Monthly Archives: August 2008

It didn’t rain. Apparently, it will tomorrow

We ventured out into the garden to eat dinner, it being the first fine day and evening this month (I think, please don’t take me to task on this). Pugsley hadn’t been well all day and hadn’t eaten much. They had been out for the day with friends and been to a park in Norwich and had a picnic, and he had needed a lot of jollying to remain reasonably happy, but he didn’t want lunch, even though it contained rare treats, crisps and suchlike. He skipped his afternoon nap, didn’t fall asleep on the way home and finally crashed out sometime around 5.30, as did his sister. So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that he was a bit fractious when they came through to eat.

When finally he was persuaded to have something, he started to cheer up, tentatively. He had sat on his mother’s lap as he wailed horribly every time she put him on his chair, so when I finished eating I took him to give her a break. He was fine by then and even giggled. Squiffany was being charming, though a bit gloomy about her prospects of sleep tonight. “He’ll probably cry and keep me awake.” We debated the options and came down to a choice between putting him in the kitchen “in the bin?” interjected Dilly or shutting him out in the garden.

Later, we went to the copse (too small really for such a name, it’s a little triangular shady spot at the end of the lawn where sapling elms grow) for an imaginary train ride. You pull aside an unprickly holly branch and the train is immediately beyond. When it stops at its destination, you have reached the wood. Just at the entrance to the copse, I found a pigeon’s egg, empty, dropped by the parent away from the nest. Pugsley cheered up at once and, when we went back to the table (where Dilly was sitting on Al’s knee) he told them about it.

Weeza is coming over tomorrow with the finished catalogue. It will suit us nicely if she has the baby at any time after that, she’s finished the work we wanted her to do.

Z works for her living and Ro is helpful

No news, darlings, nothing to report from Weeza.

We’ve spent the whole day working on the catalogue for the next sale. It’s a rather good one, with some rare shapes and inscribed pieces – the whole collection of someone who has died is being sold and the family has decided to have a special sale with a fully illustrated catalogue. The Sage, helped by a couple of friends who know even more than he does, has been researching it all, finding out the provenance of as much of the china as possible. Several pieces were bought in our saleroom over the years. Weeza is putting the catalogue together and I sent her all the descriptions this afternoon, and I’ve taken all the photographs and will go through them, cropping and labelling them tomorrow morning, ready for her to finish it off. It will go to the printers on Monday. We won’t have finished; I still have the few other pieces to photograph that aren’t illustrated (some of the entries from other vendors), the description of some books and other publications to write and every piece has to be examined carefully for a condition report. Ro will update the website, then we’ll have to post all the catalogues. This will be done by early September.

So that’s all I’ve done today from the list and I’ll have to buck my ideas up on Friday afternoon to get everything else done.

Oh, one useful thing happened the other day. The phone we use with our BT internet connection stopped working and Ro spent a long time (on a freephone number) trying to get help with it. Everyone he was passed on to was very helpful, but working from the same checklist and they made him go through all the checks time after time. He was inordinately patient and polite. Finally, he got on to someone who wasn’t on a helpline in India, who agreed that the Home Hub was at fault. But it had had a 12 month guarantee and the deal we got it free with had an 18 month contract which didn’t end until the start of December. A new one would be £70. You can quite imagine my reaction to this news. Ro, still patient, agreed to be rung back (this was, by now, the third day of effort). The next night, he got a salesman who was able to negotiate. We now have a new 12 month contract, starting now, at £2 less per month than we had been paying and a new free home hub which arrived today. I’ll be quite sorry when the lad leaves home. He is useful to have around.

He’s useful to his brother too. Al and Dilly were going out to a concert at Snape and I was out for dinner and the Sage for his wood club. This is not a club made of wood, it is a society of people who make things from it. So Ro was the only person left to babysit.

Do you know, I feel quite inclined to have an early night. I’m quite tired. I wonder if I will or if, when I start reading, a couple of hours will go by without being noticed.

Z gets out, much

Well, didn’t get much ticked off the list, but I was out most of the afternoon and all of the evening. The organ playing went fine, thank you. At the end of the service I looked round just in time to see the newly widowed husband in tears, wiping his eyes. I turned away to concentrate on not having to wipe mine. As it wasn’t in our village, I hadn’t known the name of the lady who had died; it turned out that the couple had been a member of the same classic car club as the Sage and he knew them. She had been ill for some years and in the local wonderful cottage hospital for several months; her husband had sat with her for several hours every single day, even though by then she hardly remembered him. The Sage had visited several times too, as much for his sake as hers.

