Today, the Sage and I have been doing some sorting out.  We haven’t got that far, but there is progress of a sort, in that there is now a pile of items to show to the family and, unless anyone wants to keep them, we shall sell them.

Both of us are finding that our despair at having too much stuff is overriding a wish to keep what belonged to family members.  And so, unless one of my children or my sister wants it, my grandfather’s barograph will go.  So will (so far) two boxfuls of Victorian silver plate.  On the Sage’s part, his mother’s collection of Victorian Christmas and other cards will go unless anyone objects.  We found a pair of spats – huh? – and various other oddments.  Things that I couldn’t have let go when my mother died, nearly nine years ago, I’m willing to say goodbye to now, and even the Sage is letting go some of his tight grasp on memorabilia – although I’ll believe it when I see it happen.

At present, since Phil and Lisa can’t make the August date, it looks as though we may be coming back to the last Saturday in May for the party.  Is there anyone who would like to come but definitely can’t manage that date?  I know it isn’t first choice for a couple of people – oh, and I took off the 30th June because Chris and J can’t come then, but they’re not sure if they will be able to come at all (such lovely people even to consider basing a visit from the South of France on our party) and they assure me that they will not be offended if that’s the chosen date.  So how would that be as an alternative for everyone else? Though I’d rather not choose a day that rules out anyone, I felt bad enough about Roses last year.

But thinking about it, the 26th May could be a good time.  Just a couple of days after our wedding anniversary, you could all come and drink a toast to the next 39 years.

The phone is ringing.  I take no notice because the Sage will answer it (he has).  I can be right by the phone and he’ll rush to get there first.  Similarly, he adores the arrival of the post.  Yesterday, the postman tapped on the door because something had to be signed for.  Before I had a chance to get there, the Sage, still on the phone, had rushed out and had to tuck the phone under his chin, carry on two conversations simultaneously and take in the letters.

The signed-for letter was for me, by the way.

Oh, and it seems that the phone call is for me too.

Later, having finished the phone conversation


It seems to me to indicate a great optimism, when one still looks forward to the post, even after many decades of being a householder, when most of the correspondence – especially nowadays when letters are usually sent by email – comprises bills and other business stuff.  In fact, yesterday we had the accountant’s bills and invoices from the Inland Revenue.  We’ve paid both already.  Why wait?  I’ve come to the conclusion that waiting for the last minute before paying a bill is a bit pointless (obviously, all local tradesmen have always been paid by return anyway) and the pleasure of being out of debt outweighs any satisfaction in keeping the bastards waiting.  But this is about the Sage … yes, he’s still so enthusiastic.  I do enjoy that.

His enthusiasms carry him away sometimes, which can cause problems.  I don’t quite know why he never talks to me first before getting into scrapes.  Well, I do – if he thinks I might take the sensible route, he doesn’t ask me what I think.  He’ll only tell me about what he is fairly sure I’ll approve.  And I’m quite wacky enough, so there’s a whole lot of leeway, but there is a point at which I’ll say, in proper Norfolk fashion, “hold you hard, bor,” and that’s what he doesn’t mention and I’m generally left to sort out later in a way to embarrass him as little as possible.

On balance, though … a life more ordinary or one that can drive me up the wall?

Can one compromise?

It was extremely windy in the night and the chickens were making a lot of noise this morning, telling the Sage how little sleep they had had.  I didn’t have so very much myself, but lay for a long time listening to the wind whooping down the chimney and battering the windows.  At least the windows are well fitting.  In our last house, the Edwardian sash windows rattled and the curtains billowed gently.

I’m so pleased that so many of you would like to come to the bloggers’ party.  There is no need to decide on a date yet, but I’ll tell you the weekends we’re free (as things stand now) and if you have any preference, let me know and we’ll try to find a date to suit everyone.  Since some of you will be coming from quite a distance a Saturday might be better, to allow for an overnight stay.

Here are the most likely options –

May 26
June 2 (this is a Bank Holiday weekend, the Spring Bank Holiday having been put back by a week because the Queen’s Jubilee holiday is on the Tuesday)
June 30
July 21
August 4

If you’ve a long way to travel, we do have spare rooms and you’re welcome to stay overnight.  Staying here requires a very relaxed attitude because this is a Tudor house and the rooms all lead into each other.  So either you’re going through someone’s bedroom to get to the bathroom and stairs or someone is coming through yours.  We’ve got four spare rooms, two with double beds, one has a single bed and the other a slightly lumpy sofa bed in a very warm room (it’s right above the Aga).   We are quite remarkably informal and it’s wise not to have expectations of luxury accommodation, mind you.

Reading my way round blogs over the last week, the general feeling seems to be that 2011 was a fairly tough year and most people are glad that it’s over.  That wasn’t my experience at all, so please excuse me if I take a few minutes to look back on a jolly good year.

Not just good for me, but for the family, in fact.  In January, Ro moved in with Dora.  They are still in the same very small place, but are making plans for the future which includes buying a house this year.

Dilly and Al’s third baby, Hadrian Swallow, named (by me, that is) in honour of the Wall, was born in May, and Weeza and Phil’s baby, Augustus Bufo, was born two days after his sister’s third birthday in August.  The other day, we stood the two babies up (they both like standing) to face one another.  They have recently started to eye each other with interest, but they were reaching out to touch this time, particularly Hay, the elder.

The Sage had a splendid year.  He had two very successful sales and was thrilled that the water bottle and basin in his last auction at the end of October made a record auction price for Lowestoft china, at £34,500.  In April, he celebrated 50 years as an auctioneer and in June his 75th birthday.  On the strength of that, I was allowed, for the first time, to hold a birthday party for him.  Encouraged by that, he held another birthday party for his old car, which was 78 in August.

