Retirement, eh?

I have driven the best part of 200 miles in the past week or so, purely in the pursuit of the hobby and related stuff.  It's the interviewing season, and I have the last of six days to do tomorrow.  Some mightily good candidates, and quite a lot going forward for second grillings.

In the meantime, the slash and burn continues in the garden as and when the weather allows.  We've planted onion sets and sown lettuce, leeks and various kinds of beans, and of course await results.  Martyn has shifted herbs to containers to make space for veggies in the raised bed, but it's all the more obvious now that it's far too small for more than a spot of tinkering.  If one had the courage of one's convictions, one would Get Someone In to rotovate great swathes of grass, and plant lots of spuds.  Absent the above, we have started fifteen seed potatoes of three varieties in containers out on the terrace, and we'll see what they do.  We've had terrific results from Charlottes in the past, and will see how the Maris Peers and Rockets perform. 

We saved seed from borlottis and flat yellow runner beans (delicious!) last year, so they are installed in disused PQ tubes of compost in the sitooterie, alongside some french bean and leek seed from good old Fortnums.  A few cuttings have over-wintered successfully in the cold frames, notably potentillas and cistus.  A three year old pelargonium shows signs of life, as do a couple of long-serving fuchsias.  Might haul them indoors to boost them into producing shoots long enough to take as cuttings before we head south in a month's time.  If we get a good day this week, I'll get out with shears and tidy up some hebes, box and pieris.  The primroses are blooming fit to bust: we got them from Gladys, my art class friend some years ago.  Sad to say, she seems to have gone into residential care: her vast pile of a house has 'sold' signs on it.  But at least, as Miss perceptively put it, we know she's safe.

Rattled the cage of Jokers"Я"Us today, it being more than five weeks since the latest of their blown double-glazing units was measured for replacement.  I hope, for the sake of their future customers, that we have fewer cock-ups, hence failure costs, than last time.  While in cage-rattling mode, I have enquired of dear Pierre whether he intends ever to finish the work in Another Place.  Our spies report precisely no progress since last back end.  Replies awaited from both.  Deep sigh.

Colour at last

There's a patch just outside the sitooterie that is a blaze of colour: yellow and purple crocuses, and the first daffodils.  There have been some spells of fine weather long enough for me to get out and garden a little, so the roses - most of them, anyway - are pruned, and I've made a start on giving the penstemons their annual short back and sides.  Much of the grass is still too soggy to cut, but I did manage to cut the bit that shows at the front, where the ground is a little drier.

Someone points out on Facebook today that the petition to reinstate Cl4rk5on has attracted far more signatures than one calling for an end to female genital mutilation.  As I tersely observed there yesterday, I used to enjoy Top Gear when it was about cars rather than its presenter.  I haven't watched it for some years, having tired of the juvenile laddishness, let alone what I've heard described as the hubristic bigotry that has become its trademark.

Oh well, wholesome entertainment last night: a fund raising quiz by the Friends of the local CAB.  The format, unlike the subject-specific rounds at the Mayor's quiz, was eight rounds of mixed general knowledge, which we preferred.  I have to say that the questions were on the whole rather easier, though that didn't stop us coming in with fewer than 5/10 in a couple of rounds.  Nevertheless, our table (largely thanks to Martyn) came fourth out of eighteen, and we might have crept up a place had they accepted my answer that Switzerland's is one of the few flags of the world that are square rather than rectangular.  But it's only a game, and at £15 per head including fish and chips, it's good value.

More gardening today, since Miss is struck down with a bad cold.  I'm busy elsewhere next Thursday, so that puts off still further the evil hour of pencil portraiture sessions!  Shame too in a way: I have a box of nice French drawing pencils in the boot of the car.  You can't buy Criterium pencils here, so I keep an eye out for them in the French supermarkets, and buy them up when there are good deals on offer.  It means that I can resell them at 50p and just break even: the weakness of the Euro helps, of course.  I should add that I don't attempt to factor in transport costs...

