I looked at my watch. 6 o’clock (pm, that is). Time for a drink! I went to the kitchen – and returned with a pint of water. Yes, I am virtuous beyond bounds. I doubt I’ll be able to keep it up once I don’t have the sunshine to remind me – unless the feeling of health and well-being people talk about is more truth than myth.

I’ve been unjustifiably lazy today. I have all sorts of jobs to do, and have ignored them. However, I have done some paperwork that’s been hanging over me for some time, including two items which had been requested by 1st July – however, that was the sort of deadline suggested more in a spirit of hope than expectation, and the acknowledgments I received sounded appreciative that I’d done it at all. Having often sent out emails requesting help, information or opinions and had little if any response, my conscience pricked me into responding, even if belatedly (having had a reminder, *cough*). Indeed, having sent out a request for volunteers to help at the village festival this weekend and had one reply between Tuesday and Saturday, someone who’d been on holiday then told me I’d not attached the rotas. No one else, it appears, had noticed. At present, needing 8 people to serve teas at the church on Saturday, I’ve had one chap, when approached, agree to do an hour. I’ve put myself down for 2 hours, but I’m busy on the village green, as are the 5 people most likely to offer (all of whom are helping on Sunday) and besides, I want to go to the rest of the festival myself – John takes over the village hall with his excellent selection of guest beers and I need to sample a few. Also, I can’t join in village activities if I’m not there, wallet open, supporting everyone’s stall and watching the dancers and musicians who are giving up their Saturday afternoon for us. Last year, when the High School music teacher asked if anyone would like to join in the djembe drumming, I was the only volunteer (I was at an advantage as I had had a go already at school) – but there it is; while the wind band was playing it rained for a few minutes; they carried on regardless and so everyone stayed to support them, whereupon the sun came out and stayed out.

But this is a difficulty – everything, apart from our own business, that I’m involved in depends on volunteers. And people who volunteer are often already quite busy. And you can have a team of people who always join in, that falls apart for one reason or another. That’s what’s happened here – one lady’s father has died and her elderly mother needs a lot of support, and she’s adjusted her working hours so that she can be with her mother a lot in the week and work weekends. She needs no additional pressure at all. Another couple; he’s just started a new job which involves a commute in the opposite direction from hers, and they’ve only got one car. She’s not very well and they have two family members who need back-up at the moment. Nor do they. Another is recently out of hospital, one has moved away from here, another is not well. The people left are feeling that they are on their own – which includes me. This is not a complaint; indeed, I’m sympathetic and can see that people are doing everything they can. They are right to put their families first, too. No one has stepped in to replace them, however – though again, everyone is busy, what is supposed to give?

I remember, a couple of years ago, being very pressed for time with a lot to do, and work for the Sage was part of it. I spent several minutes having a moan – “I’ve got this and that, and then there’s a deadline looming and so-and-so is relying on me…” I whinged. “Then there’s your work – of course, you take priority”. I saw his shoulders, which I hadn’t noticed were tense, relax. I was so glad that I’d said that – it’s been an enduring lesson to me; of course it’s true, but it’s also something that can be not said. We both sometimes feel that the other is always so busy that we don’t have time for each other, but we know what and who matters most when it comes to it.

Kaz’s description of the ham salad of her childhood reminded me of a conversation I had yesterday about becoming part of the community and how long it takes. That could be a post for another day, but Kaz reminded me of one of the signs I cited; of having been asked to help prepare, serve and wash up for the Evergreens’ Christmas lunch. I apologise for the use of the C word in July, of course.

I turned up, not knowing what to expect, to find that the tables had already been laid in festive manner, with crackers and the like, and preparations were going on in the tiny Village Hall kitchen. To be fair, actual cooking was hardly possible there – the layout and equipment is much better now, but it’s still small and awkward.

It’s the menu I’m thinking of. To wit –

Large vat of soup, made by putting catering-sized packs of dried vegetable and dried onion soup into boiling water and simmering for quite a long time until there was a dark brown ring round the top of the pan, then adding more water until the spoon didn’t stand up in it any more, then stirring, realising it was a bit thin again and simmering until just right, then serving.

