Your Blog Should Be Yellow

You’re a cheerful, upbeat blogger who tends to make everyone laugh. You are a great storyteller, and the first to post the latest funny link. You’re also friendly and welcoming to everyone who comments on your blog.

Sometimes. I don’t do funny links though, do I?

Well, you won’t guess what I’ve been doing this morning. Unless you’ve read the title of this post, which is a bit of a giveaway. I’ll rephrase that….You might well guess what I’ve been doing this morning, but it’s still a bit startling. And I suggest that all vegetarians or those who don’t like to think where their food comes from stop reading right now.

I’ll leave an extra line or two so that your eye doesn’t stray. Goodbye, see you later I hope.

We have a field. A few of them in fact. One is for grazing dairy cows, two are used for grazing dairy cows in the later stages of pregnancy, when they don’t need to be near to the farm for twice-daily milking, one is, at present, cut twice-yearly for hay and one, a little distant from the house, is lent to a friend to keep a few sheep on. It is a favour to both parties, as the grass needs to be eaten and, being by the river and prone to flooding, cows cut it up too much. It is a rather ancient piece of grassland and once, years ago, the Sage saw a bittern there, which was tremendously exciting (they are awfully rare) and I so wish I’d been with him.

The lambs from the sheep are there to be eaten. And, having been naturally raised – no supplementary feeding (the ewes have some in the winter), they grow at their natural pace and taste wonderful. We buy one each year. The local butcher would cut them up for a tenner, but does that sound like us? The Sage and I got going with cleaver, saw and knife and now the freezer contains neatly parcelled joints and chops. Not that neatly butchered, admittedly, but I wrap a mean joint.

It does make me feel a bit of a brute, but on the other hand I really don’t care for the parcelled pieces in the supermarket that try to make you forget that you are actually going to eat a piece of an animal and that was its purpose, in living and in dying (I sense I am losing readers with every word here). I’d rather face it, once in a while, and remind myself that I’m an animal with no more sense than any other. Killing is a bit different however. Though I’m afraid I have a fondness for mussels…fortunately the Sage doesn’t, so I only have to scrub enough for myself.

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

Actually, I don’t think I would. But this might explain something. Thanks to Lionel d’Lion, from whom I pinched it. Well, shared it, as he has it too, like cake.

I was considerably cheered this morning. I drove to Norwich to hear what turned out to be an excellent lecture on Mantegna, the early Renaissance artist. I pondered on which car park to head for. I didn’t have 45 or so minutes to spare to use the park and ride, so it would be the multi-storey, or the ground-level pay and display. I prefer the latter, but that doesn’t take notes so, when stopped at the traffic lights, I checked my change. Enough.

Having parked, I started to feed in my money. £1 was rejected. I examined it. Was it a fake? A good one if so. Had to be. I asked an approaching woman if she could change a fiver. “Sorry, no, but let me get my ticket and I’ll see what I can do.” I checked my coins again. “How much are you short?” “80p” “I can do that,” she said cheerfully, handing it over.

This simple kindness made my day. I said I’d put money in a charity box, she was happy about that, we left each other smiling.

I hadn’t really prepared for my meeting today. I had left a list on the computer of the things I needed to take, but had notes to make, a form to fill in, a cheque to write, people to smile at and greet, an introduction and a vote of thanks to think about. I entered the theatre and was greeted by Sue. “You look a bit fraught” she said, concerned. “You came in the door, slumped for a moment, took a deep breath and put a smile on your face.”

That was meant to happen before anyone noticed me, because we do, don’t we, put on a suitable face. It’s not that it isn’t meant, but one can’t go around in the usual scatty or sullen way when meant to be on show in some way. I wasn’t particularly aware of it until some years ago, when friends asked us round for dinner. Newish neighbours were the other guests. Younger than us, they were a little nervous and shy and not very chatty. I was quite tired and rather felt like being entertained. The hostess was in the kitchen and conversation was hesitant, and I was silent. I was handed a drink by my host and suddenly became aware that hopeful faces were turned towards me. I took a slurp of my drink, sent it to my head and started to chatter cheerfully. I could read the minds “Whoopee, she’s off, now we can have fun.” Which was quite disconcerting but not unflattering. But maybe I should just shut up more. I listen to myself sometimes, goodness I rabbit on.