March madness

Interesting to read today that, assuming an SNP landslide on 7 May, the Tories and Labour will be pretty much level pegging [identifier of origin of cliché earns honorable mention].  How about a Lab-Green-SNP  coalition?  Given that the Lib-Dem vote is likely to collapse, the wild card is UKIP, from comment upon which I gladly refrain.  Wonder how the Tory voter base would feel about a Tory-UKIP alliance?  Wonder also how many would consequently feel tempted to emigrate.  Nice in a way that politics are getting a shade less boring than heretofore.  We are decamping to Another Place for the last fortnight of the campaign.

Tired today after a couple of days this week interviewing postulant hobbyists.  And after all the scribbling of notes, the hands hurt like hell, despite my using the laptop for report writing.  Hardly surprising that I couldn't find any inspiration at art class today, and settled for a couple of little thumbnail sketches.  I did gesso a sheet of acrylic paper, ready for when next the muse pauses hereabouts.

Here at Forges-l'Evêque, we're interviewing kitchen suppliers.  My only regret about selling up at Smith Towers was that I'd only just had the kitchen refitted.  We're looking for kit that will approximate to what we had there, including a well-dimensioned top oven that integrates oven, grill and microwave, and think we've found one.  One result, if the refit goes ahead, is that we might finish up with no fewer than four microwaves in Another Place.  Whither, one adds, we would repair for the duration of the works, as is our wont.

First colour today on daffodils and purple crocuses.  Primroses are blooming fit to bust, but I see a 'sold' sign on the vast house of the kind friend who gave them to us.  Hope she's well, and comfortable in more appropriate digs.

Fresh Air

On with the vest, shirt, pullover with thermal lining, Fortnum's best insulated work trousers, thick socks, fake Timberland boots, warm jacket and a hat.  The day dawned bright and glistening, but not cold enough for the path through the woods to be frozen - I'd to navigate a sea of mud on the way to a briefing at a layby on the Common.  What's all this about?  The Disgustedville half-marathon, which I was marshalling at the corner nearest home.  The organisers feed a little into a number of local charities that provide marshals, including the local Citizens' Advice Bureaux.  I was teamed up with a retired Colonel, who chairs the said CAB.  We'd met at committee meetings, but it was good to have the chance to get to know each other a bit better.  Delightful fellow.

Somehow, quite a few cars made it through the cordons, and one dame in a small red Toyota nearly took out one of the competitors.  An angry white van man and his mate threatened to drive through at one point, but a spot of military/judicial diplomacy and firmness sent him back the way he'd come.  Most people were very understanding, but some were bolshy, despite lots of advance publicity about road closures. 

We were stationed just before the ten mile marker, at the end of a long gentle upward slope, so people were plainly starting to hurt.  Lots of encouragement: 'That was the worst bit!'  'Almost at the ten mile marker!'  'Only three miles to go!'.  The leader was a good quarter mile ahead of the field.  Interesting point of etiquette: a lot of the more experienced runners made a point of saying 'thank you, marshals' as they passed.  Well, we did dissuade quite a few homicidal motorists, I suppose.  One feels good.  The ears have stopped glowing, and the toes have just about thawed.

I finished my latest little daub at class on Thursday.  It is of a boat that has been transported in to decorate an oyster bar next to the salt pans near Gruissan.  It couldn't have sailed or motored there, since the salt pan is only a few inches deep!  Decorative, nonetheless.  We wouldn't have seen it had the art gallery we'd gone to visit been open at the published hours: we'd gone looking for someone with keys when we stumbled upon it.  I posted the picture on Facebook, and a friend already wants a scaled-up reproduction!  We'll see.

We noticed the other day that one of the hub caps on the VW had gone missing.  'Bugger', I thought, since VW spares are notoriously expensive.  Well, some googling later I found a supplier that wasn't exorbitant.  Since the remaining three were pretty manky, I ordered up and have fitted a full set.  They are now the only part of the car that is approaching clean.  This isn't the season for car-washing, since the roads are covered with grit and salt.  They are also spectacularly pot-holed, so you can spot the drunk drivers by their driving in a straight line, rather than weaving from side to side avoiding the suspension wreckers. 

