, and the cornus are showing the coloured stems that will bring much of our winter colours.  When I was planting one of the Midwinter Fire cornus last week, I could see plenty of bulbs coming back to life.  We just have to get through the dark months now.

First service

A year or so after surgery I’m now on a five-year surveillance programme.  I had a CT scan a few weeks ago, and a blood test to look for tumour markers.  Yesterday I had a colonoscopy, which was altogether less uncomfortable than previous essays in the medium: of course, I could lie on my back for this one, and the man with the long eye had less far to go.  None of the above revealed signs of recurrence, but I’m still on probation for another four years.  Cautious optimism in order.

We’ve hardly seen the sun this month: the anticyclonic gloom has set in good and proper: dreich, damp and chilly.  Still, there’s the odd bit of colour left in the garden, and Ben has (a) cleared out the bed under the garnet acer and red cornus, and (b) brought us a couple of midwinter fire cornus plants: we just need to find room for them.  I just hope the hellebores survive his radical treatment!  Pale pink penstemon cuttings rooted well, so we have passed on a few to Mary down the road: she admired the parent plant when we had our Macmillan coffee morning back in September.  [Proceeds now stand at £1422, by the way!] 

As for politics, we’re both pretty depressed.  It wouldn’t worry us too much if the mayhem could be confined to the Land of the Free, but if the orange one (a) hangs Ukraine out to dry and (b) emasculates NATO, the soi-disant successor to Peter the Great will be emboldened to chance his arm in the Baltic States, Poland, Moldova and goodness knows where else.  Once again, one is grateful to be ancient and childless.

Eighteen years on

Having had to dip out of Martyn’s birthday meal, we rebooked for today’s wedding anniversary at the same venue, which we know by reputation only.  Well, our first visit was a success.  Excellent food, friendly service and a pleasant environment with muzak that didn’t impinge on conversation.  Sankey’s Seafood Kitchen and Bar.  Two firsts for me: Korean crisp cauliflower starter, and John Dory main course.  Martyn had a classic prawn cocktail followed by halibut.  The John Dory was delicious, but a shade labour-intensive. I’ll have a better idea of how to tackle the bones next time.

Young Mr Sankey was visible in the restaurant, which is always a good sign.  I was tempted to collar him, since he’s a one of our three councillors, and I have a bone to pick with said body.  But since I hadn’t taxed Alex, the other local councillor who served me when I collected my happy pills from the pharmacy earlier, I thought it would be unfair to tackle him - in any case, today’s agenda is a happy one, so no need to sour the atmosphere.  

Eighteen years since the very wet day when we registered our civil partnership.  Since we’d been an item for over five years by then, we tend to remember 28 April 2001, the day we met.  But a good excuse for a celebratory meal nevertheless.

Busy coupla weeks

Flu and Covid jabs, meals with friends and family: that sort of stuff.  Of the jabs, Martyn was quite poorly for a week or so after the Covid one.  I felt a touch out of sorts, and the arm was sore for a few days, but nothing worse.  Surprising how many people we know have had bad reactions to the vaccine.  Better than the disease, though.

We had a most enjoyable reunion of our old art group last week at the home of one of its members.  Miss had instructed each of us to bring a plate of goodies (savoury in our case), so we did our usual smoked salmon palmiers and sausage rolls - we’re getting a bit typecast, but who cares?  We ring the changes with the palmiers, and find that red pesto and sun-dried tomatoes do well, specially with a sprinkle of grated Parmesan.  

Donations continue to trickle in following our Macmillan coffee morning.  The total now stands at £1382, which sets us a bit of a challenge for next time!

Our u3a Four Seasons Birding group met last Thursday at the RSPB reserve at Dungeness.  Most enjoyable visit, thanks to the organisers and the excellent guide.  I am at best a casual birdwatcher, so the commentary from the guide was particularly useful.  Lots of birds I’d never seen before: marsh harriers, bearded tits and golden plovers to name but a few.  Hosts of lapwings, myriad ducks of numerous persuasions, goldfinches, snipes and so many more.  One or two of the group spotted a kingfisher, and our expert birders were excited by the sighting of a black-necked grebe.  I admit that I found the walk a bit tiring: it takes time to rebuild the strength, I suppose.  

