Once a month, except in the winter, I meet a group of friends for dinner.  They’re all older than I am, mostly in their seventies and eighties, but I have never taken account of age in my friendships and I enjoy their company.  This evening was the first get-together of the year, a dozen of us met and we’ve had a good time.

At one point the conversation got onto funerals.  Someone was talking about the husband of a friend, who had died recently and the family had not known what sort of send-off he wanted, not even whether it should be burial or cremation.  Shirley said “I wouldn’t want to be in the cold and dark with the worms, I’m going to be cremated.”  Liz agreed, but wondered if her replacement knees would burn or not.  I declared that I hated the thought of being cremated.  The only thing worse would be burial at sea.  I’d feel far more at home in the earth and I’d feed the worms and things, so would be more eco-friendly.  “The thing is,” said another Shirley (there are a lot of women of a certain age called Shirley), it’s the last thing on your mind when someone dies, remembering all they wanted.  My father always wanted to donate his eyes, but it was six weeks before anyone thought of it.”  “I’m only good for scrap,” said Liz dolefully.

It was a very entertaining evening.  The Sage did not come with me but went to his wood-turners’ club (he doesn’t turn, but can often help out by providing wood).  He says he had a good time too.

I had occasion, a couple of days ago, to recall a visit to London some years ago.  It was for the christening of my goddaughter, who has just had her 23rd birthday, and was in late May.

It was one of the best holidays of my life, although it was only a few days.  So I’ll have a happy time, if you’ll kindly bear with me, and tell you about it.

The Sage’s nephew lived in Hackney at the time and said that we were welcome to stay with him.  His partner, now civil partner (I do hope, before long, that it will be accurate to call him a husband) tactfully went away for the weekend – we wouldn’t have minded in the least but, as I say, they were being tactful in case we did.  Simon made us very welcome and I’ve a feeling that he gave us their bed.  We had a very pleasant evening together and the next day we went off to St Martin in the Field in Trafalgar Square for S’s christening.  Her parents lived (and live) in Tunbridge Wells, but that was the church they married in, so wanted their baby to be baptised there.

It was a wonderful service, made particularly memorable because of baby S’s behaviour.  After the baptism, which she enjoyed immensely, the vicar carried her, at head height, down the aisle and she gazed with wonder at the lights, smiling, not feeling insecure in the least.   Afterwards, we headed towards a Chinese restaurant that her uncle recommended for dim sum.  And then we wanted to view a sale at Sotheby’s.  Lynn (I have mentioned her before, she is one of my oldest friends – friendship of longest duration, that is), her husband and mother came too.  The Sage and I fell for a teapot.

The next day was the auction.  We arrived, the Sage and I, and next thing I knew was the Sage giving me a list and a bidder number.  He had been given several commission bids and was interested in buying for himself too, and wanted to keep business and personal separate, for obvious reasons.  I was quite alarmed.  I’d never bid at a London auction before and had not expected to.  However, I’m awfully biddable (hah haa!  biddable! – Will you see a funnier joke today?  Ahem.) and it didn’t occur to me to demur.  My feelings show in my face even now, darlings (I’m often asked why I look so worried) and, once I’d anxiously waved my catalogue wildly enough to attract the auctioneer’s attention, I observed him casting a glance towards me to check whether I was bidding.  I wasn’t helped by the Sage changing his mind on my written bids.  A few times, having shaken my head, the Sage nudged me and I had to wave again.

I shall digress for a minute.  Auctioneers are well used to people scratching, smiling, raising a hand to an ear, and will not take it as a bid unless they know that you want to be discreet (“I’m bidding for Lot 49 until I take my glasses off”) and, if in doubt, they ask.  So don’t be afraid at an auction, and do wave if you want to bid.

We bought our teapot.  It was our wedding anniversary present to each other.

The Sage had to be back for Monday, so returned home that evening.  I went back to Simon’s flat.  At the time, he was training to be an acupuncturist and the part he was having difficulty with was in gaining empathy with people, you have to feel their feelings and he was quite a reserved young man.  So he asked me to help in some way – I can’t remember, I lay on a couch and he held my hand and had to get me to relax or something by speaking to me.  He said he’d found it difficult, but hoped that it would be easier with someone he knew, I remember apologising that, as soon as I lie down, I relax totally and it would probably have been better if he’d eased the tension out of me (I’m sorry if this sounds a bit dodge, it wasn’t at all).

