Two to each keyboard, she gave each pair a sheet of music and let them work out the base* line, then the chords (clapping in the recording) and when they’d mastered those, the melody.  Only a couple of them managed to play the base* line with the melody, it was quite tricky for them.  They did enjoy it though and I helped several with the notes and the rhythm.  There are some quite exuberant lads in that class, which I always enjoy (don’t you find the rascals are much more fun?) and they worked hard and really concentrated and were pleased to play to the rest of the class at the end and be applauded.

I’ve been out to dinner tonight with a group of friends – it’s a small dining club, women only, that I started going to to keep my mother company, the best part of 20 years ago.  I was the youngest there then and I still am.  The founder, who is now 94 and no longer a member, comes along once in a while and tonight she was telling us all about her new iPad.  She’s never had a computer before, is enjoying getting to grips with it and her first emailing lesson is tomorrow.  She’s very excited.  I think it’s brilliant and certainly proves that you’re never too old to try something new.

*Bass.  Ahem.  Sorry.  

“Do you fancy a wee, wee snifter?” asked the Sage just now.  “Jolly good idea,” said I.

A partridge is laying eggs in our chicken run.  A broody hen is sitting on some eggs, but evidently a bit intermittently because whenever she wanders off for a while, the partridge nips in to the nest.  The Sage thinks we might as well eat them.  It seems a bit mean, but … well, if I hardboil them and serve them with celery salt #memo to self, must buy celery salt – then I could pretend they’re quail’s eggs.

I was trying to fill in a claim form today for an agricultural grant for our fields.  I thought I’d done it right, but then it said I hadn’t completed something that I couldn’t understand at all, and nor could I understand the document that was supposed to help me.  So I rang the helpline.  It took some time, very nice young (I’m sure she was) woman was very helpful as well she might be, and in the end it turned out, I don’t understand why, that our claim would have been rejected anyway, though we’ve always received it in the past.  Oh well, easy come easy go, and I was quite relieved to click on ‘abandon claim’ after wasting a mere hour and a half on it.

This afternoon, I tackled my wardrobe.  And my floordrobe and my chaise longuedrobe (I know, darlings, some people have a chair in their bedroom but I need more space for my stuff).  I filled four binbags with discarded clothes and have taken them to the Scope receptacle in the village recycling centre (it’s the bottlebank otherwise in fact),  I was quite ruthless, for me.  Mind you, I had offered a third of my wardrobe space to the Sage and I find that I might not be able to keep my promise, once everything’s hung up, so we may have to think again.  Thing is, I’ve thrown away all the clothes that are currently too big for me.  So I cannot put on any weight or I’d have to buy new clothes, and that would be such a cop-out.

I finally threw away the last 60s dress that I still have, a sleeveless pink shift.  I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t got several moth holes in.  I also threw away a cream linen kaftan from 1970 and a jacket, part of a suit that the Sage’s tailor made for me in 1973.  Truly ruthless you see, and I feel a pang as I type – but last week I threw away my first AppleMac, so that’s proof, if needed, that I’m determined.  There was one garment I didn’t throw away, from nostalgia.  On the wardrobe floor (not at all the same thing as a floordrobe) was a pair of jeans.  I looked at the label … age 13 it said, and I remembered one time putting on a pair of jeans from the pile of clean washing, doing them up, finding the legs were a bit tighter than I remembered and realising that I’d put on Al’s trousers.  He was a very thin lad (and still is, 20-odd years on) and it was the first time I realised that maybe I wasn’t as fat as I thought I was.  I put them on today – I could do up the button but not the zip, so now I have something to work towards.  Is it a bit unrealistic, for mildly porky Z to think she might get into the jeans of her onetime 13-year-old son?  Yes, frankly, but that won’t stop me from keeping them and trying.  And I didn’t throw out any other clothes that are too small either.  Boundless optimism at the Zedery as always.

I loved that Mac.  I may not have used it for 15 years, but I still loved it.

I still haven’t written out directions to here.  I will darlings, I will.  Trust me.  I’ve promised them to Tim, anyone else who’d like them please email.

We decided to have an early night last night, and I was in bed by 11 with the Sage not long behind me.  I’d just turned off the light, finished replying to an email and we were just snuggling up to go to sleep when the phone rang.  “That’ll be Daphne,” I said, as she usually phones around 11 pm.  In fact, it was the police – or one of them, anyway, a female police officer.  A cow had been reported out in the lane.

