Of course, learning should be life-long. I do hope I never lose interest and curiosity and a wish to find out new things. Even when I’m in my dotage with no memory, it would be rather nice if my eagerness for the new is still there – after all, with so much forgotten, there would be so much to be surprised by, even if I lost it again within moments.

But today was the official opening of the new age for learning in our village school. The Bishop came (it’s a voluntary aided church school) and lots of people who’ve been involved here, in one way or another. There was a former headteacher, a past chairman of governors (well, three of us) and the present head of the high school. Actually, it was a fairly select bunch and I was rather chuffed to be included.

Afterwards, I had a good and interesting talk with the Local Authority chap who’s liaised between the schools involved in the whole project, 36 of them. It all started in 2001, and we were both at the first meeting – he was a headteacher himself then, and it was only upon his retirement from that when he was invited to apply for his present job. We’ve always got on well and, although he really is retiring soon, he is making sure that there are good prospects for future projects here.

Actually, I must thank and commend (though I rather trust none of them will read this) everybody who was involved in the new building of . It was first set up as a PFI (Private Finance Initiative) by the government, as a way of injecting a lot of cash into school building while never having to fork out the capital costs itself, but paying a lot of money, in the long run, to the consortium involved. The reasoning was to avoid it show up on the public borrowing figures (yes, I delved until I found that out). However, this folded when the consortium ran low on funds, so the government and local authority had to take it over in the end. The LA, with the help of Norwich churches education trust (not saying its proper title because of google) where relevant, have kept faith with all the schools involved and given everything that was promised. Finally, the project is nearing its end, with the last schools moving into their new premises within the next year. It has been a fine job, many of the schools involved are small village ones (ours is a 75 pupil school at present, although it will become 90 when there is another classroom built for two further year groups) and several are smaller than that. Ours, like some others, didn’t have a school hall so the children had to do gym in the village hall. End of term assemblies and school plays and concerts were held in the church. A piece of land is leased by the village church for use by the school as a playing field. Even at that, rooms had to multi-task – a folding screen was taken back at lunchtime so that two classrooms were made into the dining hall. There was a mobile classroom, so children had to come outside and into the main building to use the cloakrooms and lavatories.

To tell the truth, we all loved that school. I’ll miss it. But all the same, this is better in so many ways. It’s wonderful. I’m writing to thank the head now.

There’s very little choice as I didn’t go shopping for the weekend. However, the Sage came in bearing a box of fine potatoes – I didn’t grow potatoes this year, but a couple of thrown-out sprouted spuds had grown and cropped and he’d dug them up from the compost heap. Then I’ve got half a bunch of carrots. A few shallots. That’s all the vegetables in the house, although I’ve some cavolo nero-type kale in the garden, some tomatoes, aubergines, peppers and chillis in the greenhouse and plenty of squashes. In the fridge, some cheddar, a small amount of Stilton and what looks like a tub of cream cheese but is actually garlic’n’herb flavoured tofu. The usual storecupboard stuff and, freshly made and still cooling, a big bowl of beef stock.

If I use only what’s in the house and mainly fresh ingredients, I could make risotto, using shallots, stock and some cheese with the rice. Or pommes boulangère, with potatoes, shallots, stock and some milk. I could do a couple of eggs with that – the chickens are a bit off lay but there are a few eggs. I could make soup with potato, shallot, carrot and the stock, and do cheese scones to go with it. Or I could simply bake a couple of potatoes and serve them with a hunk of cheese. Hm. More choice than I realised, especially since I’ve not taken into account extra possible ingredients which are there for the picking. I’m sort of inclined to focus on the potatoes, since anything newly harvested tastes particularly good.

Pommes boulangère it is, then.

Last night, I was chatting to the daughter of friends, who has just moved up this way from London. She’s about 30, tall and blonde, with two children of about 12 and 8. I asked how she liked living here, and she said they all love it and the children have settled down happily in their new schools. Her daughter, the older one, is finding it a great deal less stressful. Their father, who does not live with them any more, is black and she had been harried and sneered at for her appearance, which might seem unlikely in a London school where there is a wide variety of ethnic backgrounds. But here, she’s accepted for the person she is and no one cares what she looks like. “She loves not having to straighten her hair every morning” said her mother. “She was bullied if she went to school with curly hair in London”. I don’t know, maybe we’re over-protective, but that would be called a racist incident at my high school, logged and reported to governors, and the pupils responsible would be reprimanded. But actually, it would be most unlikely to happen.

Right. Time to start getting those potatoes ready if I want dinner to be cooked in an hour and a half.