Appropriate number of slices of excellent quality ham and turkey from local butcher, who home-cooks all the meat he sells cold. We rolled the ham to look pretty and put it, with a slice of turkey, on each plate.
Tins of new potatoes, which were heated up in another large vat, put into serving dishes and had butter pats put on top.
Large packs of frozen peas which were put into boiling water rather a long time before any of the guests arrived so that, when they were eventually dished up, they looked nice and yellowish-green, like tinned peas do. They were then put in tureens with more butter.
On the tables, we put dishes of sliced pickled beetroot from jars, bowls of pickled onions and mustard. There was no salad cream or chutney – this is Christmas dinner, not Sunday tea, remember.

As we were serving the main course – giving each person a plate with the cold meat on, serving hot peas and potatoes from the tureens and letting them help themselves to pickles, the Christmas puddings arrived. There were half a dozen huge ones, home-made by Mrs B, and they’d been simmering in and on her Aga all morning. We boiled more kettlefuls of water, put the water in the washed-out soup vat and stirred in a catering pack of instant custard (that is, it didn’t need to be made with milk). We opened a huge tin of mixed fruit salad for those who didn’t eat Christmas pudding and put a small carton of cream into a jug. We put the puddings onto plates and served it into bowls, then took them round to the guests,

We put small cellophane packs of cheese onto plates, small foil-wrapped packs of butter onto plates and mixed crackers onto plates and put them on tables. We made instant coffee, pots of tea and served them.

The entertainers had been given lunch too of course, they then entertained while we washed up. Then Father Christmas arrived with his sack of presents, he bore in the Christmas cake (also made and decorated by the splendid Mrs B) and it was brought back for us to cut up and serve with more tea.

Everyone received their present, including the helpers, and we washed up again.

Oh, and everyone received a glass of sherry on arrival, including the helpers. We sort of polished off the bottle while we were washing up, too.

I’ve got somewhat carried away and described the whole thing – but what bemused me in those far off days when I was a young and innocent thing of about 43 was the juxtaposition of cold meat with hot vegetables and cold pickles. After a few years though, I learned to rather enjoy it. But what I’m wondering is, is (or was) this normal?

Indeed, two parties today. Actually, I should have gone to a third, but something had to give. The first was a 90th birthday, the second an 80th birthday and the third was an ordination, but lots of people were going to that and I sent a card and an apology.

So, all in all a jolly day. It had started with Al ringing to ask if we’d got some cucumbers in the greenhouse, as he’d forgotten to order any. I was still in bed at that point, but dutifully went down and out and picked cucumbers, and globe artichokes while I was about it. Things improved after that, but it was actually too hot for me to want to hang around in the kitchen for the water to boil for tea and for toast to cook. So I had dry bread and water for breakfast. I know. Even this afternoon, I couldn’t face the kitchen so drank more water for tea. Caffeine deprivation is no problem however. I bear it manfully. Actually, when I went to make coffee last night I discovered I had run out, so inspected the cupboard carefully in the hope of finding a squirrelled-away packet of beans; what I found was a pack of spiced orange coffee that I’d acquired somehow a couple of years ago. I made a pot, and it was as disgusting as it sounds. I’ll be coffeeless for a couple of days.

Yesterday, I asked the Sage to pump up my bicycle tyres. Yes I know, I should do it myself. But I’m a weak and feeble woman, especially where my arms are concerned, and a man is so strong and masterful and enjoys helping, so I do him a favour by being grateful. The result is, of course, that I whiz around like a speedy person for days afterwards, as I’m not riding along on half-flat tyres. There was a race on today – the local cycle club is very keen, and the village bypass has a convenient straight 5 miles or so to the next roundabout, though this time they were cycling into Yagnub as well. I was overtaken by fit looking men – no women – wearing Lycra and those strange-shaped helmets, on bikes with a rear wheel without spokes but solid instead. I plodded along regardless. I don’t mind being overtaken, which is just as well.

Anyway, the parties. Very jolly. One is our opposite neighbour (we have fields all around, so each neighbour is quite a way away, but he’s nearest) and he’s lived locally all his life. I was glad I’d worn a skirt to show my slinky hips when I saw that one of the guests was my doctor, who ordered me to lose weight. I didn’t talk to him as it happened, though I had a chat with his wife. He is Town Reeve this year; a prestigious local appointment, rather like a Mayor (there is a Mayor too) but a more ancient office. The Sage’s father and two uncles were both, in the past, Town Reeves, though the Sage won’t be as he hasn’t ever had a business or lived in the town.

