Around this time we’d usually have been in Lagrasse enjoying (some of) the cultural events. As it is, we’ve pretty well decided than long road trips are no longer for us. The Yorkshire trip was a bit much for us, and even a trip to the sea yesterday reminded us that driving is not fun these days. Appalling roads, worse still driving: we used to enjoy going out for a drive, but not now.
We went to Dungeness for a bit of fresh air and a little stroll across the shingle. My superb new walking stick helped: we went and collected it on Wednesday from my dear friend Dave Mann, who had crafted it from burr elm. Gardening tends to be at dusk these days, given the high daytime temperatures. I did a bit of planting a couple of nights ago, but find that I missed the tray of busy lizzies: a job for later this evening.
I’m standing back a bit from political commentary: others are doing it so better than I can. I’m welcoming the good news of our new PM’s utterances, but am old enough to bide my time. As for the Untied States of America, I think the electorate is finally coming to its senses. I hope I live long enough to see the results.
I’m celebrating my birthday in E Yorkshire, where we are staying for a few nights not far from our friend Annie’s. Martyn treated me to a trip on the Settle-Carlisle railway line yesterday: wonderful scenery, but the train being a special charter, we had to do a lot of hanging about to let regular traffic through. The spectacular part is between Appleby and Settle, and another time we’d do it on scheduled trains. We spent a couple of hour in Carlisle, where we were made to feel rather unwelcome at the cathedral, and we were proselytised at by people with guitars and an amplifier in the market square. The city itself is pleasant enough, but it’s not somewhere I’d visit specially.
The drive north was also rather long: we shall break it up a bit more on the way home. We find ourselves tiring more quickly than we used to, which is of course normal as the years add up. So a lazy day today: we’re off to lunch at a café nearby while the car gathers up a few kilowatts nearby.
Sandra is still in a lot of pain, so Martyn is staying in Rochester until the care arrangements kick in next Monday. A stair lift is being installed in the coming days, so that will give Sandra a bit more independence. I’ve been going across every other day, sometimes bringing a meal with me. I’m a rather timid driver these days, so find it rather tiring. The good thing about it is that it gets me into air-conditioned comfort for the duration of the journeys.
It is stiflingly hot again, and we’re expecting it to continue well into next week. I’ve been skulking indoors behind closed curtains, with a fan blowing through a wet matrix. Not terribly effective, but better than nothing. Once the sun had come round today to shade the area by the back door, I set to and overhauled the wheelbarrow. Not exactly major engineering, but I soon realised that it’s well over thirty years since I last changed an inner tube, and had to remind myself by trial and error how it’s done. Fortunately I now have an electric compressor, so I was spared the effort of pumping the damn’ thing up. Sweaty business nonetheless, so I’m back in the shade in my trusty cotton djellaba, and wondering whether I really want a hot supper tonight!
We have been spending a bit of time lately shuttling between home and Benenden hospital, so are getting to know the road pretty well, potholes and all. So this time I was more than ready to yield the driving seat to Martyn. The route passes through Goudhurst, where there’s a tight double bend in front of the church. There are plenty of signs as you approach the village, warning drivers of heavy goods vehicles to avoid it. There were three of the brutes ahead of us as we drove up the hill, and of course traffic was at a standstill. Fortunately, we were able to divert, adding just a few miles to the journey.
A little further on, I noticed a movement ahead of us, and yelled ‘stop!’. A hefty bough of a tree had fallen across the road just ahead of us. A truck we’d been following had clipped it with its nearside mirror, I think: we saw said truck in a lay-by further on, and the driver was busy looking at the damage. The bough was dead and pretty rotten, but would have buggered up our front end had we not spotted it, or worse still, landed on us. Anyway, we and a number of other drivers soon got the road clear, and we were still in good time for the appointment. Just goes to show that it pays to build in a bit of extra time just in case…
Martyn having had to fast before today’s business we repaired to the café for tea and a bite, expecting to amble home and cool off for the rest of the day, and then to collect Sandra from hospital tomorrow after a procedure, whereupon Martyn would stay over there and keep an eye on her. Message from Sandra: acute back pain, cancelling hospital visit. Lights flashing, bells clanging, we hied ourselves straight from Benenden to Rochester, and let ourselves in with the hidden door key. Cutting a long story short, Sandra is now just mobile with a ‘rollator’ she had ordered, and which we assembled for her. Zipped back home for Martyn to pack a bag, and for me to pack some of the frozen meals I’d prepared. So I’m here, he’s there, and we’re preparing for a few days of domestic disruption. Nothing in the diary for a few days. Just as well, eh?
