Hypertension, and relaxation

The bank story went from awful to ridiculous.  After trying for days by phone to reach the branch I'd sent the cheque to, they finally answered their phone yesterday.  (In the meantime, their call centre operation had achieved the square root of bugger-all.)  ‘No we haven’t received the cheque.  But it might be in our outside letterbox.’  Evidently they don’t check the letterbox often, because the postman usually comes in and hands the mail across the counter.  At my insistence, they checked said mailbox and found my letter and the cheque.  At this point, it would have been lying in the mailbox for fully a week.  I’ll wait until the amount appears in our account, whereupon I shall fire off a snottygram to the CEO of the bank, and look to make a move.  The bank’s automated services are now working well, after something of a mess as they tried to align the buyer bank and seller bank’s IT systems.  But my confidence is wrecked: why do I find myself dealing with such hopelessly incompetent banks?  Names on application.

The car went in on Tuesday for two days for attention to a rattle next to my right lughole.  On the drive home, said rattle was still evident, so it was straight back to the garage.  The mechanic had been told to look for a rattle from nearside front (where I’d reported a noise from the brake, which they’d already sorted).  I took him out for a little drive so he could locate the rattle I'd reported.  Having been without the car for 24+ hours to no useful effect, I’ve now booked it in again in June month!  Paciência.

Today’s beautiful weather has allowed us to sit outside under the umbrella for much of the afternoon.  The painters were here yesterday, so we no longer have to look at a rather weather-beaten summerhouse when we’re out on the terrace.  It’s looking smart, and painter Jason had time to paint the hall skirting boards as well. The hall ceiling awaits his attention, but we’re finally making some progress.  

Snarl again

I mentioned my struggle to get a savings account closed and the balance transferred.  The bank’s pop-up dame couldn’t deal with the cheque, and recommended that I post it to the Chatham branch, which I duly did.  I’m still waiting to hear, two days after posting, whether it has got through.  The on-line banking works fine, but there are a lot of routine things that need a visit to a branch, and our nearest one is three quarters of an hour’s drive away.  The pop-up is no substitute.  

Oh well, grizzle over: there could be - and are - worse problems.  We had a most enjoyable session of German conversation at Linda’s on Tuesday.  She had been given a piece about how modern colloquial German has adopted the word Maus (mouse) as a term for any person, often in compounds such as jemaus in place of jemand (someone).  It was striking how many anglicisms (or neo-anglicisms) seem to be OK in written German: Influencer, Softness, Me-time, and many others.  I’m in an endless struggle to reconcile my linguist instincts with a lingering pedantry.  For example, I’d better get used to decimation’s inflation from 10% to 99%.

We enjoy spring in the garden as much as summer. The bulbs are going over, but we have enough diversity of narcissus varieties to keep a display going for weeks and weeks.  The fritillaries have done well as usual, and the roses are coming along nicely.  Today I’ve sown some sweet peas, after getting them sprouted on the kitchen window ledge.  Previous attempts failed, probably because I didn’t RTFI [read the … instructions].

Annie next door asked, via Ben, if we’d be willing to part with the thuggish hypericum that was violating her airspace in the bed between our drives.  We’d have had to shift it anyway at some point, so maybe we were lucky to get it done on Annie’s bill) rather than ours, and without breaking sweat ourselves.  Today I’ve planted a cistus pulverulens in its place, grown from a cutting, and shall try to keep it in order.  I’ve planted out the leftover primulas from our last garden centre purchase, so the bed is at least populated for the moment. 

Mixed week

A fair bit of admin: the annual boiler service, a chat with our finance man, a bit of routine shopping, cooking and gardening.  Limited gardening: it has been a bit too showery and windy, but the grass is cut, I’ve sowed some nasturtium seeds and started preparing sweet pea seeds on the kitchen window ledge.  I’ve never grown them before, so will be interested to see if they come to anything.

