A thirteen hour spread of governor stuff.  Hmm.  Still, I arrived home after 9 pm to find that the Sage had cooked my dinner and that there was still half a bottle of wine in the fridge, so I’ve cheered up nicely again.  I’m passing over details of today, if that’s okay with you.

Wink and the Bod were due to leave for a holiday yesterday – the plane must have flown or I’d have heard, but I trust they get back again on time.  The Bod’s bro is looking after their mum for a week, and Wink’s office can manage similarly without her, but they’re both vital after that.

It’s still jolly cold.  When the sun is out, you can be forgiven for the delusion that it’s warm, but it’s not true.  My tomato plants are looking unhappy and haven’t grown in a week.  There was a heavy frost last night.

Ooh, Yagnub is on television Right Now.  The Lady – the figure of Justice from the Buttercross – has just been put back in place after restoration, and there was a ceremony to unveil her this morning.  The Sage and Al watched – the Mayor and the Town Crier and everyone were there.  She does look beautiful.

Someone engaged me in conversation yesterday on the subject of addiction.  I gave it some thought and decided that it’s not something that has ever happened to me.  Maybe I’ve just got a short attention span?

The day didn’t start marvellously, as I woke early, read for some time and then spent some time sorting things out and tidying upstairs (I know darlings, the knicker drawer is a thing of beauty right now) and finally dressed,  and washed my hair – and then heard a car downstairs.  It was my neighbour, so I scuttled downstairs with dripping hair in a towel that kept falling off – the towel, most of the hair stayed where it was supposed to be.

I can’t quite actually remember why he came – oh yes, now I can, it doesn’t matter – but he mentioned that the Fellow was at his house (the Rectory) doing some work, so I said I’d hot-bike round there to say hello.  I was about to dry my hair when the Sage said that people were arriving for the 9.30 meeting.  Which had slipped my mind in the excitement of hearing about the Fellow.  So I phoned Dilly, said I’d be 5 minutes, slapped on my face, ignored my hair (vanity goes only so far) and scurried next door (the other next door to the Rectory) with the papers that I had remembered to print off yesterday.

It was so good to see the Fellow – my ex-fellow-churchwarden, that is, who moved to Norwich nearly a year ago.  We’ve got some unfinished quinquennial business so I promised to give a ring and go and sit down with him for an hour or so to sort it out – once we’ve both found the relevant papers.  “I know which room they’re in,” I said hopefully.  He laughed, but noticeably didn’t say as much for himself.  I know what it’s like – in fact, my copy of the papers is the same as his, but not annotated, but he’ll remember what he wrote on them.

Anyway, I’m spending the evening watching Top of the Pops 2 with keen enjoyment.  The 80s.  What a decade for music.  Especially Bucks Fizz.  Gosh, the hair.  Oh gosh, Kylie and Jason have just come on.  If that’s the right thing to say.

…leftovers.

There wasn’t much left – all the pork went and most of the chicken, and the only reason there was a fair bit of the veggie dish was because the recipe said “serves four as a main dish” and I knew there were at least three vegetarians, so I thought I’d double up to be sure – it filled my biggest 10 pint casserole.  It was a jolly good recipe though, quick and easy, not at all solemn or stodgy, colourful and tasty, and vegan to boot.  I had been told that one of the guests is coeliac, so made sure that the whole meal (that I was responsible for- I didn’t do all the puddings) was gluten free.

I’m pretty careful to bear in mind food intolerences and allergies – especially the latter.  I’d never put nut oil in a dressing, for example, unless I was sure it was safe to do so and I use no hidden ingredients that are likely to cause a problem.  One person can’t eat onions, and I find it almost impossible to cook without onions, but the chicken dish doesn’t have any.  Two of the dishes were low fat and there was a fruit salad for dieters and diabetics.  I can’t bear to think of someone who already has difficulty with finding suitable things to eat being fobbed off with something boring and dashed off at the last minute.

I’d been able to put out of my mind the awfulness of Friday’s meeting yesterday, but it (or rather, the result of it) has been weighing on me all day.  Tuesday morning will be not nice, when the person concerned will be told by me and the Head.  I feel pretty dreadful about it, in fact – it involves someone losing their job, not because of anything wrong they have done but because a department has become overstaffed.  One of the four had to go, and I chaired the committee which decided.  I know, lots of people have to do this sort of thing all the time, but I never have and nor has the Head (who took no part in the decision).  He feels bad too.