We have driven further in the last few days than we do in a month: must remember to stick the car on charge tonight! Maybe when it cools down a bit. High thirties here today, so I’m sitting in the shade next to the cooling fan, dressed in a thoroughly un-fetching cotton djellaba, and wondering whether to dispense with the boxers. A couple of pairs of shorts have been delivered today, so that should be enough to bring an end to the heatwave.
The weather has done everything except snow this month. Strong winds, torrential rain, hail, thunderstorms and now, very sunny, hot and humid. Before I opened the doors yesterday, the temperature in the sitooterie was 59. Nevertheless, we’ve had quite a busy month: lunch with sister Sandra and another with former neighbours, and a trip to the coast to meet a visiting friend from Switzerland. The garden becomes rather demanding at this time of year: grass cutting, dead-heading, potting up tomatoes and of course more weeding than I can cope with.
Though it was sad that we had to cancel our Mediterranean cruise, at least the insurance has now coughed up - and the renewal premium is a bit less inflated than we expected.
The world of politics is pretty mixed up at the moment. Sir K Starmer’s tenure has been fragile for some time, particularly since the drubbing his party took from the far right in May’s local elections. And yet the same far right didn’t get close to Mr Burnham last week. (It’s a great shame that he lost to Jeremy Corbyn in the leadership contest some years ago.) At local level, the Lib Dems have strengthened their position, which is the best we can hope for hereabouts: their track record is strong.
Stark contrasts on the other side of the pond. Canada has the smartest and most credible Prime Minister I can remember. Mexico is pretty well served too. The bit in the middle is rudderless, and at the mercy of a malignant, self-serving head of state, bankrupting itself on an unnecessary war and countless vanity projects - as well as wrecking the world economy. At a societal level, the deprivation of the poorest, particularly in the context of health care, seems like deliberate cruelty heavily tinged with xenophobia and racism. Meanwhile, fiscal policy seems designed to make the obscenely rich even richer. In constitutional terms, valuable institutions are being starved of resources, and the ‘justice’ department seems to exist mainly to bully and harm those who dare to criticise the regime. In a way, it’s tempting to say qu’ils se débrouillent, but that ignores (a) the interests of millions of decent, responsible Americans, and (b) the fact that if America sneezes, the rest of the world catches pneumonia.
Back in the garden, the roses are doing really well this year, and are repaying the pretty ruthless pruning and Ben’s administration of large volumes of muck. After last year’s glut of apples, we shall have next to none this year. Par contre, the blueberry has a lot of fruit coming along. My sowings of parsley, rocket and spinach have been very successful if you happen to be a slug or snail. I shall have one more try, using slug pellets, and just try to live with the guilt.
The cliché is that it consists of two fine days and a thunderstorm. It came early this year, but with a week or so of 30°+ temperatures at the end of May, unrelieved by storms. The heat has really kicked the roses into action, and shortened the flowering season of the rhododendrons. Now that we’re officially in summer, we have had a day of torrential thunder showers, and the garden is doing its best to soak it up. With luck I should get some dry hours to get the roses dead-headed.
The tomatoes have germinated well, and are pricked out into pots in the sitooterie. Andy has offered us some peppers and aubergines, so we’ll see how they do in the raised bed. I’m not sure whether the parsley has survived the attentions of the slugs and snails, but the rocket is doing reasonably well. I might have another try at sowing spinach. And parsley…
The wildlife, meanwhile, seems to be thriving. We have a lot of traffic at the feeders: we’re seeing lots of blue tits, adult and juv, and for the first time we’ve had lots of jackdaws as well, and a woodpecker or two. The wildlife camera picks up lots of visits from badgers and foxes most nights.