Anyway, the Rector and her husband had given me a lift and on the way home took me out for a cream tea. Scones, darlings, of course. I manfully, and with enjoyment, ate mine and by way of compensation did not have an ice cream during the interval tonight, drinking black coffee instead. I’d been obliged to park in a very awkward spot and moved during the interval, my half-drunk cup of coffee in the car’s cupholder, to a better place.

The concert tonight was a gypsy orchestra from Budapest. It was arranged in the traditional style, with first and second violins (the second violin also and it seems simultaneously plays a third violin part) a viola, called a bratch, a double bass, cello, clarinet and cimbalon. To start with, it seemed to me that the backing had nothing to do with the melody played by the violin – I couldn’t discern a pattern in it. I started to listen more carefully to each instrument and I could hear that each was indeed accompanying the violin but when I switched my hearing back to the ensemble, I couldn’t get it any more. I was starting to, by the interval and felt that my brain might have made sense of it all by the time I returned.

The second violinist had had a friendly arm round the shoulder of the band leader as they came on in the first place, and it seemed a little odd that he did again in the second half. They all had Hungarian names (well, the little that I know about such things) but he told us that he was, in fact, from Belgium and had travelled to learn the music of his gypsy ancestors, as he loved it and wanted to help keep the tradition alive. His English was perfect and unaccented, although slightly stilted and so were his movements. He had a few mannerisms, including frequently touching the microphone, but it wasn’t until several minutes into the second half that it occurred to me that he might be blind and as I observed, I became sure of it. I can see why this is irrelevant to his music and that he might choose not to refer to it; acknowledging it might make it a bigger deal than he would think it worth and detract from his musicality and that of the band but, nevertheless, it does make it a bigger deal that he is the front man and does all the speaking and that the others are quite matter-of-factly protective of him. As the concert went on, the applause became louder and longer; I wasn’t the only one to open my ears to its style.

They haven’t got a CD out yet as the group is quite newly formed, but he invited us to put down our emails at the music stall if we wanted to be kept informed; there was a steady line of people by the time I’d written mine. Like much music that is not easy at first listen, the more you listen the more you hear, appreciate and enjoy it. It’s not really a genre I’d take as my favourite but I’d like to listen to it more as I think it’s worth the learning. And yes, I admire them and yes, he would not like (a reasonably small) part of the reason to be his attitude to his blindness, which is the reason I’m not putting up their name.

Z is making a list instead of just getting on with it. This is Not Good

Work is piling up horribly. This is not good. I should move the computer back into the room it’s supposed to be in where I can put myself in work mode and just get on with it. I can’t be bothered to move it. It was a real downward step when I brought in the printer.

Oh dear. Make a list of things to be done this week.

Take photographs for the catalogue Yay, done it!
Write catalogue Yay, done it!
Write minutes of churchwardens’ meeting
Write four letters to people who want to join the lunch club (I know, I am a Lady Who Lunches, bet you didn’t see that coming)Yay, done it!
Write two letters to people regarding points they made on the Nadfas questionnaire
Consider the agenda for the next Nadfas committee meeting – I’ve found that a fully annotated agenda saves a lot of discussion at the meeting.
A letter to Islington council to say the flat is empty and claim a period without council tax Yay, done it!
Find someone to fix an aerial at the flat and tell the downstairs tenant so that they can agree a time to meet
Phone the church architect and set up a meeting
Do the rest of the stuff on the list from the meeting the other night Yay, done it!
Write to my accountant
Email all the people who have been asking when our next sale is.
Phone the piano tuner about my pianola Yay, done it! – well, left an answerphone message
Do the rota for the next three months for sidesmen, coffee making, lesson reading etc for the church
Other stuff. It’ll come to me.

I’ll tick things off as I do them. Ho hum.

Mellow fruitfulness

I wrote full and helpful notes for last night’s meeting and sent them out, with a column to say who’s going to do what and had an email back from someone who hadn’t been there to say couldn’t we get on a bit faster and why weren’t we planning to have another meeting next month? Oh I say. I thought we were doing quite well, or at least if we do what we say we’re going to we will. I haven’t started on my bit yet, but then I have done the write-up and that took me a good two hours.