We’d had it in mind to start bricklaying again this week, but it isn’t going to happen.  The Sage is busy with the day job on Tuesday and Thursday, the sand is being delivered on Monday, Dave’s busy on Wednesday and I am on Friday.  Since each of us has two or three free mornings, you’d think that we’d be able to find one or two when we’re all free, but no.  I hope the wind drops and it doesn’t rain because then it will be a pleasure to plant out all the things that have been ready for quite some time, but which haven’t gone in the ground as chickens etc still were free to roam in the vegetable garden.  It’s been  fenced off now – the unwalled side and, temporarily, the side where the wall isn’t completed.  The rest is wall or greenhouses.

I spent a while cooking for this evening’s supper and quiz – I made a goulash, my favourite chicken, tomato and pesto dish, a chilli bean and vegetable casserole, salad and baked potatoes, fruit salad and syllabub.  It was all kept simple – other people brought puddings too so I didn’t have much to do.  It all went well and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.  The quizmaster was good, keeping it lighthearted and not too competitive, and he had a fine turn of North Suffolk speech, which is always appreciated.

The final three rounds were quite tight, when one team caught up with the front runners, then gained one more point and finally another to win by two marks.  The Bees’ Knees won over the Train Set.

Well, interesting that the polls were correct. And interesting times ahead, I daresay. I wonder how long it’ll all last, and whether we’ll have another election within a year.


We didn’t get much sleep last night – in fact, the Sage couldn’t sleep so came down to watch the results come in and finally dozed off on the sofa. I left the house at 7.30 and pedalled dismally off in the direction of Yagnub. My legs ached. I looked at the little upward inclination over the bridge towards the post office and thought I couldn’t do it. I was too lazy to get off and walk however, so kept going.  


I came away from my meeting, several hours later, dispirited. I wish I could talk about it, because it would make me feel better and you’d have interesting insights into the matter, but I may not. I came home and cooked bacon sandwiches for lunch. I offered the Sage a glass of wine “I’m having one, will you join me?” “I’ll fall asleep,” he confessed. “Good idea,” I said. He accepted the wine.


I leap capriciously between frivolity, formality and severity. “I think we should do this very formally, dear,” I said to a member of staff. And then did. There were chuckles all round at the ‘dear’, but I like to summarise at the end, it helps me to marshall my thoughts and, I think, is helpful for the person taking minutes. And I know when not to do it – the dear and darling, that is. I wonder if there’s a deliberate quirkiness? I don’t think so, but I don’t mind the thought of being slightly unpredictable. But, even there, does that make me easy to read for someone perceptive?


I suspect so. I’m an open book and if you find one of the pages sticks, I’ll help you to turn it. I’m no woman of mystery.

I had to write an official sort of letter to someone last week, which I hope is about the last thing I’ll have to deal with as churchwarden – which I’m not any more, the official swearing-in of the new one having happened this evening.  It’s when the Archdeacon, during his Visitation, does his Charge.  Which is less exciting than it sounds, being an instructive talk.

Anyway, I deliberately didn’t put my phone number on the letter because I wanted a written reply.  So I was decidedly miffed when, having just arrived home from a meeting soon after 6 o’clock, I got a phone call from the chap who wanted to argue his case.  It took 15 minutes of my time, and during the call he reproached me for not giving my number, which he’d had to look up.  I explained, more politely than he deserved (and I’ve got to meet him next week so actually I’ll put it more forcefully then) that, if I’d wanted a phone call I’d have given my number.  As it was, I told him that I need written confirmation of anything said as I’ll be passing the job on.  But anyway, having just got in and not even having had a chance to put the kettle on yet, answering the telephone to a business call was not what I wanted to do right then.

This morning, I was doing computer stuff for several different things when the Sage asked me for an address.  I looked it up from our mailing list and was just reading it out when the damn phone rang.  There were three calls in ten minutes, two business ones for the Sage and one for me, they needed to be answered.  It always happens.  We never have a conversation or do any work without being distracted by the phone.  I so prefer email, which doesn’t impose and gives a record of what took place.

A very good governors’ meeting today, where lots of people had things to say – sometimes it turns out to be only about three of us.  And the two new governors volunteered for things, which they are obviously more than capable of doing well and, indeed, there were helpful offers all round.

At last, the only interesting bit about an election – the results.  For once, I can forgive the pundits for speculating.  I’m really quite tempted to stay up, but I’ve got to be out of the house by 7.30 in the morning.  So I’ll probably get up early instead.

I thought you’d all like to be the first* to know (if, collectively, you can be “first”) that the Sage has arrived safely home, after a long round trip.  He is very pleased with the vesta case he bought at an auction *somewhere in Gloucestershire*.  “How much did it cost you?” I asked pleasantly.  “Worth every penny of *£ quite a lot*, he declared.  “I daresay,” I replied, “but that wasn’t exactly what I asked.”