On Wednesday we had a funeral to attend in Eltham: a former colleague and friend Mary, with whose (third) husband Michael I worked later.  An exuberant character and expert hostess, so the stories told had the chapel in hoots of laughter.  It was a beautiful day, and it being half term, the driving wasn’t too awful.

Today we’ve been to a good concert at the local assembly hall: Gershwin’s An American in Paris, and Ravel’s piano concerto (for both hands), with Jeneba Kanneh-Mason as the soloist.  Superb: it was the first time we’d heard the latter, and reckon it needs more exposure.  Perhaps it’s such a rarity because of the enormous demands it makes on pianist and orchestra alike.  It was well-placed right after the Gershwin piece, since it draws on a lot of jazz and blues influences.  Jeneba gave a virtuoso solo encore, but to my shame, I didn’t recognise the piece.  I shall enquire…  The local orchestra has improved greatly in the time we’ve been here - perhaps thanks to the recently retired conductor, who happens to be a distant cousin of Martyn and Sandra.  The tickets were a treat from Sandra, who was unfortunately unwell on the day.  Martyn wasn’t much better, so we stayed only for the first half, but didn’t mind missing Mussorgsky’s Pictures and Ravel’s Bolero.

Back to the usual routines next week. Covid-19 booster tomorrow, then a visit from a painter to quote for a couple of jobs we’re too lazy to do ourselves.  Tuesday: German conversation, then a visit to our generous bank’s one-day-a-week pop-up presence.  If they can’t deal with the transaction I need, I may blow a gasket.  They have shut down the local branch, and have proved bloody awkward to deal with, the nearest branch being a good half hour’s drive away.  I’ve not been too lucky with banks in recent years.  Snarl.

They all laughed…

Well, they were actually too polite to laugh at my idea of planting a rosemary hedge to replace the box ditto, which was ravaged by the moth.  Anyway, I took dozens of cuttings three years ago from a vigorous plant in the back garden, and brought them on in pots, planting them out in the raised bed that autumn.  They did OK, so we stuck them in the dreadful soil round the edge of the front garden: voici!  There are a couple of gaps, but I have a few more rooted cuttings to fill those that won’t be filled by the cornus when it gets going again.  The parent plant is now very leggy, and is overgrowing some roses, so I shall chop off a bough when it has finished flowering and start a new generation of plants.  Given one’s medical history, it helps to keep a long view when it comes to propagation.

We had a welcome visit from big brother John on Tuesday, and indulged in fish and chips from our usual supplier.  We order using a QR code on their card, which is held in place by a fridge magnet.  It’s somewhat telling that I was greeted by frier Jamie with ‘Got people in, David?  That’s a lot more than your usual order!’  

We’ve done a couple of u3a sessions this week: the monthly computer group meeting, where we always pick up some good tips, and ideas to fix our problems.  There were only four of us at our Scrabble group yesterday, but I managed to snag two out of three games.  Next u3a date is the usual German conversation group, and towards the end of the month I shall try out a French ditto.  From what I read, it seems rather more structured, if not bureaucratic, than our German group, which is more like friends meeting for coffee - and by the way - speaking German.  Open mind, please, Smith!

Modern times, chapter 93

A couple of weeks ago, I contacted a building society asking to close my account and transfer the balance to my bank account.  I was told they’d rather post a cheque to me, but that if I wanted they could send a form which, once completed and returned, would allow them to do the transfer electronically.  I opted for the latter, since the nearest bank branch is over an hour’s return drive from here.  Having received nothing twelve days later, I called to enquire as to progress.  Hung up after ten minutes of recorded and irrelevant waffle about ISAs.  Called again later.  After ten minutes on hold, I opted for the call back and waited another ten minutes.  

