I’m not sure which photo better displays the full horribleness of bricklayer’s fingers, with flash or without. So here are both.

My dentist appointment was okay, and nothing needs to be done. Squiffany has been told to stop sucking her thumb, poor little thing, as it’s pushing her front teeth forward. The dentist suggesting buying the stuff you use to deter children from biting nails, so Al went to the chemist for some Stop’n’Grow. “My mother bought me that when I was a child,” I observed. “Terribly bitter, which I found intriguing, and I couldn’t resist licking it off.” But then I was always an odd child. I still like bitter flavours.

It’s a pleasant, sunny evening. The forecast for tomorrow is still rain, however.

Although he hasn’t said so in as many words, I suspect that the Sage misses Ro. He keeps asking me if I’ve had an email from him. I don’t expect to – although apparently he phoned last night while I was out at a meeting. A bank statement arrived for him this morning, which gave the Sage an excuse to phone him at work to ask if he’d like it sent on. I have to keep looking in the paper to see if there’s anything on television I might want to watch, when usually I rely on Ro telling me. There isn’t. Funny, that the more channels there are, the less television I watch.

It was raining this morning at 9, so we abandoned the notion of bricklaying for the day. Now, of course, the sun is shining. Ho hum.

Still, I’ve got a dentist appointment to look forward to this afternoon.

Now you see him
Now you don’t
Peep-bo, Dave!
The Sage supervises
The Sage’s special bricks came from a local grand house, Flixton Hall, which was demolished in the early 1950s. Someone bought these ornamental bricks and kept them for several decades, until the Sage bought them. They have been languishing elegantly in the barn for several more years, and the building of this wall seems the best time to use them.

Since we’re planning to build a lean-to potting shed between the wall and the greenhouse, we’ve only put one in this section, and this was rather an experimental insertion as we couldn’t tell exactly how much room the mortar joints were going to take up. Therefore, as you can see, the top mortar joint is rather deeper than we’d wish and we’ll adjust it for next time. I say “we” but this will be Dave’s and the Sage’s job. I’ll just carry on laying courses of bricks and keep quiet, apart from congratulating them every so often.

You might wonder, by the way, how I get past the nettles to the greenhouse door. There is a door at the other end too. Nevertheless, I must clear away the rest of the weeds. In fact, much of the garden is relatively tidy at present. I’ve sowed several trays of seedlings to start to prepare for planting the new bed in the autumn, or possibly in the spring – so far, hollyhocks, delphiniums, aquilegia and wallflowers. The surplus will be given to Al to sell next year – well, the wallflowers will go in the autumn, but the rest will be potted up individually and overwintered here. I like growing plants from seed and if I can get myself organised I can do this every year. I can’t really manage more plants than I already grow in the early spring – I take up the whole greenhouse already with that, with five benches each ten feet long and another across the furthest end. Some of the benches have two levels as well. But once everything’s planted out, I’ve plenty of room again. I can sow more in the autumn, but I’m not sure I could rely on remembering to water them during the winter. I’m a fair-weather gardener.

Talking of fair weather, the forecast still says ‘light rain’ for tomorrow. We’ll hope for the best – at present, heavier rain is forecast for Wednesday and Thursday so tomorrow may be our best day for getting on.

Yes, the old girl’s been in the family a long time. The Sage’s Pa bought it for him when he was still at school. It had already been off the road for some years, as it developed a fairly minor fault and the owner didn’t have it repaired but just left it in the garage, for over a decade. Eventually, he sold it to someone who put it right, and at that point Pa bought it for the Sprig*.