The Sage’s first reaction was polite lack of interest, but we supposed we’d better do something about it.  So I fished my underwear out of the linen basket, put my jeans and jumper back on and we stomped down and into the car.  The cow was out, rather wishing she knew how to get back in with her friends (Big Pinkie and another cow, we haven’t named them this year yet) and wasn’t entirely pleased when I clapped my hands to get her to move to where the Sage had released a section of wire.  I clapped her on the rump, she started to move and then wheeled round resentfully.  I stepped back a bit.

Once she got going, it wasn’t easy to stop her and she vanished over the bridge down the lane – away from the road, fortunately.  I moved the car to help persuade her not to go past it, and it didn’t take long for the Sage and me to drive her back into the field.  We were back in bed by midnight.  All the same, knackered, darlings, we were.

It’s all been a bit busy today and I haven’t got around to writing down directions to get here, so if you’re waiting I apologise and will email you tomorrow.  

The sale went very well, but it was unpredictable.  Some items went for a lot of money, others didn’t attract a bid.  The *star lot* was estimated at £8,000-£10,000 and went for £11,000 hammer price, £12,650 out of the saleroom, so that was very good.  A couple of things that didn’t meet their reserve have been sold afterwards for slightly less and some more will probably go in the next few days.

I’d been feeling quite down and dispirited for the previous couple of days and was struggling to build up any enthusiasm.  However, a necessity to look cheerful, be friendly, have a smile on your face and take an interest in what’s being said to you is a very good way of raising the spirits.  Behave as though you’re happy and you become much more happy, and so I did.  And in fact I quite enjoyed it.  What’s special about us is the personal touch – so, much of the time, I saw someone coming in and sitting down at the table (darlings, I’ve just remembered that I took pictures! – before viewing started, but it’ll show you what I mean), wrote their name on the registration list and took them a bidder number without asking them to sign in.  Not many salerooms where you get that level of personal touch.  In fact, people ring to apologise if they’re not going to make it, as if it’s a private party!

I had a list of people to phone and also some commission bids – usually the Sage puts those in his book, but if there’s something complicated, such as someone wanting to spend no more than a given amount altogether, or alternative bids (that is, if they aren’t successful in the first lot they bid for then they’ll bid for another, but only want one piece) then I take it on.  It went fine, I didn’t miss anyone and several of my customers were successful, but I managed to forget to hold up the bidder number every single time and Weeza had to ask.  D’oh, darlings, d’oh.  It must be extreme old age and decrepitude.

Anyway, here are pictures of the china.  Books were on a separate table.  84 lots of china.  I took three pictures so you’re getting three views, wicked waste makes woeful want, as they say.

People sit on the chairs and we bring any pieces of china they would like to see.  They can handle anything they want to, but we pick it up from the central table and take it to them for safety, rather than let people mill around helping themselves.

The jug was put the wrong way round so that the inscription doesn’t show, so here’s a close-up.  £12,650, remember – very good condition, best part of 250 years old, but it’s the inscription that gives it its value.

I feel as though I’m way behind on my work, but I don’t think I am really.  It’s just that today was quite unproductive.  It started with a meeting at school – the wretched local authority really makes things unnecessarily (I always spell that word wrong first time and have to delete the redundant ‘c’, dammit) difficult and we thought they’d be less ghastly when we became an academy.  We still have to fight the battles, but at least now we win them mostly, but it’s such a waste of time and energy.  Anyway, that took two hours, then I had to go supermarket shopping for essentials for tomorrow and then a friend called round, by arrangement, after lunch and he stayed rather longer than I’d thought he would.  After that, we went over to Weeza’s to leave my car there for her to use – Phil, extremely kindly and helpfully, has taken a day of precious holiday tomorrow so that he can look after the children and Weeza come and help us.  After years of looking after children, it’s a bit thought-provoking when they start to look after you.  But appreciation and humility are good habits to get into.

So I’m mostly ready for the sale, and so is the Sage.  He was ready days ago, in fact.  Today, I’ve printed off the bidder numbers, the registration list, the list of things we need, got plenty of A5 paper, written down whom I’m bidding for and whom I’m telephoning … and so on.  I’m terribly tired and will go to bed soon.