This evening’s party was for the elder brother of a lovely friend, who, with her husband, has been friends with the Sage for over 50 years. The men (birthday boy and his brother in law) used to shoot with the Sage at Bisley. A couple of people remembered my father and grandfather – it was a Lowestoft party. My grandfather died before I was born, in 1952, and my father died in January 1970, so it’s not often that someone comes to me and speaks affectionately of them. I was very moved, it was lovely. On the 10th of this month, it’s the 99th anniversary of my father’s birth.

It didn’t go well from the start. The Sage reminded me that I hadn’t prepared the new Meals on Wheels sheet in time for the first of the month, so I spent some time doing them for the rest of the year – I usually do several months at a time, but we’ve had some uncertainty; one old man in failing health (he’s since died), another recovering from an operation in a convalescent home, and a couple about to move house, so I was doing them month by month to save alterations. Because of that, I didn’t have breakfast, so thought I’d grab something while the cement mixer was going.

Dave had just arrived and was helping the Sage carry bags of cement from the van when I received a call from Jeni, who lives across the field, asking if one of our cows was missing. I went and told the Sage and set off on my bike to check – the cows were on the other field across the beck where I couldn’t see them. It was apparent that she was one of ours; for one thing, the other four were clustered together talking to her anxiously. I cycled back to tell the Sage, who had been getting hammer and staples together, and cycled back while he was walking across the field. Fortunately, Brian the Cowman and Ollie the Cowman’s mate happened to arrive on their daily check of the cows, so they helped get the girl, whose name is 386 but whom I call Flossie for short, back in. “I must tell you,” said Brian, “Ollie said ‘that’s the Sage’s wife on her bike up ahead.’ ‘No it isn’t’, I said, ‘that’s a young girl’ “. I was indeed duly complimented, although I don’t think Brian’s eyesight’s what it used to be. We couldn’t find where Flossie had got out, but hammered in a few random staples and went back to work.

Oh, I forgot to mention that before Jeni rang, Al had phoned to ask if his father could fetch the day’s mushrooms as he was so busy. So that’s what the Sage did next, leaving Dave and me with a load of mortar.

It was very hot and humid, and after half an hour’s work, Dave and I stopped for breakfast – that is, I’d eaten a slice of dry bread and I suppose Dave had had something early that morning, but both of us felt a bit exhausted. So I made toast and tea and opened a pot of last year’s strawberry jam (I haven’t made any this year but still have plenty left) and we were relaxing on the lawn (not in a lounging way, we were sitting at the table like proper people do) when the Sage returned. We all started work again, and then Dilly came out. “Someone called Daphne says that one of the cows is out”. I got back on my bike and the Sage set off on foot. Flossie was on the path heading towards the road, so I headed her right back, and then the Sage found where she’d got out and politely invited her back in again. He needed a heavy hammer and another post, so I stood guard while he went to fetch them.

Frankly, by the time we’d done all this we didn’t want to do much else. We gave the cows some cabbages, corn and cauliflowers (Jeni had given them their daily apples), finished using the load of mortar and called it a morning. If it hadn’t been for Dave, not a lot would have happened at all. However, at least the end of the longest length of the wall has its full height of bricks, although the capping is to come.

Weeza and Zerlina came over as we were finishing and joined us for lunch. z had her usual expression on her face. She was particularly happy to see Tilly. Those two really love each other.

In the afternoon, Pugsley was going to go to nursery school for the first time. He was blowing hot and cold about it, but his mother encouraged him to look on it positively. She came home and reported that he’d strode in and announced “I’m Pugsley. Squiffany isn’t going to be here this afternoon so I’m here instead.” He introduced himself to everyone and bade her a casual ‘goodbye’. She and Squiff, Weeza and z went to the swimming pool to take Dilly’s mind off her son.

Later, I went through to see how he’d got on. He was upset when I went in the house – it soon transpired that he thought that meant I was going to babysit and Dilly was going out. We reassured him – I explained that if that was happening, she would have told him already. But it’s so clear that, however good the arrangements and however valuable good nurseries are, what little children really want most is their own mother or father looking after them most of the time.