It took some asking of the specific questions, but he finally did tell me (*£ quite a lot* had been the hammer price, with the auctioneer’s premium on top) but it’s up to him, I’d only asked, he’s welcome to buy whatever he likes.   Not that he does, mostly, he has simple tastes, except in women.

I woke up this morning at 6 o’clock and lay very still, so as not to disturb him – and then, of course, when a discreetly extended foot found an empty bed, remembered that he wasn’t here.  I’ve never lived alone, you know.  In the old-fashioned way, I left home to get married and have been there ever since.

*At the time of writing, you were the first.  However, since then, I’ve had a long chat with Weeza so now she knows too.  Mind you, she didn’t know he’d gone away in the first place.

They keep saying that there are millions of people who haven’t made up their minds how to vote yet.  I’ve not heard even one person say that and I’m not so sure that it’s true at all.  In fact, at least three of our family have already voted, as they opt for postal votes.  I would only do that if I were actually going to be on holiday (as Ro is this week, as it happens).  I like to mark my cross and put my paper in the ballot box in person.

We’ve not seen any candidates here.  We had Lib Dem fliers in the post yesterday, and the Conservative candidate was in Yagnub a couple of weeks ago (that’s the other side of the county border, so not the same constituency here).  Few people in the village have posters up in their windows or gardens.

South Norfolk has always been Conservative, with Lib Dem in second place.  Labour trails in the rear.  There have been boundary changes since the last election which could disadvantage the Tory candidate.  Waveney, where Yagnub is, used to be Conservative but changed to Labour in the election when Blair got in.  The MP there is an energetic and dedicated constituency MP, but may lose this time – if so, I’m sorry for him as it isn’t his fault, but then nor was it the fault of the man before him whom he beat.  It’s just the way things go.

I haven’t been talking about the election or politics much – a few people have raised the subject, otherwise I wouldn’t have at all – and I didn’t watch any of the leaders’ debates, largely because I didn’t care for the format.  Pre-arranged questions and no follow-up points made from the floor, and standing there like idiots – nah, didn’t appeal.  It would just have made me cross.  A friend, having watched the first one, agreed that he’d shouted at the screen rather a lot.

I’ve met a few MPs over the years and rather enjoyed talking to them.  Engaging, articulate and interested in having a conversation rather than just imposing their views.  One of the more flattering occasions was, when our MP was the Education Secretary, being asked my opinion on a matter of the day (it was relevant, as he had come to open an extension to the village school, being a friend of the then chairman of governors) and then hearing him say exactly what I’d said in the House of Commons the next week.

So it’s not individuals I’m meaning when I say I’m completely fed up with the lot of them and I’ve heard more than enough, even though I avoid most news broadcasts, to see me through the next four or five years.  I hope there’s not a minority government, come to think of it, because odds are it wouldn’t last long and we’d have to go through it all again in a year or two.

The Sage is in Wiltshire and I am at home.  It’s is very quiet.  Tilly is snoozing on the sofa and I – oh, it isn’t quiet at all, I’m listening to quite loud music.  But there’s an emptiness that sound can’t fill.

There was a brief meeting this evening to make sure arrangements are all in place for the church supper on Saturday.  It was here at half past seven and I reckoned it would be done in twenty minutes and I’d be eating supper by half past eight.  We did sort out the practicalities quickly but no one was in a hurry to move and they didn’t go until nearly 9.30.  I was very hungry and also somewhat embarrassed that I hadn’t made coffee and offered wine – I didn’t think anyone would want it and by the time it seemed appropriate it was also too late.

I’m so suggestible.  Rog mentioned his favourite iPhone apps, which led me to go straight to download two of them.  And then, because of the sight of a virtual pint of lager, I was drawn inevitably to a bottle of beer for myself.  I planned to have a second with dinner, but by the time I came to eat and drink, the moment had passed and I had wine instead.

“I’ve left plenty of corn and water for the chickens” said the Sage as he was getting ready to leave.  “They will go to roost by themselves, just do their bread in the morning.”  They have half a loaf, soaked in warm water, in the mornings.  “Wouldn’t they like a little something at lunchtime?” I asked.  “Only if you’ve time.  Otherwise, I’ve left a couple of bunches of grapes in the porch.  You can give them one this teatime and one tomorrow.  If you give them a call, they’ll follow you.”

He just likes being followed about by adoring females, of course.