What I haven’t mentioned so far is the weather.  It was blistering hot!  I’d bought a new outfit for the christening, it cost about £80, which was the most I’d ever paid for any clothes, ever.  It was very floral, a very busy, pretty, multi-coloured floral print, matching skirt and top, which I bought from a little independent shop in Norwich.  After I bought it, the shop owner said approvingly that Esther Rantzen had worn it the previous weekend on That’s Life (not that very suit, obv, an identical one).  I was slightly cast down.  Still, I liked it very much and wore it for years.  I also rented a yellow hat.

However, it was very much an *occasion* hat and it was so hot that I really did need something to keep the sun off.  So I went into John Lewis and – shy and inhibited little Z that I was at that time – I was somehow empowered to try on about every hat in the millinery department.  And I found a nice little straw hat that I loved.  I still have it – the front wore through so I altered the straw ribbon so that I could wear it back to front – I haven’t worn it for a while but it would still do for the garden.  It cost £3.95, about the cheapest one there, but the one I liked best.  It was so hot that I didn’t eat all day, but bought some orange juice.  In the evening, I caught a tube back to Liverpool Street right in the rush hour and was completely jammed into a full carriage.  Even the railway station was jam-packed.  Strangely, I didn’t feel claustrophobic, little used as I was to crowds, but quite at home because the atmosphere was calm – resigned rather than cheerful, I suppose.  And I walked through the streets of Hackney, run down as they were, with various burnt items of furniture in gardens and people hanging about on street corners, feeling quite safe, as I was, no one took the least notice of me.

Simon cooked a trout and we shared a bottle of rosé and I said goodbye to him the next morning.  I left early to go to the Chelsea Flower Show.

Darlings, I was small-busted in those days, and young so it didn’t show, especially with a loose top (although elasticated at the waist, it did give me some shape) and I wore no underwear.  I had a little bottle of talcum powder from which I sprinkled powder into my shoes, and I wore my hat and was really quite comfortable, hot and airless though it was.  I had a wonderful time.  I rather love being alone, and alone in a crowd is a feeling I’m especially at ease with as long as it’s good humoured, and I arrived early, spent two or three hours in the marquee until it became both hot and crowded at the end of the morning, and then went outside to see all the exhibits and gardens there.

Later, I caught the train back and the Sage picked me up from the station.

And do you know, when I weighed myself, I’d lost half a stone!  I’d hardly eaten and, at that, mostly vegetables and salad and a bit of fish.  I took the opportunity to diet for a few weeks, lost another 12 pounds and – well, then and for the next couple of years was the last time I weighed a mere hundredweight.  I’d be happy with nine stone now, never mind eight.  Hmph.  Anyway, we still have the teapot.

So let’s check out the size of the print today.

I was writing an email to a friend earlier on today and, halfway through, realised that a whole paragraph was not a personal, chatty letter but part of a blog-post.  I know I get personal here and goodness knows I’m chatty enough, but a fine line had been crossed.


If only I could remember what I’d written, I’d be well on the way to tonight’s post.  Ho.  And hum.


Anyhoo.  Kenny’s funeral today.  Most of the people in the congregation, some sixty of them before the family came in, were village residents who had known Kenny and Muriel for many years.  It’s noticeable that the church always fills up from the back on these occasions, but if people don’t know each other they sit in the next pew.  In this case, everyone did know each other and so filled each pew.  Thus it was that, sitting down almost last, the Sage and I found ourselves in front of everyone but the family, albeit halfway down the church.


And there was another thing – hardly anyone was a regular churchgoer, so singing of the hymns was muted and cautious.  It was quite a contrast from last week’s funeral, where the singing was vigorous and excellent and I was able to be very quiet.  I’m not a good singer.  My voice is a bit thin unless growling around the lower register, which hymns don’t, and I never quite know, when I open my mouth, what will come out (this happens with speaking too: mouth overtaking brain is what my sister calls it, although in that case it’s usually offering to do something that I’d be far better shutting up about rather than hitting a duff note).  However, in this case someone had to be audible, and it seems it was going to be me, so I piped up and did my very loudest and best.  