Matters domestic

Well, the dining room is now equipped, at last, with a full complement of sealed double-glazing panes following the umpteenth and finally successful visit from a fitter from Jokers"Я"Us Home Improvements.  As ever, a polite and competent young man.  Such a shame their back office, though much improved, still screws up so comprehensively.  The warranty on the sealed units expires next year, and I gather that we may be invited to buy an extended one.  Meanwhile, another unit upstairs has also blown, so we've zeroed the stopwatch and started it again. A large number of the sealed units on the sunny side of the house have had to be replaced, some before we moved here (the original installation was in 2001) and quite a few since.  I may research what some of our local firms would charge to replace a blown sealed unit.  I'm disinclined to buy from Jokers"Я"Us in view of the collossal costs of failure that must be factored into their prices.

As for the hobby, I spent a couple of enjoyable evenings last week chatting up groups of people who want to join in, prior to more formal interviews next month.  In between those two sessions, I'd a day at the hobby proper, earning a streaming cold in the process, dammit.  I'd just about completed the 100-day cough that followed the one I got in Portugal last October, so have no doubt started again on that cycle.

Still, the garden is starting to look encouraging.  We have crocuses and snowdrops in flower, plus a few primulas.  I did a few minutes' token gardening this afternoon until rain stopped play, so can admire the snowdrops at the front as we come in without wincing too much at the bittercress, couch grass and moss.  I noticed some daffodils in flower as I walked down to the village a few days ago, so spring isn't too far off.

I'm less than six months away from a change in my relationship with the Department of Work and Pensions, so recently sent off for a statement of my entitlements.  It seems that I qualify for a full state pension, plus a few quid a week from the graduated pension scheme of the 1960s and 70s.  Just as well I don't rely on it, however: after income tax it will pay the council tax, gas and elec and maybe some of the water in and out charges, but not the bread and butter, let alone the jam.  I'm not sure I have the energy to enquire more than perfunctorily whether social security payments were made on my behalf when I worked in France, Belgium, Switzerland and Germany.  I continued to pay into the UK while I was abroad, but imagine my host countries will have exacted their dues.  My brother is in receipt of a pension for the time he worked in France, so it may be I'm entitled to a few bob as well. 

For those who don't follow one's facebook ramblings, you might like to know of our canelloni trick.  If you fancy a meaty pasta-bolognese supper, canelloni offer a much easier deal than lasagne.  Lardons, finely chopped onion, garlic to taste, red pepper, carrot and celery sweated and set aside.  500g good mince browned, previous act heaved in together with a can of chopped toms and a belt of passata, seasoning, herbs, or however you'd prepare the meat for lasagne, simmer gently for a good hour.  (Plenty of other veggie possibilities, of course.)  Count out the tubes you need to fill your gratin dish (for this amount of bolognese, twelve, to feed four), strap them together with an elastic band, and spoon in the filling.  You will in any case want the fallout in the bottom of the gratin dish.  Once the tubes are filled and the filling firmed down with the handle of your wooden spoon, pour any remaining bolognese sauce into the dish, cut the elastic band and arrange the tubes horizontally.  Top with béchamel and whatever grated cheese comes to hand, slap it in the oven until it starts to brown, dish up, wash down, doze off.  Observera: do not get distracted by a phone call while filling the tubes.  When in due course you return to the task, the tubes will have softened and stuck together, and you'll finish up with a random dish of pasta and bolognese.  Learned the hard way.  Of course, when buying the tubes, you have to select your product carefully.  I bought some from M*rr*s*ns a while back, and had to sort through all the packets on the shelf before finding one with a reasonable number of unbroken tubes.  The more recent purchase from S**nsb*rys was better, but there were still rejects. 

February already

Back to the Smith Towers layout, mirror image

Jokers"Я"Us Home Improvements continue to impress.  We waited in on Friday as asked.  Did they turn up?  Did they buggery!  (Neither in fact, so there's something to be grateful for, I guess.)  The plumber, on the other hand, arrived as arranged on Monday morning, and replaced the old dining room radiator with a tall thin job that chucks out plenty of heat (part-funded by the February-March council tax holiday).  The change was to make space for a dresser or sideboard.  Three walls of the dining room are mostly glazed, and the fourth was largely taken up by an old radiator and some gravely ugly pipework.  The late Charles Henry's old Stag chest of drawers, which served as a sideboard at Smith Towers, fits in perfectly, as does the late Doris Eileen's armchair, so we'll patch and polish the former and get a new cushion for the latter, and see if we can get a few more years out of them.  They also mask the need to redecorate, so we can put that off until the weather allows us to have the doors open.  We'd miss Miss's beach painting if we had a dresser, so there's yet another good reason to Do Nothing.  Except keep the pressure up on Jokers 'Я' Us Home Improvements.  I suggest that, if you have been watching this space, you desist now, unless I can find diverting ways to narrate the endless litany of failure.