It’s no trouble, slapping food into the oven and on plates – actually (is this a guilty secret or does everyone know it?) the more people who are coming, the less bother it is. You might take hours on intricate recipes for 4 or 6, but if there are a dozen or more guests, you’ll just make sure that the food is fairly simple, very tasty and not fiddly to make or serve, and do lots of it.

The only difficulty is deciding what to make. Specifically, what pudding. I’ve hardly made a pudding for ages, you see. I used to – in the days when we spent a month having weekly parties and then happily dined out on the return invitations for the next three, I’d probably make two or three different puds each time. And I used to make cakes and things for the family regularly, so it didn’t seem hard. But now, I’m so out of the habit that it doesn’t come easy any more. It’s not that people don’t come round, but the pudding is certainly not a major event any more. Indeed, if it’s family or last-minute, I buy one with no guilt at all.

I’ve got an array of books in front of me and I’ve spent the last hour wondering what to cook. Several other people are doing puds as well, though I’ve no idea what they’re doing. I bet there will be at least one apple pie or crumble, so I won’t do that. It has to be pre-cooked, so has to be suitable to be served warm or cold, or be patient about being kept warm for an hour or two. I don’t do shortcrust pastry, far too messy.

I’m toying with the notion of sticky toffee pudding, which is appallingly fattening but which people adore. Last-minute heating up of sauce isn’t much bother. I could make a chocolate cake with a chocolate sauce. Bread and butter pudding is always popular and nice served warm. Or something fruity, perhaps. But not apple. Hm.

I’ll go and peer in the larder and see if anything gives me inspiration.

… Which should, of course, have been the name for yesterday’s post, but I didn’t want my themes to get mixed, if you see what I mean.

However, I will say that we chose the right day to lay bricks. It rained every other day, and is raining right now, and was decidedly chilly today and wouldn’t have been pleasant for an effete pleasure-lover like wot I am to work in the cold. There was a frost, probably just an air frost, last night, which Al discovered when he went out to work at larkfart this morning, and he’s harvested most, if not all, of the squashes tonight. Or, rather, this evening when it wasn’t raining.

After my late-night chat with Dave, I was woken after a mere hour’s sleep, at 2am, by the burglar alarm going off. It has been renamed. It is the mouse alarm, god bother’em. I couldn’t even be arsed to put anything on, but stumbled downstairs, turned it off and came back up. My startled and relaxed knee hurt a lot. I wriggled myself into a comfortable position, the Sage cuddled up to me and I stuck an over-warm leg out of the bed. Then I got a tickle on my back. A spontaneous tickle, that is, not anything that anyone did to me. After a while, the Sage’s hand strayed near it so I gratefully asked for a rub in the right place, which was lovely.

Today, I sang in a music lesson. I’m no singer, I was being a good-natured Good Example. Not a solo, I hasten to add. I was rather happy because a lad had approached me happily to say that he had practised and perfected the riff I taught him in the last lesson. That was really good, that he’d done it willingly and that he’d wanted to tell me.

Tomorrow is the Harvest Supper. I have said I’ll make a beef cobbler (gosh, how retro. I haven’t done such a thing in at least 20 years) and a pudding, each for 16 people.

Having tried out the capping for the wall, it was decided that the pillars would need to be a brick higher to provide a contrast. When you see the photos, they look a bit too high at present, but they won’t in the end. Dave had a couple of pillars to finish and the final bricks to add to the others. In the meantime, I was going to be set loose on the middle pillar in the stretch of wall that is yet to be done. The foundation bricks are on two levels; there is a drop just beyond the pillar, so the first thing to do was to add three courses of bricks to make that level.

“I’ll need half bricks, won’t I” I said. Dave and I stood and looked at it. Yes I would, but it meant that there would be five mortar joints one above the other. Of course, if the brickie had staggered the row it would have looked less neat when the red bricks were laid upon the grey masonry bricks, and for added strength he had put in a metal tie so it won’t make it a weak spot but it will look as if it is.

After I’d laid the first few bricks, I lost my confidence somewhat, and said that I’d rather build up the first course from the corner, rather than risk it being uneven. However, since there would only be enough mortar for me to put in a few more bricks, as Dave needs a great deal for filling in the centre of the columns, there wasn’t much point in starting and, with apologies to Dave for being a slacker, I stood and watched him for a while instead.
Photos of the Great Man Inaction





Second one down is of the final brick being pointed.

When Dave arrived, Scarlet and Pinkie came over to greet him, so we gave them their breakfast. By the end of the morning, they were contentedly lying down in the sunshine, ruminating.

It was chilly at first, but turned out to be a gorgeous morning, warm and sunny. We decided we could have lunch on the lawn, possibly for the last time this year. We had bacon sandwiches. I squirted HP sauce on mine, but the chaps are far too classy for that sort of stuff. Most of my toast went to the chickens that came and clustered round.

