You'll wonder where the yellow went...

Who can complete the 1950s advertising couplet?

Well, the yellow is on its way out hereabouts. The sitooterie will shortly follow into a similar blue shade, though the terra cotta coloured flooring won't change.  So far, Martyn's treatment of the gap between the French windows and the floor seems to be keeping the slugs at bay.  The carpet is a little less mottled than we thought when we chose it, so will probably be no less susceptible to marks than its green predecessor.  Oh well, it's bought and paid for now, so we'll just need to get used to it.  Letting down and ironing the curtains made for a pretty substantial project, involving a dozen or so square metres of ironing, and about six metres of hemming the heavy canvas.  I think said fabric must have been designed to withstand thermonuclear attack, so do not expect to see fine sewing: I did at least manage to keep the curtains free of blood...  Still, they hang well, and go nicely with the blue walls. 

As I was working my laborious way along them, a memory came back to me.  At primary school, the girls' sowing and knitting was inspected every so often by a ghastly old witch called Miss Geddes, who was sent on the rounds of the schools by the education committee.  She had a vicious tongue, and would often unravel several rows of knitting in front of the whole class if it did not conform to her standards.  My sowing efforts of  the last couple of days would probably have earned me a thrashing.  The boys were spared the ordeal, however, being also spared sowing and - largely - knitting (can't remember what we did while the girls were knitting and sowing: surreptitiously playing pontoon or reading the Beano, I suspect...). 

Returning to an improved normal

The dining room is redecorated, re-carpeted and re-furnished, so the front room and conservatory are back to their only moderately cluttered state.  Martyn has sealed up the gap between the floor and the french widow (excuse the Hoffnungism), and we hope no longer to come down each morning to find slug trails on the carpet.  The blue-grey walls and warm grey carpet look fine.  Just a pity the curtains have shrunk (is the simple past 'shrank'?) in the wash.  Still, they are of remarkably good quality, and owe me nothing apart from some water, detergent and electricity - oh, and elbow grease: they're a bugger to iron.  They started life in a former employer's long-since quit offices in the 8th arondissement, and languished in a cellar in the Val d'Oise for a few years before being passed on to an expat who'd otherwise have had to buy from Gifi or some other down-market big shed.  They have since clad our windows in Paris, Brussels, Zürich, Lagrasse and, of course Leafy Langton.  So it shouldn't be too much of a struggle to drop the hems an inch or so.  And a visit with the steam iron wouldn't hurt either.  Oioioi.

Back to class today.  Current project is 'A Fine Old Thing'.  Ever ready to argue my way out of a corner, I'll put in a sketch of a mature pine tree set against sunrise colours on the Etang de Thau, looking towards Sète.  (Photograph by Mr Engineer Cooper, who may remember the said curtains: v. supra.)  I might work this up into a bigger canvas, having done the sketch on a piece of water colour paper 24x16cm.  [I'd taped up the paper before I realised I hadn't brought my water colours.]  And I might not, since it's rarely that quick impromptu sketches work up satisfactorily.  I tend to find that a piece has to be just about right within 45 minutes if it is to have a future.

Looks like we're in for some proper winter weather.  Ironic, then, that the Charlotte seed potatoes arrived today.  The garage ought to remain frost free, so I'll allow myself to liberate a 30-cell egg box from the farm and set them to chitting.  We had very good results last year from Charlottes grown in bags, so shall double the number this year.  And I'm determined not to repeat the utter failure of last year's leeks, nor the mitigated success of  the onions.  Our Jonathan, enrepreneur extraordinary and capable decorator, has promised us a trailer of horse, so we hope for good things from the garden this year.