After another half hour on the phone, trying to do the deal online (and, of course, failing) we agreed that they’d post me a cheque in a week’s time, to which add ten days for postal delays.  I was asked why I wanted to close the account, and was tempted to reply ‘that’s none of your (expletive deleted) business’, but kept my cool.  All credit to the helpful woman on the other end of the phone, but the BS’s systems were utterly incapable of completing the task.  Name of building society on application.  So, there we are again, at the mercy of the Royal Wail.  When the cheque arrives, I’ll have to wait until the bank’s weekly local pop-up comes round again.  Is it any wonder I drink?

But then, the garden is at its most encouraging at the moment.  True, the crocuses and snowdrops have finished, and some of the daffodils too.  But we have quite an assortment of narcissi, so shall have them for a few more weeks.  The fritillaries and tulips are doing well, as are lots of clumps of primroses.  The roses are responding well to my usual fierce pruning, helped no doubt by the vast quantity of muck applied by Ben last week.  Curiously, the most vigorous one is Queen Elizabeth, which is planted in next to no soil beneath the kitchen window.  She’s putting up some vigorous shoots, including one from the very base.  So I’ll be able to get a lot of old wood out next winter - if I’m spared.

Time for an update

Not a lot to report: we’ve each had reassuring reports from our latest medical sessions.  The garden is coming along nicely: Queen Elizabeth is putting out lots of vigorous shoots, even from the bottom of the gnarled old branches, and the other roses are looking good.  Gardener Ben was here on Tuesday when three cubic metres of muck were delivered, and spent five hours spreading it out over the beds.  I’d buggered off meanwhile for a German conversation session, so left Martyn in charge of tea-making!

Sad news: our old friend Mary has left us.  I’d known her for over 50 years, and enjoyed her robust Coatbridge spirit.  I later worked with her third husband, and we shared hospitality at her London marathon parties and mine at New Year.  Equally sad to learn that another former colleague has had to part with her elderly cat, Moses.  He was pretty ancient, so I’m sure the decision will have been the right one.

Enjoyable lunch on Wednesday with Marion: I think I prefer my pizzas to Zizzi’s, but theirs are pretty decent.  Martyn and Marion shared a tiramisu, and pronounced it good. A propos catering, I’ve done a batch of broth and another of Felicity Cloake baked beans.  Both are massively better than the commercial varieties.  Today we’ve knocked out a chicken casserole, using a box of casserole sauce I found in the freezer, augmented with some bacon, tomatoes and button mushrooms.  We enjoy working together in the kitchen, and the results are usually good.  Tant pis for our waistlines.

What happened to honesty?

A sedentary, grumpy old git, I spend a while most days doing Scrabble-type games on the iPad.  Each move is followed by advertising for silly games, get-rich-quick bingo apps, and adverts for miracle cures for obesity and ageing.  Today’s crop brought an advertisement for a more sinister get-rich-quick investment scam, purportedly endorsed by Messrs Lewis, Branson and - gawd ‘elp us, Musk and Farage.  Presumably the crooks who post these advertisements manage to snag enough mugs to pay their costs.  One despairs whiles of one’s fellow men.

On a positive note, it has been a lovely day hereabouts.  We had an appointment at Benenden this morning (all reassuring), so went on to Sissinghurst for lunch in the café and a stroll round the garden.  It’s not quite the right time to visit: the bulbs are going over, and the spring and summer subjects are only beginning to show signs of life.  But it wasn’t too busy, and there was plenty of colour from daffodils, wallflowers and much else, and it was a pleasure to get out for a little stroll on a fine spring day.  And the sandwiches and cake at lunchtime were more than nourishing!

Back at Forges-l’Evêque, the garden waste bin is out for collection tomorrow, chocka with cornus, rose and penstemon prunings and not a few brambles and other weeds.  I should be able to get the grass cut tomorrow, though I’ll first have to clear a lot of twigs - nay, small branches - blown off the willow in the recent gales.  So wot wiv grass cutting, twig gathering and the next round of rose pruning, the garden waste bin will be pretty full when they come for it two weeks hence.