Later, the Sage went to put his latest eBay purchase in a cabinet in the drawing room. When he opened it, he noticed a new arrival.
He rang Weeza, who denied knowing anything about it. Then he asked Dilly, who was equally innocent. He went to the shop to ask Al if he’d put it there. The thing is, it’s a clever joke because it actually is a match holder and striker, if not the finest specimen, and the Sage collects antique vesta cases, which are Victorian/Edwarian match holders. This dog would have stood on a bar (it’s got Guinness written the other side of the collar) and has a hole for matches on top of its head and a rough area for striking them in front of its neck and at the back of its head. Anyway, Al said he knew nothing about it either. We haven’t asked Ro yet, but he’s not been here for a couple of weeks and the Sage thinks he’d have noticed it since then. I’ve not opened the cabinet and might not have. It didn’t occur to the Sage to ask if I put it there, but I didn’t anyway. It’s an amusing joke and still a mystery. The pottery dog has a small chip on the back – it was probably 50p at a junk stall or car boot fair.

No really, it seems to be an untruth universally accepted that I drink a lot. I don’t. I may be seen at all social occasions with a glass in my hand, but that does not suggest that it’s frequently being emptied by me and refilled. Indeed, I distinctly remember (for I was sober all the time) at Weeza and Phil’s wedding filling my glass, with infinite subtlety, only three-quarters full at the start and clutching it most of the evening. Since I took the occasional swig, it was assumed that I had had several glassfuls, but only the one. Until it warmed just too much, when it was quietly poured onto the grass and re-half-filled.

Nevertheless, I do avow that one of the biggest treats is drinking during the day. PURELY BECAUSE IT’S SO RARE (please excuse the rare excursion into Dooce-territory. Great girl, but she don’t half shout a lot). So yesterday, when I had a glass of wine before lunch, was a delight.

Today was a delight too, mind you, though no alcohol was involved at all, because Weeza sent me an email this morning with a newspaper article about increased speed traps around and about, and particularly in Boringland (the first letter should be a P, but the village sign was defaced, not by me, some years ago and it does seem to suit, for drivers-through at any rate though I’m sure it’s a truly delightful place to live. Really – I often use the shops and I know some nice people who live there). She was, googlemailwise, online, so I said a cheery ‘hi’, as one does (how come ‘Hi’ is an acceptable salutation for email when it Wouldn’t Do for a letter? And when did ‘Kind regards’ be the norm for signing off, email or letter, if semi-formal to friendly?). Anyhoo, it transpired that she would be home by lunchtime, so I invited myself over. Very enjoyable. Zerlina has sprouted lots of teeth in the last week or so, having had only 4 (reduced to 3) for months. She is also walking steadily, although still holding her arms out, zombie-like, for balance. I advised on pruning of shrubs and various plants for winter, and also on planting of tulips. Can’t be arsed to do it but I’m sound on advice.

Ooh! – Update – Weeza has just forwarded this. Another use for a butt

Unusually sensible, I drove this morning rather than cycle, although it was hardly raining. Bucketing down when I came home again, however. I was jolly hungry too, I’d been a bit short on breakfast stuff this morning and only had a thin slice of dry toast. I bought stuff from Al and came home. As soon as Scarlet saw me, she started to hurry towards the gate, so I got out and fetched her and Pinkie half a bale of hay. It was nearly 2 o’clock by then and I rather wished I hadn’t decided to cook something that would take 20 minutes so I finished a bottle of wine while I was waiting for the food (2 large mushrooms, shallots, tomatoes, garlic and peppers, both sweet and chilli) to cook.

The weather has brightened now, but it’s been rather good to have some rain. Fills the butts somewhat, for a start, which will please Dave immensely. He does appreciate a well-filled butt and he’s bemoaned the sere condition of his for a few weeks now.

The summer crops in the garden are coming to an end. The last few tomatoes, the very last of the runner beans – still fresh and tender to the last picking. Soon, it’ll be time to harvest the squashes. I’ll keep a few back, but Al will sell most of them. Not all the french beans were picked, so I must remember to save the seeds before they get frosted.

“Pinkie’s out again!” announced the Sage provocatively. “I’ll have to dry my hair first,” I responded. Never accuse me of a lack of willingness, but I’m not prepared to get a cold head for the sake of a cow.