By the way, Weeza has officially resigned from her job in London. She’s now a justahousewifeandmother – since she’s enjoying that and they’re managing financially, isn’t she lucky?

Oh, and I decided that I needed another lift. So now I’m up to 11 mm in my shoe. One more is half an inch. Since I initially thought 8 mm was enough, in March, it seems that my hip is failing faster than I’d expected – still has a few years in it I expect. I hate the thought of visibly built-up shoes, but there’s a limit to what you can put inside a shoe and still get it on your foot.

An interesting day, and I enjoyed it. A beautiful setting for the house, which has been beautifully and sympathetically restored. It belongs to Sir Henry M00res (of the L11tlew00ds family) – who was there today himself and came and had a chat. I liked his collection of Chinese artetfacts and the Folk Art section best.

The Sage had my dinner cooked for me when I arrived home. He greeted me at the door with a glass of chilled wine. How well he knows how to please me, and how effectively he does it. He then sent me down the drive with the green wheely bin as, he said, dinner was at a critical stage and he couldn’t go himself. I had rather planned for my first visit to be to the loo, but I managed to contain myself for a few more minutes.

Tomorrow. Yes. Oh blimey, the year carries on regardless, doesn’t it? Does everyone feel as swept away by it as I do?

The second ornamental brick was put in today. After careful measurement and experimentation, the Sage and Dave decided to put it in the same way round as the first because that would make the better fit.

Dave wore shorts. If the heatwave lasts, maybe one day I will too. Not that I’ll look as good as he does.

Today’s work


The first ornamental brick – you’ll see that Dave put in a deeper mortar bed the second time, so that the slice of brick on top wasn’t required.

I know it looks on the huh, but that’s my photography

Kenny came to call, with some of his 90th birthday cake.

Al shut the shop today: or rather, he didn’t open it, and they all went off to the Norfolk Show. They took plenty of drinks and sun cream and a sheet to cover the children when, separately, they had a nap in the pushchair. They also spent quite a lot of time in the wooded area where there are displays of country crafts, such as bodging, so they came home looking quite cool and comfortable.

I had a governors’ meeting, which I hadn’t quite realised I was going to chair. Still, nothing if not adaptable. After dinner, Weeza phoned to arrange to come over on Friday. The Sage spoke to her first, then handed the phone over to me while he went outside to shut up the chickens. He returned. “Can you help? There’s a cow out.” Indeed, just outside the door was a large cowpat and a (larger) cow was eating the lawn. The Sage went to open the gate to the field while I stayed and chatted to her. Then her face brightened as she saw a box of chuck-out apples that the Sage had brought home from the shop to give the cows. She reached for one, knocked the barbecue and panicked a bit when it started to fall – I caught it, but she ran to the other side of the lawn where she saw a plastic golf ball the children play with. She started to eat it, I sprang forward, she panicked again (panic is a relative term, she tossed her tail and hurried for a step or two but didn’t actually stampede) and the Sage got worried. “I’ll get Al” he said and went off. “No, please don’t go,” I said, but it was a bit late. The cow wandered off towards the hen house, and I went around the back drive to head her off if she made for the road. As I rounded the fork in the drive, she appeared coming towards me and stopped uncertainly. I could hear the Sage returning, so I took a couple of steps back, she followed me, and then went around the drive, just as I wanted her to, towards the field gate. What a good girl. I found the spat-out ball on the lawn too, so all was well.

Yesterday, we had the first tomato from the garden. Oddly enough, it’s ready before any of the ones which have grown in the greenhouse. It’s a Gardener’s Delight. It was also a blackbird’s delight – I’d seen in the morning that it was ready to pick and I should have then. Still, the Sage, I and the blackbird ate it between us. We also picked the first of the french beans.

Tomorrow, I’m going out on a jolly, here. It’s a NADFAS trip, but not the society I belong to but the other Norwich branch – they had some spare tickets. I invited the Sage and Dave – either or both of them – “my treat” I said, but they didn’t think it would be enough of one and turned me down. You’d think one of them might have kept me company – as it is, I’ll have to make some new friends.