But we have to have some good news, it’s the rule.  Today, Augustus said mama for the first time.  He was sitting on the floor, she was leaving the room for a minute and he looked at her and called her back.  He was quite ill for several days, poor mite, D&V as it’s known (he’s skinny enough at the best of times, he’s visibly lost weight) and has become a bit clingy.  But he’s all smiles again now, as long as he feels secure, and eating well and on the mend.  Phil is quite jealous and has been coaching him to say dada.  But mama rules at present.

Those of you who come via a feedreader will see that I deleted a post earlier on today – it was just that a blogfriend was unable to get a photo not to print sideways, so I tweaked it for him, posted it to make sure, deleted the post and emailed the picture to him.  Because I’m helpful like that.

I went to a brilliant lecture today – not at all a fine art lecture although it was NADFAS, it was about clowns and by a clown – this one.  He started by telling us of his early life, building up to his first venture onto the stage as a 15-year-old schoolboy at a school entertainment, and then on to his National Service, entertaining troops and his first professional engagements.  Then he showed slides of early circus shows from the 19th Century, bringing it more up to date with clowns he had worked with, and he spent the last 15 minutes on several  brief acts wearing hat, wig and false nose as disguise.  He is a brilliant mime artist, it was hilarious and the lecture was very interesting.  He’s still working, although he’ll be 80 in September (I’m so glad the Sage wasn’t with me, he never intends to retire, though I wish he would, and it would just spur him on).

I did cycle in to town, for the first time in weeks … mind you, I was away for a fortnight and it’s rained every day since … my bike tyres need pumping up.  I didn’t have time to stop and take a picture, but there was an odd sight on the bridge over Earsham Dam, a row of baby clothes spread over the railings.  I don’t know if someone had washed them in the river – it’s normally shallow there and cattle use it for watering, though the depth of water builds up in times of flood of course.  It’s called the Roaring Arches bridge, which is a bit of an exaggeration really.  Anyway, they were gone by the time I came home.

I had various plans for this afternoon, but annoying bits of life intervened and I hardly got anything done. I think I’ll have an early night and give it another go tomorrow.  It’s the Sage’s sale on Friday and I haven’t got my papers ready yet – not that I have a lot, he does most of the bookwork as you’d expect at this stage.  I don’t exactly dread it, but I don’t enjoy the sales any longer.  And we’ve got three this year.

By the way, the Sage will be on Radio Suffolk on Friday lunchtime – I think it’s 1.40 pm, for about 10 minutes.  It’s been recorded, but I don’t know what he said as I was out at the time.  I’ll listen to the website on Saturday – we don’t receive Radio Suffolk here very well anyway, so I’d be listening online in any case.

Here we are, darlings, my childhood companion, Bobby.

Not a mark on him, he was throttled rather than shot.  If you haven’t read yesterday’s post, please do and follow the link before being horrified at my posting pictures of a stuffed leopard.

He’s been in a garage (not always the same garage) for over 30 years, but before that he held pride (I don’t know what the term is for a leopard*, I trust he’ll forgive comparison with a lion) of place on the landing in my childhood home.  I don’t know if he’d picked up any creepy-crawlies, Al and I discussed the possibility of putting him in the freezer to kill anything unwanted, but leopard and case are jolly heavy – they’d fit in my freezer if I cleared it out first, but we’d never be able to lift it out again.  And I wouldn’t care to take him out of the case where he’s resided for the past century.  It would need specialist assistance.

Not that it isn’t available, they did just that at Norwich Castle Museum a while ago.  There was a problem with their extensive collection of stuffed animals, I think that woolly bear got in (that’s the larva of the carpet beetle) and everything was put in freezers to kill the bugs.  I gather that, ironically enough, it was the polar bear that posed most problems in terms of freezer space.

He’s at the end of the landing and there isn’t much natural light there.  Having lights on or doors open to let the light in from the windows just made reflection and glare, so these pictures were taken using flash, something I normally avoid with my camera as it’s better without.  But there we go – come to the blog party on 26th May and you can see Bobby for yourself.  And see me too, of course.  And each other.

*I’ve looked it up, it’s a leap or lepe of leopards.  Bobby hasn’t done much leaping of late, I have to say.