There was a meet-up at the pub afterwards, so I toddled along.  The Sage was coming too, but got side-tracked somehow (I don’t know, darlings, he was probably chatting to the gravedigger and advising on filling in the grave) and so it’s a good job I have Social Skills and don’t rely on him being at my side.  He did arrive in the end, but I was ready to leave by then so he came home some time after I did.


I answered various business emails and phone calls and was suddenly very tired, so went to sleep.  I can’t have slept for more than five minutes – I curled up in an armchair at 4.50 with the paper, didn’t read it for long but was woken just before five by the Sage coming home from Yagnub with some tulips for me.  He’d bought some for Muriel and thought I’d like some too.  He was quite right.  And the catnap was enough.  


Clients came later to look at the china, which will now be packed away, and then I cooked dinner and that’ll be about it for the night.  I’ll gaze cluelessly at the crossword for a while (actually, that’s not quite right, I’ve got the clues, I just won’t be able to answer the buggers) and listen to music and do nothing much else.


You’d love to know what music I’ll listen to I daresay.  Well, I’ve been playing the Elisabeth Schwarzkopf operetta CD and now I’m listening to Shearwater’s new album, Animal Joy.  I think it’s jolly good.  Later – I don’t know yet.  I need gently cheering up, ideally.  Nothing too demanding though.  Any ideas gladly received.


And now I’ve got to think of a title for this post.  Always summat, innit?  


PS – this has published in tiny writing.  I’ve changed it to LARGEST but it’s made no difference.  I’m so sorry, I haven’t done a thing to cause it.  It’s bloody Blogger again.  

Lunch was, as predicted, very jolly.  We had roast chicken – it so happened that Ro phoned when we were on our way there, asking about making more gravy than enough for two, as Dora’s sister and her other half were going to join them for lunch and he was also roasting a chicken.  I always make thin gravy and never add flour, but Ro thought that thickened gravy would be the thing, so I explained how it’s done, and I received a text a few hours later to say that it had been a success.

I had promised to take a pudding and we stopped to buy it, choosing a sticky chocolate and a sticky toffee pudding from the supermarket in Boringland, between here and Norwich.  They turned out to be jolly good – each was supposed to serve four, but between four adults, a little girl and a baby, we scoffed the lot.  Zerlina and Gus are easy to feed, it has to be said.  Little z will eat most things, including vegetables (lots of carrots for preference) and Gus looks to be going the same way.  His father had already given him his lunch by the time we arrived, but he accepted bits of carrot and so on to keep us company.  He sat on my lap afterwards and tucked into small spoonsful of my pudding with Gusto (see what I did there?)

There had been two small children in church this morning, a little girl slightly younger than Zerlina and her brother, who is at the fast-crawling stage.  They got about a bit (we’re having services in the church rooms during the winter for warmth) and it was very entertaining, they’re lovely little children.  The girl wanted to take a Communion wafer to her mother.  She had her eye on the chalice, I suspect, too, but that was kept firmly away.  During the last hymn, she came and fixed me with a beady gaze.  I found it hard not to laugh, which isn’t ideal with a clarinet.  Afterwards, she said “More, more!”  So, after the service finished, I played another verse of the last hymn and everyone good-humouredly applauded.  “More, more,” she said again, so I agreed to play one last verse.  She asked for more again, but I pointed out that no one could leave until I finished, so it would have to wait until another day.  In the kitchen, I rewarded her with a chocolate biscuit.  It was terribly flattering.  Two encores and asked for a third!

It’s just as well that Ro didn’t come over for supper after all, because I didn’t finish work until after 6 o’clock.  He’s coming next weekend, when Dora will be able to join him.

The Sage is having another evening on the phone, with the result that we’re in separate rooms again.  At least I can listen to music.

Phil and Weeza have invited us over for lunch tomorrow, which will be very jolly.

There is a fruit fly wafting itself about in front of me.

I’ve been wearing my new glasses to type.  It’s not an unqualified success – all right if I’m simply typing, but if I’m reading notes to type from then I have to take them off or I get a headache.  I suppose it’ll make it easier to read music,  at least if the print is small.  There’s a limit to how close you can lean towards the music stand with a clarinet in the way.