PS
Oh, and when I got on the stage I discovered that the trap-door in the middle was open; worse, in fact, it was covered by an open grille. I had, of course, chosen to wear stilettos today and I was standing about a foot in front of this trap, which was about 2 foot by 5 foot, much as I am I suppose, well, if folded up a bit as I fell. I mentioned it as a forewarning in case I suddenly fell over backwards. The speaker said, afterwards, that she had been a bit anxious on my behalf.

I would have worn other shoes, but hardly any fit at present. I have been standing and walking almost constantly for the last few weeks and only my most generously sized shoes don’t pinch. But these ones, though comfortable, are a nuisance. I have to look down as I walk as the smallest crack in the pavement can trap them, whereupon I either fall over or keep walking, shoeless. Well, one-shoed, as it’s unlikely that both will get trapped during the same stride.

You see, I rabbit. If you were shy, you would, by now, be entirely at your ease. Since you aren’t, you are probably wondering if I’ll ever shut up.

Oh, by the way. A friend, to whom (grammar), I gave the address of this blog finally, after months – months, got around to reading it, and told me so. I asked, rather nervously, what he thought. “Well,” he said, “It’s your style, I recognise you in it. But you’re funnier in real life.”

Oh. Is that a compliment or not?

It was a good weekend, thank you, and a pleasure to spend time with children and sister. Also started to carry out my resolve to get to grips with London buses. As I explained to my daughter, catching them is easy enough, it’s knowing where to get off that is the problem. Especially if you need to ring the bell in advance and can’t rely on recognising just round the corner from where you need. However, all went well and I will, in future, take my A to Z so that I know where I am at all times.

Usually, the pleasure in a city is in knowing roughly where you are (which you always do in London), but getting enjoyably lost. I do like wandering around and finding your way back by chance and a bump of direction. When I visit my sister by train, I usually walk back from Waterloo to Liverpool Street – not much scope for getting lost there, when most of the walking is along the river, but when I get to St Paul’s or Tower Bridge, I never quite follow the same route twice through the City.

I trust that I will sound a little calmer this week than last, although I’m not relying on it. There is still an absurd amount to do, which would be fine if I hadn’t promised to keep shop for at least half of every day. I have, at least, been cracking on with War and Peace; I’m about two-thirds of the way through and, at present, Napoleon is closing in on Moscow.

I spent an annoyed hour this morning, trying to find out the dates of a couple of gold pocket watches that the Sage has to value. All attempts at Googling, or Yahoo!ing have failed. Easy to find silvermarks (which he pretty well knows by heart anyway) but gold is another matter. It would be easy for me to order, online, books on the subject, but just pictures of the date letters (very confusing to try to work out the shape of a letter from its description) must be out there somewhere. And the word ‘date’ gives the wrong impression altogether and attempts were made to direct me to websites of a different nature.

Truth is, I don’t have time to go away. That is, I have time to go away or do whole lots of things that need to be done, but not both. Does anyone doubt what the choice will be?

Oh, for the days when had willpower. When I would just get on and do it all, and keep working until it was finished. Now, I do a bit, read a bit, chat a bit, do a bit more, think ‘nah, that’s boring’ and do something useful but not urgent. However, I do have a most useful extra assistant. It may have taken a long time, but my husband has come up trumps. During the morning, I had three phone calls, asking most politely for information on the final details of completing my jobs that I had dumped on him because I was too busy decorating the church for a funeral tomorrow. He was wonderful. He thought of everything and then checked with me, just in case.

I am thinking of advertising for a PA. And then leaving the advertisement in a prominent position so that he will think that it seems a marvellous job and be tempted to apply for it. He would stroll through the interview. Other applicants would be completely bamboozled by my interviewing technique. A year ago, I gave a job to someone who was so wonderfully quirky that he would baffle the children in his care into doing anything he said. And it has worked. I chose him over the person who seemed fine, but I couldn’t understand why her then employers were not re-employing her (as it was a situation that is becoming more prominent in schools) unless there was a hidden problem. I say that *I* chose, but there were three of us; however, I persuaded the others.