Quite a bit of u3a activity of late. Our German gang had a good natter based on reports of the Ebola outbreak, and as usual left feeling thoroughly depressed! We tend to finish our sessions with a good moan about life, the universe and everything. We’re off to the computer group tomorrow (it clashed with a planned walk on the Commons, but the forecast is not great). Then on Thursday I’m playing scrabble with a nice group of new friends. I’m tempted to have a crack at Mah Jong, which I haven’t played for sixty years. Unfortunately, the cribbage group seems to have withered away: I used to play it at home with the parents, and enjoyed it, but I guess it’s a game that no longer appeals in this day and age.
I spend a bit of time playing word games on line. I’m struck by the number of adverts for miracle cures for everything from peripheral neuropathy, toenail fungus, obesity, erectile dysfunction and skin complaints. One that cropped up yesterday was for a patch that would give you an instant golden tan. I just cleared the 56 spam messages from my inbox, telling me of missed deliveries, gambling wins, bounced payments, and of course miraculous penile enhancement. Most times the phone rings it’s ’Bank security department’ or someone offering me a job interview. There have been lots of AI announcements purportedly from Martin Lewis, Richard Branson and even Keir Starmer offering get-rich-quick schemes. More sinister altogether is an advert, purportedly from the BBC, promoting lies from Farage. The miracle weight loss patches are typically branded as Boots or Superdrug, inter alia.
I suppose we have the world of politics to blame for the extinction of honesty and integrity. Right back from 1960s political philosophy classes, I still struggle with the question ‘why do we value democracy?’ Discuss.
The issue that led to our cancelling our cruise turned out to be less serious than we thought. Remains to be seen whether the insurance will pay up. [Later: it did: phew!]
The other good news is that we get to see the garden at its best. The roses are coming into flower, the rhododendrons are looking great, and sowings of sweet peas and nasturtiums have germinated. So too have the tomatoes, though we sowed too late to expect much of a crop. Our little rosemary hedge is looking good: Ben clipped it down a bit last week to encourage it to keep bushing out. The cornus and willow are sprouting well after Ben’s and my efforts to hack down last year’s growth, so we should have plenty of colour next winter. The roses have responded remarkably well to a top dressing of muck, and even without that, Queen Elizabeth has nearly grown past the top of the kitchen window: astonishing, since it is growing in next to nothing in a tiny bed on the terrace.
We’re using our unexpected free time to catch up with friends: tea with a local friend tomorrow, and I’m meeting ex-beak colleagues in a week or so’s time. It’s a shame we’ve missed a chance to get together with the friends from Wakefield we met on another cruise years ago, but plan a trip to Yorkshire in the summer, and will hope to catch up then.
For reasons I’ll maybe come back to in due course, we have cancelled our stay in the floating care home. We’re sad not to be getting together again with our friends from Wakefield: maybe another time.
Well, I guess we’ll get to enjoy the garden, which is at its best in May and June. Nasturtiums and sweet peas are germinating, as is the rocket, and I shall sow some tomatoes in the hope of a late crop. Too late for first early spuds, though, so we’ll have to rely on Fortnums.
Sweet peas seem to be germinating, as is rocket. Parsley and nasturtium are taking their time. We shall have fewer apples this year - probably just as well, since we’re still slowly working our way through last year’s bumper crop. We haven’t started spuds or tomatoes this year, since we shall be away when they’re in most need of attention. I’ll do a late sowing of tomatoes, and hope for the best.
We’re looking forward to a lazy couple of weeks in the floating care home, though we’re a bit anxious about the fact that our cabin is just above the galley! But we’re looking forward to seeing new places, and even more to seeing old friends we met years ago on another Mediterranean cruise. Watch this space!
What can go wrong will go wrong. I had the German conversation gang here this morning - eight of us round the table. It being my turn to host, I’d chosen a couple of texts, one about the value of eating together, and the other about the importance of drinking plenty of water. The first sounded a bit ’Polyanna’, and the second a bit schoolmarmish, so that provoked some lively discussion.
Unfortunately, our cafetière sprung a leak just I was preparing coffee for the guests. There was just enough proper coffee to go round them as wanted, but I had to make the decaf stuff by the old-fashioned jug method. Well, so far as I know, ingen spudde, ingen dog, as my Swedish friends would say. And I’ve ordered a replacement from our generous and altruistic friend Mr Bezos, malgré moi.
Well, the long awaited cheque has at last appeared in the bank account, so I shall unleash my snottygram to the CEO tomorrow.
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.
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%.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