Winter

With the wind swinging round to the north-west, and a few hail stones and claps of thunder over the past couple of days, it looks as if we might be in for some proper winter weather.  Doubtless just in time to frost the many buds on the roses.  Meanwhile, it has been WET.  I took the main roads to the hobby yesterday, and an unedifying experience it was.  Kamikazes hurtling through the rain and spray with no or insufficient lighting and scant regard for speed limits.  I decided to try my normal route home, but was thwarted by a road closure on the stretch that floods.  The consequent detour was slow and trying.  Driving narrow lanes after dark with oncoming headlights reflecting off the wet surface is a bit of a strain after a long day's unpaid work for the benefit of the community.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Jonathan is pressing on with redecorating the dining room, and we haven't heard so far that the new carpet we've ordered has been discontinued.  The rest of the house has to accommodate the fallout meanwhile, but does not present too many trip hazards.  I'm glad we've adopted a GSI policy for decorating.  The kitchen, our last essay in DIY decorating, came just as my old frame was starting to play up, so hopping on and off step ladders was not fun.  We found, when we lifted the old carpet, that the edge under the french window was sodden.  Turns out there is a significant gap between the window frame and the floor, which no doubt accounts for the slug trails on the carpet some mornings.  The work of our old friends Jokers Я Us Home Improvements, of course.  Their work on the front and back doors is similarly failing to stand the test of time, and they are up for replacement shortly.  We'll be out busking on the Pantiles ere long.


As for said old frame, the new exercises are making little or no difference, and I have an appointment with an orthopod later in the month.  Among other intimations of mortality, that appointment falls on the day we attend the thanksgiving service for a bench colleague's husband.  He fell and broke his neck some months ago in the garden to which he had devoted so much work over the decades, and which had also raised a fair bit for charity under the National Gardens Scheme.  Look it up: Little Gables.  Sad news too yesterday of another  respected bench colleague who has succumbed to breast cancer.  Two months older than me.  Hmmm. 

I have meanwhile had my new specs slackened off a bit: they were cutting tramlines in my temples.  One of the problems of having a big head (one way and another).  I'm going to have to get separate pairs for reading and computer work.  The varifocals are a good compromise, but not a panacea.  Question: should I put it off until after my eye clinic visit three weeks hence?  Roll on longer days and an improved Weltanschauung.

Here comes another one

As has become our custom, we saw the New Year in with kind, hospitable friends in Gillingham, returning home by 01:30 on reasonably quiet, dry roads.  Annie returned from a short trip to Venice on Saturday, full of good stories and photographs.  We met friends from Faversham at the half-way point (West Malling) for Sunday lunch in great company.  (Memo to self: if the special is chicken curry, forget it.  Leftover cooked chicken in a sauce is NOT chicken curry, chaps.  Tuition available on appropriate terms.  Oh, and parboiled rice is not a suitable basis for respectable catering.  The wine was OK....)
Annie spent a couple of nights with us before heading back North.  The M25 experience (she flew in to Heathrow...) in steady rain and stop-start traffic was somewhat unlovely.  Hull Trains were playing up, and it looked at one point as if she'd have to go to Sheffield and change, but they eventually produced a through train after much conflicting information on the web site.  (Must Try Harder.) 

Our new tumble dryer arrived yesterday at a marginally decent hour (about 08:15), and it works.  The old one worked too, but it's on the way to  the scrap yard because of a design fault that poses a fire risk.  Interesting chat with the people who delivered it: evidently the innards of one of the machines they collected was largely melted: the owner had never cleaned the filter!  At the moment, their depot is filling about five skips with duff dryers every day, and they expect to be busy delivering replacement machines until July!  If you have shares in the manufacturer (details on request), you might care to review the situation!  The approach to the laundry end of the garage will improve in due course: the softwood and ply door and window are now pretty shabby, so boring plastic replacements are on order.  While we're at it, we're having new front and back doors that will let in a bit more light.  We're dispensing with a letter box, since the one we have bangs when the north wind blows. 