She’s loosened a stake and keeps pushing her way under the barbed wire. Scarlet has more sense and a less tough hide and stays in the field. Pinkie has no wish to escape, she just wants to eat what she can from the hedgerow. I wished I’d had my camera with me when I fed her a bunch of grapes, her curling tongue was quite something to see. After she was securely in, they obediently followed the Sage back across the field while I went home on my bike. They weren’t willing to cross the beck – they go back and forth several times each day, but they had a feeling about it this time. Indeed, we put the gate across afterwards, they won’t be allowed on that field again but will have to stay on the Ups and Downs. However, the Sage had already been to the farm for some hay and some straw and they are, right now, tucking into some of it. And here are Pictures, so that Scarlet can see her namesake (this is a brilliant name for her, by the way. It suits her and it doesn’t sound at all odd to call out “Here, Pinkie! Come on, Scarlet!).

Scarlet has a very pretty face
I gave Pinkie an apple, but didn’t manage to take the photo as she took it from my hand

Scarlet is very appreciative of the hay
She is an exceptionally attractive cow, with a sweet nose and glossy hair.

Pinkie is rather more “about time too. Took you long enough to get the hint.” She is older and heavier, with a strong character. Very friendly and good-natured, but independent of spirit. She’s past her best milking days but she is much loved and will live her life out here and on the farm. She’s in calf, due in December and so still earning her keep.

I was just leaving the church when the Sage hurried in looking flustered – almost unheard of, I’m the overexcitable one of the family. I’d left him in charge of lunch, and he (taking this gratifyingly seriously) wanted me to know that he had to desert his post as Big Pinkie had got out again. I gave him a bunch of grapes for her, left over from Harvest Festival, and went home.

I was on foot because, getting my bike out for me (the Sage is unbelievably polite and does this sort of thing all the time. In winter, he not only fetches my coat but warms it in front of the fire for me too), it was found to have a flat rear tyre. I suggested phoning Phil to ask him to bring his foot-pump, as it’s a lot more effective than my bicycle pump. Phil said he’d bring his repair kit and mend the tyre too, which was awfully nice of him.

Anyway, I spent half an hour in fully-efficient mode, which I do well if rarely. I put the potatoes in to roast, cut up and par-boiled the parsnips, prepared the Yorkshire pudding batter, washed and prepared the carrots and the romanesco (it’s a pale green cross between cauliflower and broccoli), took the meat out of the oven, put the Yorkshire pudding in, put the parsnips in, got all the drinks ready, laid the table and cleaned up the kitchen. Those who normally see the way I move find this sort of thing quite scary and have been known to assume I’m panicking. But of course it’s just another manifestation of extreme laziness. Gives me time to lounge around before and afterwards.

After lunch the Sage took some carrots out to the cows. Pinkie was waiting at the gate and when Scarlet (newly and proudly named) saw us she came hurrying up. A handsome female running at full tilt is an impressive sight. They took the food eagerly, rasping my fingers with their tongues. The Sage said he’d go up to the farm and fetch them some hay – in fact, when he arrived there the farmer’s wife was just getting in her car with half a bale in the boot for them. The girls were very appreciative.

Phil mended the puncture. I was very appreciative too.

The final course of bricks along the longest part, at last. We’d all agreed that it would be best for it to be done in a single stretch from one end, rather than us working together, one from each end. So there wasn’t anything for me to do, as it was easier for Dave, being taller, to do it rather than for short-arse Z. It made it a long morning for him however, and he didn’t finish until after 1pm. Far too windy to enjoy lunch on the lawn so we ate it in the dining room.

I caught Dave unawares.

The third and fourth bricks had yet to be tapped down, after which the whole wall was precisely level.

Next week the Sage is quite busy, so we won’t have a chance to get together with Dave until Thursday. There’s a definite change in the weather this week – it so often happens that a new month brings about different weather – so I hope that we don’t get too much rain. It’s raining right now, the Sage says.

The most exciting thing that happened this morning, apart from the final laying of the last brick of this session, which one might refer to as a milestone, was when Daphne phoned to say there was a cow out. The Sage set out across the field and I went down the drive on my bike. We found Ann cuddling Big Pinkie (wash your minds out, people, Pinkie is a cow). We soon found where she had squeezed under the wire, as there were tufts of hair on the barbs. Fortunately, Stephen was going past (he’s the helpful chap who saved me from the icy waters some years ago, did I tell you about that?) and he helped the Sage take down the wire, because there weren’t no ways Pinkie was going back the way she’d got out. Ann went and fetched an apple, because you can’t drive Pinkie, only lead her – she’s an independently minded cow and she was quite happy where she was. 202, the other cow (you may name her if you like, she’s more black than white and friendly with a non-raspy tongue) looked rather jealous. They are grazing some 7 or 8 acres, but it hasn’t rained for months, there’s little grass left. Either the farmer needs to bring hay or fetch them back to the farm. She reluctantly followed us back onto the field and gave 202 a shove for trying to share her apple.