Oh, and my printer is annoying me so much. First it said it might not have enough pink ink to complete another document like the last one. So I replaced the pink cartridge. Then it said that the black ink was a bit low. Not out, but it would hate me to run out in the middle of a document (this was 6 pages after saying it had enough ink for at least 100 more pages). Replaced. Then it worried about blue ink. Once it had run out of all other excuses, it blamed yellow ink. Never mind that it appeared to be one third full, it might not print a page with grey writing. I have no yellow ink. I cannot buy yellow ink for this printer in the nearest town. I have to order it. Really. I am a little annoyed. My last printer at least gave the option of printing in colour or black and white. And I’d take the risk of it running out. This is very inconvenient.

I probably will not have time to write a post tomorrow, but I’ll be back on Sunday or Monday. I’m afraid I’ll have to turn on wv in the meantime, or I will come back to interesting anonymous comments. I say ‘interesting’ ironically, of course.

I wonder what clothes to wear and what book to take. I must remember to pack something to wear at night, as I will be sharing a bed. I will have to carry my bag all day Sunday so it must not be heavy. It is too dark in my bedroom to see clothes now so packing has to be done before 8 tomorrow morning. Shoes. Hmm. Have I got any garment that will take me through greengrocering, a funeral, dinner, shopping, the theatre, an exhibition, a pub and two trains? Something dark, so that wine stains will not show.

I will travel light. I love travelling light. Except, can I manage with only one book? Hmm.

Hm. I hadn’t been drinking or anything. I think, in the last post, that I was just a touch unguarded and let you into the way my mind really works all the time.

Now, I have been drinking, and so I’ll be far more circumspect.

The Sage found more mushrooms on the field today. As we walked home from the PCC meeting, he said that the weather was perfect for mushrooms. Since he doesn’t even like them, I thought that was considerate. He picked about 8 of them for me. I cooked them, with shallots and wine, this evening. There was one small mushroom that wasn’t quite like the rest. I cooked it, but I put a little bit on one side. Just in case Ro or I feel as if a coma is coming on tonight. I’m sure there will be an antidote.

And the odds are that it will be fine anyway.

Not that I have time for a coma. I’ve got a lot to do before I go to London on Friday. I mentioned my exciting Oyster card. I am studying bus routes, so that I will know where to go off the bus and not be swept off into the wilds of North London. I’ve driven to my daughter’s flat a couple of times. The second time, I was alone, it was November, dark and rainy. I got lost. It was the rush hour. It wasn’t easy to stop to consult the A to Z, useful book though that is. In the end, I rang her and she guided me the last couple of miles to her flat.

My bump of direction isn’t bad, but you don’t have much to go on with English street signs. Whether in the town or in the country, they lead you a long way astray. And then leave you flat, without any clue at all.

I remember an occasion, a few years ago, when I took Ro back to Lancaster University after Christmas. A friend, whose father lives in Lancaster, had asked for a lift. He hadn’t seen his dad for a few months and it was a good opportunity to spend the night there, we could share the driving, be company on the road etc.

We got hopelessly lost in Lincolnshire.

Really. There were road works and we thought we could find a way to circumvent them without following a long and devious way through God-knows-where. Well, we went places God had never thought of. At each junction we stopped, consulted the map, decided which road to take – and then, half a mile down the road, none of the places mentioned in the last sign seemed to exist any more. We had planned to stop for dinner. In the event, when we finally found a main road, we stopped for a quick cup of coffee, rang our respective families and then hurried back, two hours late. When you add to this the unusual attitude to road markings one finds in Lincolnshire, it’s not surprising that it is not my favourite county.

I found myself having to pass, on a blind corner, a parked lorry marked ‘Motorway Maintenance’ this afternoon. This was on a B road, the B1332 from Norwich to Yagnub, in a county that has never seen a motorway. This seems odd, but I will not question it. Not mine to reason why.

I needed, after I’d finished with my appointment in Norwich, to buy some lilies on the market. These cost £2.95 for 3 or £10 for 10, which is rather sweetly Normal For Norfolk.

Afterwards, I thought was a good idea to walk back to the car park by way of Jarrolds. The department store that is, at its heart, a bookshop. Oh yes. The woman who is currently reading at least three books, one of which is War and Peace with about 1.000 pages still to go, who bought nineteen second-hand books on Saturday and hasn’t had a chance to start any of them, the same lass who still hasn’t read yesterday’s papers, let alone start on today’s – and why do I *need* two newspapers a day anyway?- yes, this is the very person who found herself irresistably drawn to buy yet three more books.