Today's post brought sad news: the husband of a former bench colleague has died after several months in hospital: he fell and broke his neck last year in the superb garden he had created.  Their garden opened each summer for a couple of days under the National Gardens Scheme, and ours sports a few splittings from it.  I remember so well his going to the shed to fetch a spade to split a hosta for us: the spade was that of a keen gardener: spotlessly clean and shiny.

Well, the Christmas cards and decorations are down.  The tree is still in the sitooterie, and might move outside until it becomes unsightly.  A friend remarks that the way to fill the bling gap left when the decorations come down is with spring flowers.  Ever susceptible to good ideas, I picked up a couple of bunches of tulips yesterday at Fortnums, and they are opening up nicely in a vase in the bay window.  Kind lunch/supper guests had already given us a cyclamen and a bromeliad, so we have a bit of colour on show.  The bromeliad, meanwhile, has started to put up another spike, and I seem yet again to have failed to kill the phalaenopsis (another gift from supper guests years ago), which is putting up a new leaf, though not so far another flower spike.

Ever the gardener, I have ordered the charlotte seed potatoes and a few more growing bags, together with a batch of onion sets.  Rather a lot of last year's onion crop has rotted, so I need to swot up on harvesting and storage.  Meanwhile, our perennial seedlings, bought as 'pluglets' are doing well in the sitooterie, though they already need potting on. 

I suppose it's only to be expected as the years pile on: this year looks like being somewhat hospital-intensive.  I'm down for a trip to the eye clinic in February, and am waiting for a date with the knee fixers at Benenden.  First meeting with a physiotherapist tomorrow, though I've been doing exercises (to little avail) for three months on the basis of telephone consultations.  Watch this space.

Dry feet

Spare a thought for the families in the North whose homes have been host to over-enthusiastic rivers in recent weeks.  I don't think I've quite discovered all the sludge that followed the 1999 flooding in Another Place, and I just don't go down into the cellar any more.  Back then in France, the insurance company was remarkably co-operative, paying something like 95% of my claim, and maintaining the premium.  British underwriters seem to have forgotten the principle of spreading the losses, and now tend to price flood-prone areas out of sight.  (Equally, young male drivers are practically uninsurable, but that's another story...)   Admittedly, my premium in France has crept up a fair bit over the years.  I think I've paid my loyalty premium for long enough, and shall do more research as we approach renewal.  But I still remember the misery of the flooding, and the kindness of neighbours when it happened.

Yesterday's loaves rose like crazy.  The previous batch did so feebly.  Recipes and process identical.  I'm convinced that there's a degree of sorcery about yeast baking, and shall not question it for fear of supernatural retribution: but I guess atmospheric pressure may also have an influence.  Whatever, today's sandwiches drew on  the old and new batches, and we still haven't quite finished the beef.  So far it has done roast beef Christmas dinner, cottage pie, cold roast beef and stovies (using onions from the garden) last night, and numerous sandwiches.  We've nearly finished the leftovers: pasta carbonara this evening, perhaps, to use up some more of the gammon.  But I think the rillettes will have to be pitched out in a day or two.  (Next time I make rillettes, I'll freeze them in ramekin-sized portions.  But I'll certainly make 'em again!)

How to sum up 2015?  Another wonderful year in which I haven't ceased to try the patience of my long-suffering partner.  Entry into OAPdom, which benefits the Treasury almost as much as it does me.  Increasing intimations of mortality, and a growing familiarity with the local GP's shop and sundry hospitals.  But also some refreshing new techniques at art class, and a few new gardening achievements.

After the Lord Mayor's Show come the dustcarts

For the Annual Ramblings - if you feel strong enough - please follow the link above, or scroll down to  the 3 December entry.

Well, that's it over for another year, almost.  The house got a bit of a clean yesterday morning, and the kitchen got another today, so our surroundings look respectable - at least by our slovenly* standards.  We had a pleasant, gentle day with Sandra and Michael, and only slightly over-ate.  I had the idea of serving rillettes of pork as a starter, having done a kilo of the said beast for many hours in the slow cooker, and split the result into six ramekins.  We decided to road-test one of them on Christmas Eve, and instantly reviewed the situation.  Rich ain't in it.  (Nice, though!)