Anyway, last night Tilly didn’t want to get off the sofa to go out so the Sage left me to persuade her before I went to bed an hour or two later. I made her, cruelly (I clapped my hands briskly and stood up), because I didn’t want her to have the embarrassment of having to ask me to come and open the door in the middle of the night. Poor old darling was stiff and limping. She was fine this morning, I think she’d simply been lying still for too long. Tonight, when the Sage called her she got up straight away. She’s just come back, looking hopeful. I didn’t have any of her biscuits here so I’ve given her half a ricecake and a strawberry. She was pleased. She was just in time, because Ro has also come in, looking for his share of the strawberries. He looked mildly disappointed when he found there were only six left, and has gone for the melon I offered him earlier on to have with them.

There has been a lot of rain. And wind. Floods, in some places. You wouldn’t think it was the middle of summer. Hot, in between the storms, but nothing like summer as we used to know it. You know, like last century, when I was young.

A funeral to play for tomorrow. Not at our village church and it’s an organ I haven’t played before. It could be a bit tricky. There will be a CD played at the start which will let me off the hook somewhat (I won’t have to work so hard for my money) but I won’t have time to get used to the instrument. If I say nothing about it tomorrow, it’ll be because it’s been an experience I’d rather forget.

Ridiculus Mus

Yes, I’m sorry you’re getting so many posts. I can quite see that those of you with time on your hands will consider it a bonus, but anyone who dips into blogs once in a while will probably never catch up. You won’t miss anything, just mark them all read and relax.

I’ve been thinking, as I waited for the kettle to boil – oh,hang on, Tilly is asking me to finish my breakfast.

Right, she’s eaten the last of my yoghurt so I’m back. Where was I? Okay…

I was thinking, while waiting for the kettle to boil, about punctuality. I referred in a comment to first babies generally being late, while subsequent ones often (this is the only reference to childbirth in this post, this has not become a parturition blog – ooh, actually, I’ve just thought of a name for a new blog if I ever abandon this one) arrive when they are expected, if rarely on the precise due day.

You might not think it to look at me, but I am generally punctual. I am always on time for appointments and lunch and give a polite ten to twenty-five minutes leeway for dinner. If I’m going to be half an hour or more late home, I phone; if I’ve said what time to expect me, that is. In other respects I’m pretty casual (I add hastily, in case you’re thinking ‘but this doesn’t sound like the Z we have come to know’) and have little awareness of my own time once I start reading, which is the reason I go to bed so late.

Among friends and acquaintances, one gets to know who will be early, punctual and late and expects them accordingly, which is fine. I found it very disconcerting, when first married, that my mother-in-law was always early when I asked her and Pa round for a meal, when I was never ready, having expected a more sophisticated later arrival. Now, more relaxed, when someone turns up before I’m ready I get them to lay the table or open the booze, as one does. If you offer, I’ll say ‘yes’. Watch out, or you’ll find yourself digging potatoes.

No, what always catches me out is when I get a phone call. “Would it be convenient for me to pop round Right Now?” I say it would. I expect that person in the time it takes to put on a coat, get in the car, on the bike or Shanks’ Pony and get here. But it never happens. I may cool my heels, unable to get on with anything as I’m expecting a visitor any minute, for up to an hour.

The postman brought me a Present this morning. Thank you, darling Badgerdaddy xxx. I shall write as soon as I’ve listened.

Z isn’t as bemused as she was this morning

I stood in at the shop for a couple of hours this afternoon as Al had an appointment – it was fun. I was pretty busy – no time to sit down at all, no more than a minute without a customer and several people I knew, which is always a pleasure.

Nada (a prize for the first to work out why she was given that name, which is her real one) came in. “I saw you at Snape on Saturday didn’t I?” I said. She had been sitting with friends having dinner when I spotted her. We chatted about the concerts. Then she asked me if I’d watch University Challenge this evening. I said I probably would and told her that it was one of my favourite programmes when I was a child (yes really, Huckleberry Hound and University Challenge pretty well sum up my childhood viewing) and that Bamber Gascoigne was my earliest heartthrob (I was about 8 probably) and she confided happily that her grandson is the captain of one of the teams. “You must know who won! – I won’t ask” “I wouldn’t tell you” she returned happily. After she left, I remembered that I was going out to a meeting at 7 o’clock so I’ve recorded it, so that I can say I thought he was marvellous when I next see her.