I didn’t sleep much last night. I suddenly started to worry about all the things I have left undone which I ought to have done, and it occupied my mind rather a lot. I have a moderately free afternoon now, so can get on with some of them. Of course, by ‘free’, I mean that I haven’t anything written in my diary, in the way of appointments or obligations. In fact, there is so much to do that I am in danger of forgetting vital matters. It occurs to me, sometimes, to wish that I just had a job, a home life, maybe even a social life, and didn’t take on a variety of different and mostly voluntary tasks. But I think then that I’d be too aware of my own limitations. By pretending that I can do these things, I can delude myself, and sometimes others, into believing that there is no end to my capabilities, if only I were not so busy.

I’m a fool. But it seems that is my chosen path. The primrose path to dalliance. Oh crikey, I hope that doesn’t make me a puffed and reckless libertine. Or even an ungracious pastor. Which seems to show I’ve an urge to read or see Hamlet again. Or I wouldn’t be quoting from it. Hm. Rambling.

Time for lunch. Camembert. Which will be sniffed cautiously, to see if it smells like Brie (sorry, in-joke. Jen knows what I’m talking about. As does IM, who put the information into my head in the first place).

Yay! It’s taken Lynn a while to get the catalogue onto the website – she is a busy woman – but it’s up at last. If you want to see it, send me an email at zoesonholiday@hotmail.com and I’ll give you the address. I’m far too shy just to put it up here for everyone to see.

“Don’t kiss her” said Al and Dilly simultaneously. “She’s passed her cold on to the baby, and now we think we’re getting it” added Al.

The Power of Squiffany seems to override seclusion from Granny. I have sneezed several times. I have a sore throat. It remains to be seen whether willpower and quantities of ginger overcome the effects of the cold. I do not, normally, acknowledge a cold until February, by which time I am rather ready for a couple of duvet days, dog cuddled up next to me, a blazing log fire in the grate, with a couple of books, a glass of whisky and a crossword puzzle to hand.

That reminds me, I should have downloaded the latest Tough Puzzles weeks ago. Oh, goody.

The shop went well today. Quite a busy afternoon. I had a meeting in the morning, which was also very useful, and I left the shop, soon after 5.30, hardly hobbling at all. I seem to be doing awfully well. Muscular development is particularly good and will become better, now that pumpkin season is coming in. Two large pumpkins have to be carried out in the morning and back in the evening. Of course, to be replaced as they sell.

I haven’t looked at the pumpkins in the garden recently. There are loads of butternut squashes, but I don’t know about the other sorts as I will need to wear wellies to get to them. Time to harvest soon I think.

This evening, I’m feeling better. More relaxed. I’m afraid alcohol has a lot to do with it. But so do Schubert, Tom Lehrer and cooking. Not food, as yet, just its preparation. I’m making risotto, very soothing. I’m drinking red wine, very mellow. I’m listening to Tom Lehrer. Bracing. I like sardonic humour. I expect you realise that the name of this blog is a quotation from him (blimey, I hope he doesn’t mind. I wonder if he’ll catch up with me and expect royalties. Surely Tom Lehrer is far too cool for that sort of malarky?) and I slip in little quotes quite regularly. I don’t expect you to look back and find them. If I ever do, I’ll hold a competition. The prize will be that I don’t blog for a week. Or a month, if you find more than ten quotations.*

Organ playing at church went well, considering I learned one hymn at 9.30 and played another for the first time on the organ soon after (I’ve played it on the clarinet). I go around looking capable. It’s a good front and could seem intimidating. But it isn’t, because I regularly cock up something that would be walkovers for more able people. And I look worried. It is disarming. Indeed, I am worried. Stitchwort made the absolutely valid point that Christianity is about charity, loving your neighbour and all that. And so it is. But, if any of you have ever attended a Christian service, it’s all about failing. Not being good enough. Sin. Craftily, there are not only sins of commission (what I did wrong) but sins of omission (what I didn’t do right, or could have done better) as well. Therefore, we are all doomed as impossible demands are made. This, of course, teaches humility. Humility is good.

* I reserve the right to change numbers if/when this comp is held. Up or down, whatever.