So, it was ham or smoked salmon/cream cheese sandwiches, sausage rolls and the like at lunch time, followed by tea and Martyn's excellent shortbread.  After what seemed like an indecently brief pause, dinner began, thanks to a moment of inspiration from Martyn, with an assiette de charcuterie (including one ramekin of rillettes which the four of us didn't finish...), then topside of the late Dexter, Tom, with the usual bits and pieces, Fortnums' Christmas pud with various lubricants, including a Delia brandy butter recipe using dark soft sugar, and finally a few cheeses.  (OK: pour moi, c'est fromage-dessert, mais il faut respecter les habitudes des autochtones, non?)  I'm ashamed to admit that I overdid the beef, and blame that Oliver person.  Still, it tasted OK despite cremation, and will do well with stovies tomorrow after a slightly more modest supper tonight.

What else to report?  While road-testing my Christmas present electric pruner yesterday, I found a primrose in flower where Forges-l'Evêque meets the street.  One Christmas present meets another.

* Must check derivation: is this originally a racist slur?

Insomnia

A familiar companion to us both, and more so on  the long dark nights.  (And particularly after a somewhat copious lunch...)  By the time I awoke at a rather familiar 03h30, Martyn had already given up and gone next door to read.  By that point, my North and Central American word gamers had played, so a dozen or so moves awaited, and kept me busy for a while.  Then a couple of numbers games on the iPad until the arthritic hands protested.

The lunch was good, though!  We went with friends Andy and Celia to a nearby hostelry, where I unguardedly opted for the braised shoulder of lamb.  My portion would have fed all four of us.  At about the half-way point, I remarked that if I had half the sense I was born with, I'd have stopped then.  My eyes being notoriously bigger than my belly, and having been brought up under a clean-plate regime, I finished it.  Not wise.  But we must have looked like the geriatric day out as we got out of the car: three of us have joint problems, so three of the four exits were of the pivot round and both feet on the deck before getting up variety. 

I quite like looking in on FlightRadar24 for a while in the early hours.  Over our skies, the traffic is largely of ancient freighter conversions: DHL, for example, seem to have bought up a lot of old 757s as they were retired by launch customer BA, and some are the wrong side of 30 years old.  ATPs are a favourite type with one or two freight operators: it was a last ditch attempt by BAe to wring a bit more revenue out of the old Avro 748 production line.  With new engines (and lamentably small windows compared with the original's big oval ones) it sold in small numbers, while more recent clean-sheet designs wiped the board.

It was interesting to see quite a lot of small business jets in the air in the small hours.  Cruising at prodigious altitudes - up to 47'000 feet - they cover huge distances at speeds a fair bit higher than their bigger commercial brothers.  I watched flights from Los Angeles, Lagos and Calcutta going into Luton, one from Raleigh NC into Brussels and a few into Le Bourget, and wondered what the story was behind each.  The Lagos flight had perhaps to do with the oil industry.  The Raleigh-Brussels one might have been for NATO.  Such idle speculation wasn't enough to put me back to sleep, unfortunately, so I got up when the heating came on at 06h30, and proceeded to drop off in my chair after breakfast.

Still, a bit of productivity since: a couple of loaves cooling, and a batch of tiny sausage rolls in the freezer.  The decision to bring the garage freezer out of retirement meant I had to clean it first.  Alarming experience, upon which I shall refrain from expanding.  I conclude that the people who designed the plastic interior mouldings must have had an army of slaves to do their cleaning for them.

PS:  We had a call yesterday from the manufacturers of the tumble dryer, which is subject to recall following a number of fires.  They are offering us a new one of similar spec, free of charge.  Accepted with alacrity.  Just waiting for Volkswagen AG to call me with a comparable offer.