For a while, the Sage used it regularly; first when he lived and worked 9 miles from home and then, briefly, when he moved to London to learn to be an auctioneer. But he decided he’d need something less old. Pa advised him not to sell it. “Everyone wishes they’d kept their first car” and so it moved back here and was brought out occasionally. It took the Sage’s sister to church for her wedding in 1960. Sadly, something major went wrong about 10 years later on the outskirts of Norwich (I think it was the big end) and the Sage took the engine apart and took it to his friend Clarence, with whom he’d worked as an engineering apprentice. Now well in his 90s, Clarence is still working and knows more than most people have ever forgotten. When the Sage and I became engaged I was part-way through an evening class in motor maintenance – this was nothing to do with him (we’d only dated for 3 weeks before our engagement), I was going with my sister who had an elderly car herself. I think it was an Austin A40 – and we talked about putting the car together together.

Didn’t happen of course, we were far too busy a year later with our first baby, and it wasn’t for years that finally the Sage made friends with someone who was able to help him and the old car was restored. We lived here in Pa and Ma’s house, they having both died, by then, and we used to have most jolly outings, with our three children in the dickey seat. It’s a great pleasure to drive and surprisingly easy – you have to double-declutch of course, but it’s a beautiful engine and well-made. The clock still works accurately and it has a self-starter. The brakes and steering are not exactly the most responsive, but point it in the right direction and it gets there.

She’s a Rover 10, with a 25 horsepower engine. Top speed is 25-30; possibly more but one wouldn’t wish to press the old darling.

More pictures will probably be added later, or maybe tomorrow. The camera’s on the other side of the room and I’m far too lazy to fetch it.

*My husband didn’t achieve Sagacity until he married me

The Sage’s beloved since 1954, though she was more than a quarter of a century old by then. We didn’t get her on the road for her 80th anniversary last August, because we’re disorganised. But that’s only a date. She’s still not quite 81.

Rog is right, there’s certainly something of Mr about the Sage.

Though for myself, I see him as more like my friend here
More kissable 😉

You should watch this. Tears in my eyes.

Dilly’s dad has lost his seat on the council. He’s been a hard-working and effective councillor for 20 years, and it seems tough that matters that have nothing to do with him have affected his election. I’ve sent a sympathetic email, but he and Dilly’s mum are going on holiday on Sunday so I won’t see them for a while. He lost by the barest margin at that, which must be pretty frustrating.

The old car has received a wash and polish, but it’s been put away again so there won’t be a photo until tomorrow. The wedding is to be several miles away (at Dave’s stamping-ground-before-last) so I’ll drive along with a tow rope, just in case. We’ll allow plenty of time. Then we’ll chug back again with bride and groom, of course. There’s a family lunch, and the party is in the evening. It involves a hog roast – they’re the farmers who provided the pig for Weeza and Phil’s hog roast. It’s just occurred to me that the dress I’m planning to wear, which I bought for a wedding last year, is none too warm if the weather is chilly. I don’t think I’ve got anything suitable to wear over it, except a silk scarf. So it’ll just have to be warmer than the forecast. I don’t need to wear it for the day, as we’re not going to the wedding itself – the Sage can’t leave the car. It attracts considerable interest. On the way back, the bride and groom will have to decide whether to squeeze into the front seat with the Sage, or travel in the dickey. It’s not that easy to get into – he’d have to lift her unless she has no objection to hoicking her dress up around her thighs, which isn’t at all likely.

Anyway, all should be fun.

And in the meantime, Ro is moving out. I have local and seasonal food for dinner – lamb, fresh young peas and carrots, asparagus, potatoes, tomatoes and English, but not local, raspberries. The cherries are not English – too early – but everything else is.

The chap I mentioned yesterday didn’t come on the trip after all, which was something of a relief – don’t know why, as he’d said he would, but I’m not going to ask him if I see him. Anyway, we had a splendid day. I realised, a couple of nights ago, that I’d be leaving before the polling station opened, and wasn’t sure of the time of its closure – fortunately, it wasn’t until 10 o’clock, so I was in plenty of time to vote. I had considered a frivolous vote for the nonsensical single party vote system for the ‘Eastern region’s’ 7 MEPs, but I voted sensibly after all. I do, after all, value my ability to vote. As far as local elections are concerned, I don’t take a party political view. If the sitting councillor is a good one, I vote for him or her, whatever the party – they’re all Conservative or Lib Dem here, as it happens, so I’ve voted both those ways. Dilly’s father is a Councillor – well, up until now; who knows if he will be tomorrow?