I made a quick detour to the wine merchant’s on the way home. I’d drunk all but the good white. I bumped into a friend walking her dog. We exchanged brief notes on the families. I asked how she is – “oh, fine, but isn’t getting old a bugger? I’m not old enough to have all these aches and pains.” She said she has a bad back – indeed, she was walking stiffly. And her hands are getting arthritic. I could see when she held them out, they’re starting to become crooked. She can’t open jars and hasn’t much strength in them. She’s a bit older than me, but not that much. It’s true, it’s all a bugger. We feel the same as we used to and she still is absolutely beautiful, but age is hitting her early.

I got a spam email this morning in the name of a friend. I didn’t open the attachments of course, and emailed sympathetically to tell her about it. I had a reply saying ‘grrr’, basically – it’s beastly when your email and mailing list is hijacked, isn’t it? She was wondering why I haven’t written for ages. I’ve no excuse. If I don’t reply to a letter at once, it hangs over me like an impenetrable pall. I’m wondering whether to point her in this direction, so at least she knows what’s going on in the life of Z, but I’m a bit shy of it. Ro’s friend Zain found me, and when Ro saw him at the weekend, he knew more about my doings than Ro did…if you’re reading this, Zain, have a great holiday.

I came down in price as far as I could, but the nice young couple couldn’t afford the flat. Oh bother. I’ll have to pay a fortune to a letting agent instead. I’d rather have knocked it off their rent – we weren’t far apart in the end, but top and bottom lines didn’t equate, unfortunately.

Anyway, I’m sorry I came over all peculiar this morning. It was one of those posts that shouldn’t have seen the light of day.

Z muses

A friend of mine has a grandson, who is now about 12 years old. She has adored him from the start. Her son and his wife live quite close to her and, from the start, she looked after him regularly while his mother worked part-time.

Three or four years after he was born, his parents announced that they were expecting a second baby. My friend was a bit worried. “I love Matthew so much,” she confided, “that I’m afraid I might not be able to love another one like I do him.” We all tried to reassure her that love isn’t limited and that it grows to fill the space available – and, of course, that was just what happened. She dearly loves both boys and is very much loved by her family in return.

My feelings, when I’ve been told another grandchild is on the way, are different. I feel that the more I love, the more my capacity to love increases. Additionally, the strong feelings I have for this unborn baby hasn’t diminished my affection for Squiffany and Pugsley in the least.

You’ll probably be thinking ‘of course’. And yes, I agree. I am stating the obvious – but I’m only having a little emotional moment. We’re all finding this waiting a bit hard to bear. I’m resisting the temptation to phone Weeza every day – spoke to her on Saturday and she emailed last night – she’s doing some work for her father and she needed me to send her some information – but it’s becoming unusually hard not to fuss. I don’t fuss. I control my inclination to gush (look, you don’t know what I’d be like if I let go) and it would be disconcerting for her if I changed now.

Um. There’s no point at all to this post really. I’d delete it, but it’s too late. We’re expecting a power cut any time, so I’ve been publishing it as I’ve gone along, so feed readers will show it up anyway. They are having to check the whole system following the transformer explosion the Friday before last.

Do you know, I’ve got two meetings today? It’s supposed to be the bloody holidays.

Hm. No, that’s it. I’m too distracted and the electricity will go off any moment – they said 8.30 and it’s already after 9. Forget I said anything at all, I’m talking nonsense.

Ro and Z become Inverted Snobs

Last night, we were awfully cheered to be ushered into the nearest car park and not to have to tramp across a muddy field to the concert hall. I picked up some tickets for next week for Al and Dilly (really quite surprised at their choice) and a programme – the programme for a whole month of concerts is only £4. A bargain indeed. I have a collection going back many years.

We went and chose our food and found a table with a couple of spaces on it. An elderly man and woman were in the end places, she in a wheelchair, and a young man next to each of them. The two younger men politely cleared a tray away so that I could put down ours. They stacked the crocks from their own tray onto it as I put our food etc on the table. “Would you like to put them on my tray?” I suggested. The elder young man did so, but didn’t let go, ready to put them all in front of him. “I’ll put them on the bar” I offered. “Thats all right, we’ll clear them when we leave.” I looked at his face. He was startlingly good-looking. Stunning. So was his brother. “I’m already standing up, it’s no trouble” I said cheerfully. He demurred again. Look, no assertiveness with a woman old enough to be your mother, however gorgeous you are. “thank you, but I’m as polite as you are,” I insisted and took the trays over to the bar. Actually, if he was as polite as he wanted to look, he’d have stood up and taken them himself; not that I wanted him to but that would be what I’d expect if I were his mother.

