Monthly Archives: October 2012

Z can hardly stay awake

So, chairman of governors for another year.  It wasn’t a surprise.  Unless anything unexpected crops up, I’ll carry on as long as the Head does, see in his successor then opt out.  He’s good enough to deserve that much commitment, though if I had any sense I’d leave now while someone else has time to embed themselves.  But the job – his, that is – is multi-faceted enough and an area of stability is a good thing.  I’m good at being stable and reliable, it’s what I do.

The Sage had a lovely fire waiting for me in the dining room so there was no hurry to leave the dinner table, though I’m so tired now that I’m quite seriously contemplating a long soak in the bath with a book or two and then an early night.
I’m pleased to say that I’m reading books again at the moment.  I finished an ebook – that is, read it from start to finish – the other night, which does say a bit about lack of sleep but also a certain amount about not losing concentration.  I found a message on my phone to remind me to buy a book called ‘A Handful of Earth’ the other day, recommended to me by Mig and Barney, but I can’t remember the relationship … can you tell me, Mig?  It arrived today, that’s the one I’m going to start next, ignoring the two I already have on the go.  Actually, my resolution for the month (yes, I know it’s a third through) is not to start a book and not finish it, not unless I decide it’s not worth finishing.  I’ve been altogether too flippy recently and I’ve got a string of bookmarked volumes that I have to read to the end.
Really loves, I’m so tired.  I’ll just catch up on Scrabble (I see I have six turns waiting for me) and then I’m off.  With the newspaper as well as a handful of earth.

Z moves on

I said too much yesterday.  Sorry.  Um…let’s see…

Elle is going to stay with a friend tomorrow for a couple of weeks, then back to Germany for a long weekend, then she has various things lined up.  It’s great having her here, it’s giving us zest.

Otherwise, not a lot of news – it’s only too apparent why I retreated into the past, and I’m aware that I never finished off the dog saga and must do that next.  I found a photo of Chester in his old age, lying on the sofa and will show it to you.

I had a haircut today.  My hairdresser has opened a second salon in Beccles, so I drove over to support the venture, paper the house, as it were.  My hair was washed by a young girl on a day’s trial – she had applied for an apprenticeship.  I don’t know if she will be taken on, there was a slight problem with the shower hose and, when my hair had been cut and was nearly dry, my hairdresser stopped.  “It hasn’t quite been rinsed, do you mind if it’s washed again?  Have you time?”  I had, though I was cutting (heh!) it fine with the car park, and so now my four times washed and twice conditioned hair is about as soft as it has been since babyhood.

Tomorrow, it’s the governors’ AGM.  I fear there is little likelihood of a challenge to my chairmanship.  However, I have to acknowledge that it gives me purpose … I do have an exit strategy and I am planning my retirement.

I’m quite pleased with my haircut, actually.  It’s shorter than usual, which makes me feel efficient.  But I won’t be efficient this evening.  One more email, then I’m going to sit by the fire and read the papers.

Z thinks of changing the Sage’s name. Basil? Lovage?

I had a talk with the Sage yesterday about future plans, as a result of which I was sunk into too much gloom to rise above it and write.  He and I want completely different things in the next few years, which seems quite a pity.  I’d have liked to think we might do more together, apart from plan his china sales.  However, it seems that I must still gear myself up to doing things I enjoy, alone.

We have always both had an independent streak mind you, and I think that’s a good thing.  Being a desperately gloomy person by nature, I’ve always been only too aware that one of us will eventually be left alone and I’ve always made sure that we both have some separate interests and friends.

Although the Sage is a lot older than me, I don’t assume that he’ll go first by any means.  My parents’ and grandparents’ average age at death was around 62, I’m not sure what his grandparents’ were but both his parents lived into their 80s so I have always taken the view we’re both likely to pop off pretty well together, which actually means that his determination not to retire until he’s at least 80 is pissing me off quite a bit.

We may have been married for 39 years, but the Sage doesn’t know me very well.  I asked him what I enjoy doing and he said “well, there’s your school work.”  I said that was work, could he suggest things that I most like doing apart from that.  “Shopping,” he said.  “No, try again.”  “Er, driving.’

Wrong and wrong.  His next couple of attempts were better, if vague, but honestly darlings, you know me better than he does.  Apart from talking (thank you Barney), I’m sure you lovely people could suggest something I enjoy and get it right.  Apart from Lowestoft china which is a sore point around here right now.  I bet you’d get it more right than he did.

I gave him full credit for his loveliness in welcoming blogfriends here and also for his warm hospitality in welcoming Elle.  I wouldn’t want him to think I take him for granted.