At last the Sage was off the phone.  I was just going to finish writing and go and join him – and then the phone rang again.

Anyway, I did book our flights (Wink’s and mine, that is) yesterday.  We’ll be away from 3rd to 17th April.

It’s been a productive morning.  First, I went to the surgery and had a couple of vaccinations.  Apparently, there’s no particular need to take anti-malarial tablets as the area I’m going to is deemed minimal risk.  I’ll check with our friends who live there to see if they agree – I can just buy them from the chemist if they recommend it.

Then on to a meeting at the school.  I’ve mentioned before that we are taking in the Years 7 and 8 pupils when the Middle Schools close permanently at the end of this school year.  Since we haven’t been given any money to enlarge the school, we’re taking over the Yagnub middle school premises and turning it into a Sixth Form Centre, so some alterations have to be done at both schools to make them suitable for different age groups and curriculums.  Although there is a very tight budget and every penny has been gained after much argument with an obdurate local authority, it’s all going well and we’re really quite excited about it.

I had 40 minutes in hand so went along to the café at the garden centre down the road.  A friend happened to be there, our Rector’s husband – he said there was a meeting at home so he’d sloped off out to read the paper, eat cake and drink coffee in peace.  Encouraged by the sight of cake crumbs, I allowed myself to succumb to the temptation of a scone (I’m so dull and good, darlings, I rarely eat so much as a biscuit) and scoffed the lot, with the result that I’m still rather full and probably won’t want lunch until well into the afternoon.  I shall have lunch sooner or later mind you, the notion of missing a whole meal is too dismaying for words.

And then back to the opticians.  £300 the poorer, but two pairs of glasses better off and pleased that my contact lens prescription hasn’t changed, so I’ve got them on order too.  I’ve also ordered a pack of daily lenses so that, when I’m in India, I don’t have to bother with overnight soaking.  I’m wearing the middle-distance pair of glasses now, though have had to move the computer a bit further away.  I normally keep it at just-within-arm’s-length which is okay with a lens in or not, but I’ve been noticing an occasional tendency to screw my eyes up, so I’ll try to get used to it.  The main reason for these glasses is to read music easily.

This afternoon, we shall take the photos for the catalogue.  And I shall sort out holiday insurance – I will have to phone for a quote as, with my hip, I can’t tick the no medical issues box for online buying.

It hasn’t been the easiest week, various things have been quite frustrating and the strain of visiting Kenny had to be come down from.  But I’m feeling myself again, much happier and the anticipation of the Indian holiday is certainly helping there too.

The trouble with making a pot of coffee is that you feel you have to drink it all, rather than just one cup.  It’s a small pot, anyway.

On the way to the funeral, I found myself in a two-mile tailback, going at walking pace.  It turned out that the coffin was being taken to the church by horse-drawn carriage.  It was the funeral of the Head of one of the local primary schools, I went there to represent the High School and hadn’t known her personally.  She had been off work for a while, ill with cancer.  She was only 40 years old and had two young children, pupils at the school.  It was an immensely sad and shocking sight, such young children following their mother’s coffin.

It was an interesting church which looked large from the outside but was quite narrow once you were in, with room for four people to squeeze in to a pew.  I was all right, being with two other women not broad in the beam and a young boy, with whom I shared my hymn sheet, but the three women and a burly (not fat) man in front of me looked to have to negotiate which moved first if not to get stuck.  There were fairly fragmentary remains of (presumably) ancient frescoes on the wall – usually, these have been painted or plastered over and it’s only when renovations are carried out that they are rediscovered.  The advantage is, of course, that they have been preserved from the wear of centuries.  Here is a link to the church, which describes some of its other features.

This site and its companion, Norfolk churches, is well worth a browse.  I discovered it years ago and it’s one of my favourites.  Simon Knott has visited every church on the site – I seem to remember that he often goes by bike.  I was tremendously excited, a few years ago, to find his name in our village church visitors’ book, looked up the entry and left an enthusiastic note of thanks and belated welcome on his site’s visitors’ page.  The church is just over the field from our house, I can see it from the room where I sit now – although not now, it’s 10.30 at night.  The photo on Simon’s article is taken from the other side of the church, however.