Ro and I, whilst keeping up a conversation between ourselves, eavesdropped between the boys (early 20s) and their grandparents. Frightfully public school, they were. Impossibly handsome (as I might have overstated already), very suntanned, elegantly tousled hair – naturally so, not styled, fine teeth, white but not whitened, very well-spoken without being plummy-mouthed, come on, go into the City of London or a major auction house and you will find them by the dozen. The subject of the conversation was cricket; having discussed the score (they didn’t know the most recent any more than I do, and apparently rain had stopped play early) they suggested to Grandma and Grandpa that they watch the two of them play in a tournament next week. “I lost my Captain’s cap today” said Elder Toff. “Overboard?” asked his sibling. “Yes, pretty blustery out there.”

Later, “Next time I visit, I must bring you some vegetables out of my garden, Grandma” said ET. “Some lovely lettuces.” He also has a pumpkin plant that has rampaged over the garden. Lots of flowers but no fruit yet. “How many pumpkins do you get from a plant?” asked YT. “Well, there are two flowers at every leaf joint.” “Will each flower grow into a pumpkin?” “That’s how it works, the fruit grows from the flower” – with good-humoured patronage. I longed to ask if the flowers were male or female. I’d be very surprised if many of them grew into pumpkins, you just don’t get dozens from each plant. “What’ll you do with the surplus, sell them?” asked YT. “Oh no, I’ll give them away. Give them to poor people.”

Ro and I sucked our cheeks hard (each our own, stoppit, ew) not laughing.

Once seated in the concert hall, the people behind had to stand to let latecomers past. They apologised. “No, there’s plenty of room, isn’t it a joy?” said the overenthusiastic patrician lady behind me. In front, latecomers were barging past without giving anyone time to stand up.

I must tell you about the art installation, but for today I have delighted you long enough.

Z records another means by which she can be Laughed At

Tonight, Ro and I are paying the first visit of the month to the Snape Proms. I am looking forward to it. Mozart, Bruch and Brahms are on the programme (their music not the dead composers in skeletal form).

I stood wondering what to have for lunch. Nothing in the fridge quite did it, nor in the cupboard. I opened the little freezer on top of the fridge. It contains a bag of ice, a wine chiller and a tub of ice cream which the Sage bought. Its message led me to pour some wine, but didn’t inspire me. Then Ro came down the back stairs, carrying an empty cereal bowl.

“We’re going to Snape tonight – shall we have supper there?” He thought that was a good idea, but added sniffingly that he thinks he’s developing a cold. “Chilli omelette!” I declared. “Yes please” he replied. I went down to the greenhouse and tasted Hungarian Hot Wax, Jalapeño and Georgia Flame. Unable to decide, I picked them and chopped an onion and a tomato and chucked in all three peppers. He had 4 bantam eggs (they are small) and I had 3 and we shared the hot filling. I breathe freely. I trust he does.

I bought some new phones, weeks ago, and couldn’t be arsed to read the instructions and set them up. I mean, really. I finally did it today though – well, one of them. The rest of them are still charging. The recorded voice on the answerphone was awful. Really bad vowels. I had to resort to doing a message myself. It’s so embarrassing, to hear your own voice. The first time, I could hear myself breathing, so I did it again. Still makes me cringe. Posh little girl, surely I have a deeper voice than that? ‘this is The Sage and Z’s answerphone, you’re welcome to leave a message’ or something like that is what I’ve said. I hate long messages. Once I rang someone from a telephone box and my money ran out before the message ended. I haven’t left our names before, but now we’re internationally known via this blog and his website (and there’s a sale coming up) … I still couldn’t turn it into a business message but oh hell, there’s no privacy anyway.

The phone rang while I was cooking the omelettes. Ro was horrified. “There’s no choice of ringtones” I explained. He disagreed. I’ve read the bloody book, I don’t think there is. He’s welcome to deal with it. I have enough on my plate, teaching the Sage how to use a new phone.