It was a summer of parties – not that summery was quite the weather for the Great Wall Party in May.  I foolishly planned a barbecue, and ended up doing all the cooking in the kitchen instead which meant I wasn’t half as sociable myself as I’d have liked to be, but it was wonderful to meet so many of you.  I’d already met Rog and knew Dave well, of course, but it was brilliant also to meet Mike and Ann, Chris and J., Mrs Rine, Lily and Oz, Bill and Mrs Bill, Sarah, Sir Bruin and Liz, the Small Bear, and you all follow each others’ blogs now too.  I’ve never met so many bloggers as this year – Blue Witch, with Mr BW, was my first ever blog meet and she called in again in the summer, and I was able to meet Fwengebola, PixieMum and her husband and Chris again in London in the autumn.  We’d also been to Roses’ birthday party earlier in the year which was a great do.  Thank you all, I enjoyed seeing you so much.

I now have accepted my fate, that my main occupation seems to be school governor – I certainly take it more seriously than anything else I do – and it was quite a year.  The long discussions about applying for academy status, the decision to go ahead, the Ofsted inspection that judged us an outstanding school and the preparations to take in two extra year groups – and, at the same time, keeping up the quality of education – took so much work for all the staff, especially the Head, who is quite remarkable.  It has all paid off so far, still worrying times financially (though under control and in budget), but going wonderfully well otherwise.

At home, we did get the drive widening and resurfacing completed in the end.  It was at the expense of other things to an extent, I grew no vegetables and the kitchen garden is a wilderness.  Weather permitting, we need to start getting that back in order soon.

No resolutions as such this year, simply an intention to feel able to blog a bit less.  Having set myself the goal of a daily blog, it has occasionally turned into a duty, with me sitting at the computer late of night with nothing to write about, churning out something, anything … I’ve shown I can manage the commitment, but it’s not really necessary.  So if I don’t write for a day or two, it’ll because I’m short of time or haven’t got anything to say.  If I decide to take a week off, I’ll tell you.

A hope more than necessarily an intention is that I’ll continue to play the clarinet.  I’m still undecided whether to take lessons.  I have been enjoying it, but am finding it frustrating that I play so much more poorly than I did a few years ago – though ‘a few’ is probably getting on for fifteen.

A definite plan is to hold another blog party.  When I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago, several of you said you’d like to come here again, and we’d love it too.  I’m thinking of sometime during late May to mid July probably.  If anyone has other commitments but would like to join us, let me know dates when you either can only come or can’t come, and we’ll see if there’s something that suits as many as possible.  Saturday or Sunday, I don’t mind, but I’ve got a few weekends booked myself already.

Indeed, that is one heck of a chin.  It looks exactly the same now.  I remember my parents were once given a wooden nutcracker in the shape of a head, the body being the handle.  The articulated jaw was very much like mine in this photo, now I come to think of it.

It was brilliant yesterday.  The only pity was that Dilly and Al had to leave at the children’s bedtime – not only were we not quite geared up to having them all to stay, though that could have been managed, but Al had been up since 4 am and was pretty exhausted.  But my plan of lots of small amounts of food all through the evening went fine.  We started with blini, served with crème frâiche, smoked salmon and smoked eel (I know, eels are fewer in number now and probably should not be eaten.  But I do adore them.  Smoked eel takes me right back to childhood).  Then salad niçoise (I started with foods containing lots of different accents.  No three-digit numbers on a Mac, oh no.  Just option and the logical letter).  Then my favourite marinated chicken, which most of you who came to the Wall Party have already tasted, and fried potatoes.  We took a break then.  Ro and Dora went off to the pub and the rest of us looked at old photos, and a couple of hours passed quite rapidly.  When they texted to say they were on their way back, I shoved a tray of tiny sausage rolls in the oven (a pound of sausage meat made 31, they were quite small) and cooked the lamb koftas and, though we hadn’t thought we needed more food, we ate them too.

By 11 o’clock, I admitted defeat and moved on to fizzy water.  We did not see the new year in with the champagne in the fridge.  BTW, prosecco corks are jolly hard to remove.  We also didn’t manage any pudding.

The Sage asked me to set an alarm for 6 am, dammit.  He was due to open the Village Hall at 7.  I didn’t sleep after the alarm, Zerlina woke at 8 so I gave her breakfast and CBeebies while I cleared and washed up.  When, gradually, the rest of the family emerged I cooked breakfast and made lots of coffee.  Everyone was having a good time.  I offered cheese and biscuits for lunch.  “Won’t make the walk, the party won’t start until 3 or so,” I said.

Around 3.30, I made tea.  Everyone left by 5.  Next thing to do, after writing this, is to email my friends with apologies for not getting to the party.  They’ll understand.

Now I think of it, everyone left before 5, because I started cooking again at 5.  Ham that didn’t get used over Christmas.  Gotta feed the Sage, after all.  I also cracked a bottle (in the opening sense, darlings, I’m not accustomed to dropping them) at 5 o’clock.  After all, I saw the new year in sober, so have every justification to get mildly pickled tonight.  And there’s still a bottle of champagne in the fridge.  Whoopie.

Darlings, I found baby photos of me.  I knew they were me and not Wink because of The Chin.  My mother (who loved me and was being truthful, not rude) said “You were a bonny baby.  Wink was beautiful.”  Tomorrow, my friends.  I haven’t scanned them in yet.