Al was pleased as he felt he’d done rather better than the market today. His lovely local strawberries were cheaper and his asparagus, although in smaller bunches, was also cheaper (same price by weight). His cauliflowers were not as good-looking but just as good and cheaper – all in all, he did very well. He’s still selling a few plants, though I expect I’ll have to find room for a few more tomatoes and courgettes in a while in our garden.

I fell asleep for a while on the coach, and when I woke up my eye felt dry, so I took my lens out, intending to put it back. When I looked, I saw a small tear – tare, that is, not teer – so I had to throw it away. My sight is borderline (but on the right side in daylight) for driving without a contact lens, so I was glad it was still light. I must remember to keep a spare lens in my bag for emergencies.

Early yet, but I’m going to bed. I’m babysitting tomorrow, early. Anyone seen a weather forecast for Saturday?

We have a friend who had a cochlear implant last year. It has transformed her hearing, although it’s been a difficult time for her – the first thing that’s done is any vestige of natural hearing is destroyed and she heard literally no sound at all for a few weeks, and then had to be driven to Cambridge from Norwich every week for months for adjustment and training. However, the operation has been a success and she can hear better than she has for years. Nevertheless, she finds it difficult to use the telephone and especially to hear messages. The Sage loves the telephone and keeps leaving her messages. Today’s was to say he understands that she can’t hear messages and he knows she prefers email. *sigh*

I’ll be off in time to hear the lark’s first breath tomorrow, as I’m due in Norwich at 7 am to leave for Hampton Court. Very jolly. Last visit, to the Royal Academy, I was taken to lunch at Fortnum & Mason by an acquaintance, and felt obliged to invite him to lunch in my turn on our next visit. He’s a perfectly pleasant chap but, as I wrote at the time, he was slightly too possessive and I felt awkward and slightly over-burdened by company as he was waiting for me at every turn. It reached the extent that I was teased about it, not unsympathetically. Anyway, I have asked friends to stick fairly close so that I don’t feel self-conscious.

I was talking to a friend today, and she mentioned that another mutual friend is getting married again in the summer. “Ah, I met him briefly just before Christmas” I said. But no, that was a different fellow. “I don’t think I could do it all again,” I mused. “It’s taken me decades to train the first one, and why would I risk it again? She agreed. I know plenty of second or later marriages that have been a great success, mind you, but I can’t think that I’d want to adapt again.

Ooh, I’ve just looked at my polling card. My number on the voters’ register starts FU. Well I never.

We were ready, but it was a close-run thing. The first person arrived at 9.30 and she was given the job of putting biscuits on plates – several of which I then ate (I don’t normally eat biscuits) because I hadn’t had any breakfast. I had put my face on but, after everyone arrived, and I looked at their unusually fuzzy faces, I realised I hadn’t put in my contact lens, so it was quietly shoved in while no one was watching.

Anyway, the house is unnaturally clean and tidy, apart from the dining room which is still out of bounds. A bonus for my friends was a sight of the old car, which the Sage was taking off for its MOT. Once it has been cleaned and spruced up, I’ll show you a picture of it. There is enough food left for me to be able to invite Al and family round this evening, if they’re free, to finish it. The weather is due to change tomorrow – it was fabulous today, very warm but not oppressive – so we can eat outside, which means no work apart from carrying out plates and stuff.

The Sage was my little darling, as always, and helped willingly, not resenting (well, not outwardly at any rate) being chivvied occasionally. Though lazy and disorganised, I snap into full efficiency under pressure and then I can be hard to keep up with for someone accustomed to the normal (?) Z behaviour.

I’ve just made myself a cup of lovely Earl Grey, which I’m going to take out to the lawn, where I will relax and read the papers.