Shame that Martyn was still off form on his big birthday: we decided to cancel the planned lunch out.  Adding insult to injury, a misunderstanding about venue meant that our planned meal with friends on Sunday didn’t happen.  Oh well, all the more reason to re-plan the celebrations when the stars align better.

Too old for all this

Last time I charged the Renault, it was enough just to plug it in and click on the boost button on the app.  Yesterday that worked for a minute, then dropped out.  Charger rebooted, it kicked in again, and soon dropped out.  Time after time.  We plugged in the Fiat for an overnight programmed charge, and that seems to have worked.  I’m trying that tonight on the Renault, so we’ll see tomorrow if it works.  One tries hard to be umweltfreundlich, but the reliance on software - or rather, on my ability to use it - makes the whole thing rather difficult.  

Can anyone tell me why we can’t just plug the damn’ thing and throw a switch?

Not a bad result

We last did a Macmillan coffee morning five years ago, when I’d no inkling that I’d become a consumer rather than just a supporter of their services.  That time we raised about £450 if memory serves me well, so now that I’ve encountered their services in person, it seemed right to double the target.  So we catered pretty lavishly and cast the net wide, and had something like 30 guests here on Saturday.  They seemed to have enjoyed the party, although as before the savoury stuff went better than the sweet.  We have distributed some of the leftovers to neighbours who couldn’t come, but there are still a few scones and buns, which is not good news when one is some way from one’s goal weight.

As usual, the smoked salmon palmiers were well received, and the sausage rolls disappeared like snow off a dyke.  We had some quiche and tarte aux poireaux left over, so that sorted lunch next day.  But I seem to have lost my touch with short crust pastry: I had to resort to buying a couple of rolls from Fortnums.  There are so many recipes for such dishes, each contradicting the last, so I took an executive decision: six eggs, a pot of double cream, a good splash of milk, salt, pepper and nutmeg.  We were pleased with the leek tart, which was broadly based on a Rick Stein recipe, so shall have another go at that.  I’ll leave the pastry to Martyn…

One of the guests was Martyn’s second cousin Susan, who lives in Washington State, and is currently visiting the land of her grandparents, staying for a few days with Martyn’s sister, Sandra.  Here are the four of us, enjoying each other’s company after the hordes had obediently left by the stated 13:00 deadline.  We took Susan for a little stroll along the Pantiles and Chapel Place before returning to Forges-l’Evêque for fish and chips - Sandra’s treat.  It was good to meet Susan: she is a friendly no-nonsense person with whom we share many values.

Well, the bottom line is that, at the time of writing we have raised four-thirds of our target.  Most was donated on line, but we have today banked a stunning amount raised on the day: the collecting box alone yielded more than we raised in total last time, and it is now winging its electronic way to Macmillan Cancer Support.  (The fact that we returned from our trip to the town with a new iPhone is pure coincidence: honest, Officer.)

Oh, and if you’d like to add to our takings, you can do so at https://www.justgiving.com/CM24036877 .

Busy, busy

The house was a hive of activity yesterday as the decorators started work on the kitchen and cloakroom.  They seem to be doing a very thorough job, and ought to finish today.  The last time the kitchen was painted we did it ourselves, but in recent years we’ve done less decorating.  We did partly re-paper the hall after the garage conversion, but have been contracting out the more complex stuff.

I’ve told the decorators they’ll have to be out tonight, since the kitchen is going to be busy: we are hosting a Macmillan coffee morning on Saturday, so have a lot of baking in prospect.  The sausage rolls and palmiers are in the freezer, ready to be thawed, sliced and baked, and we’re planning to make some quiches and sweet stuff.  Should be fun: so far over 20 say they’re coming, and I expect there’ll be a few more.  Donations so far are startlingly generous: they’re already a whisker over what we raised five years ago when we last hosted one.  Just as well: we’ve set an ambitious target.

Sad news from Canada yesterday: my second cousin Peter decided to have an end put to his suffering last weekend - not a decision available to us this country, and I’ll keep my own counsel on the issue.  A stroke had left him badly paralysed, half blind and wheelchair bound, so one can understand his decision.  I hadn’t met him, but have met his sister, his widow and two of his brothers either in Canada or when they have been in London, and always enjoyed their company.