Delightful lunch at the Rayners' on Sunday.  Ricotta, spinach and pine nut tart; beetroot, parsnip and chick pea casserole, and excellent company as always.  We'd hoped to entertain them here to tea today, but we learned, just as I put the spiced teacakes to prove, that their local meeting had been cancelled.  Ten out of the twelve teacakes are now in the freezer (two having been pronounced satisfactory) so we hope it's just partie remise.  It's been a bit of a baking orgy today: a dozen chouriço rolls are proving fragrantly as I type.  We're running out of freezer space.

Until the other day, we hadn't seen snow here for a couple of years.  So far, the snow has come and gone pretty quickly the couple of times we've had falls.  But the fridge and freezer are stocked for a siege just in case, though if the snow comes, I might have to trudge down to the village for a spot of Mother's Ruin: systemic insulation.  The snowdrops may have to live up to their charming French name of perce-neige.

We're starting to plan this year's first trip south.  Flights are booked for late April and early May, and we're shopping around for car hire.  I'm beginning to find the drive a bit of a pain, though we'll probably drive a couple of times later in the year, since there's alway stuff to schlepp out and/or back.  On the back of a virtual fag packet, Martyn has worked out that, if we can get cheap flights and car hire, and don't need immediately to schlepp stuff, it's cheaper, taking fuel, hotel, dinner, tunnel charges and tolls into account.  Not to mention wear and tear on your elderly and as ever obedient servant.

Thursday ramblings

A particularly unpleasant meeting at Hobby Club HQ last week has left me somewhat lethargic and disinclined to scribble.  Suffice it to say that I have left said club, membership of which is not necessary for one to participate in the hobby.  The saving in subscriptions will buy ten bottles of Fortnums' excellent Navarra rosé per annum, which seems to me to be somewhat better value for money. 

I've spent half an hour in the garden today cutting back roses, fuchsias, escallonias and the cherry tree, and hauling out a few miles of brambles and couch grass.  Nice to get out in the fresh air and sunshine, though the forecast is not encouraging.  Snowdrops are starting to show a bit of white, and quite a few polyanthus are in flower, together with some primroses, though not yet those that I promoted to the front row for spring colour visible from behind the protection of double glazing.  Oh and on that subject, Jokers 'Я' Us Home Improvements did at least call early on Monday (by which time, of course, we'd cleared the diary for the day) to say that the replacement units had failed inspection, and to enquire whether we could be in on Friday.  Watch this space.

Before that, our next visitor is the plumber.  His eye-watering estimate to replace the dining room radiator was as good as it gets, so if we've to have the system drained down, it occurred to us yesterday, we should have something similar done in the kitchen, to gain a bit of wall space.  Meanwhile, we wonder where things stand with tradesmen's work in Another Place: might it be a builder-free zone by the time we get there in the spring?

One wonders what 7 May will bring.  The concept of a Lab-Green-SNP coalition is not without its attractions, though the white-socked Essex barrow boys, aka the City of London Institutions, may perhaps not agree.  I'm glad I'm old.

But I don't plan to peg out before I get my pension this summer, and for a few more summers to come.  Funded by Vic's, of course.  His coffin, when he left us at 63, carried a poster saying 'Some other bugger's got my pension!'.

Oh, and the vaults of the sitooterie resounded to the voices bzw. trumpet of Ella and Louis again on Monday: our local fettler has returned the hi-fi to working order for £60.  Not bad, eh, considering we were on the point of sending the whole bloody issue over the wall.  And à propos music, it occurred to me in the insomniac small hours, to download that superb organ piece, Max Reger's Variations and Fugue on an original theme, Op 73, from iTunes.  Strange, how the wakeful hours move one.  Anyway, I did so, and - damn me! - only got the fugue.  Referee!  But it only cost £0.79, so I may refrain from rattling cages, for once.  And I wonder how many iTune downloaders have selected that piece for their first essay in the medium?