Z puts her lips together

At the coffee morning I went to (which raised over £2,000 for MacMillan Nurses, btw) last Friday week, I bought one of those key fobs that, when you whistle, bleeps to let you know where you lost your keys. Actually, the Sage could do with a few of these. He’s been losing things in the garden. Anyway, we’ve been trying it out. And pretty soon, I hung it up by the door where it couldn’t annoy us any longer, because it seems a bit over-sensitive.  But that seems to have made matters worse. So far, it reacts to Elle’s voice, sometimes to my voice, the cockerel’s voice and, once in a while, to nothing at all.   Oh, it does bleep when you whistle, if it’s at the right pitch. But I don’t think the Sage is inclined to carry it around attached to his keys.

Today’s journey went fine, remarkably speedy. And it has to be said, London drivers are awfully courteous these days. Also, thank goodness for satnavs, which enable complete lack of dither. Well, almost complete. And we had bacon sandwiches and good coffee for lunch.

Good coffee has been one of the Splendid Things that has come out of the last 20 or so years, don’t you think?  Time was, it was undernourished instant almost everywhere. Now, that’s just at the average church hall (I’d like to make it clear that you get delicious coffee and home-made cakes here at Z’s church).

And that reminds me, it’s Harvest Festival tomorrow. I did my effort on Friday, with a basket of vegetables in front of the choir stalls and an arrangement of fruit by the font. I left flowers in a bucket for others to arrange. I spent £45, which may sound quite a lot for fruit’n’veg but not a lot for flowers, but I’m ever the practical Z and I thought the recipients of the produce would like something they can eat. I’m also supposed to make cakes for the lunch after the service. As well as play the clarinet and the organ. Better not have a lie-in tomorrow, I should say. 

Z gets out the satnav again

We’re going to London tomorrow – business rather than pleasure, and Weeza is coming too.  So she’s going to stay the night and we’ll drive down tomorrow.

I don’t usually drive to central London, but we looked up the train prices and times and there’s work on the line scheduled so we’d be bused part of the way, adding considerably to the length of the journey, and the cost for three of us is appreciably more than fuel too, so we might as well drive.

I like travelling by train, but they don’t make it easy, nor to go by any public transport if you live out of a large town.  I miss being able to turn up at a station, buy a ticket and get on a train – one has to plan ahead nowadays if the cost isn’t to be prohibitive.  And I’m not even trying the bus.  The Sage is quite enjoying his free bus pass, but he’s got more time to spare than I have and bus fares are expensive too.  Ro discovered when he lived here and worked in Norwich that the cost of the petrol and the cost of the daily fare were then about the same.  But then, for anyone of pensionable age, it’s completely free – I’ve talked to pensioners who say that they’d be quite happy to have a half-price fare or pay for a bus pass, but if the pass were means tested then they’d be much less likely to use the bus at all.

It’s a funny thing, by the way, that I’ve noticed that nearly all young people (young means under 45 or so, darlings, after that you’re youngish until you’re about my age when you become an old dear) who I know don’t drive are men – usually because they live in London or another large city and don’t have need of a car, which is fair enough of course, but they then have to rely on their wife when they want to go anywhere.  I know one bloke who never got around to learning to drive, lives out in the sticks and – well, if I were his wife I’d not be best pleased about that.  It’s quite a burden if you’ve got children – there are so many after-school and weekend activities.  I’m certainly finding a lot of extra time taken up by ferrying the Sage around, not that I mind because actually it makes us spend more time together, which has to be a Good Thing.  In addition, however, it’s that I have to do extra things that he used to if necessary, such as shopping and Meals on Wheels, and if I can’t do MoW I have to swap with someone else.  And all that hoo hah at the hospital yesterday – I left here early as I said, Weeza had to get her after-school childminder to take Zerlina to school, it all took almost as long as if I’d gone by bus.  And when I do have the op done, I won’t be able to drive back home at all, so either I’ll have to see if Dilly’s available or ask Weeza to bring me home – and then my car will be at her house or else she’ll need a lift back the next day … oh dear.  Maybe I could stay with her overnight and hope to drive back the following day.

Should I stop worrying about it?  Does this explain why I lie awake for hours every night?  Why do I have a compulsion to think round every aspect of a problem and a possible solution in advance, just so I have mental resources spare to react effectively to things that do crop up and can’t have been foreseen?

I used to say to the Sage in the days when I wore glasses for driving and constantly mislaid them, he might find it a bit of a trial to be married to me, but just think what a trial is was to actually be me.  Not that he complained.  Unfailingly polite, the Sage.

Z loves the NHS

I did my dreary hour’s sleep, five hours awake, hour’s sleep thing again last night.  I wasn’t consciously nervous, but you can’t hide from yourself in the early hours.  I had to get up early and leave the house soon after 7 because Weeza was driving me to the hospital (which reminds me, I clean forgot to offer to pay her extra childminding costs.  Whoops).

I get my worrying done early, you see.  It’s quite good really, because it means that when I have to go for the (extremely minor) operation, I’ll have done with all that anxiety nonsense and will be looking forward to it.  Today, it was just for my eye to be looked at.

I’ve got this thing on my eyelid, as you’ll have noticed if you’ve met me.  It’s been there for a few years, although I’m so vague and unobservant that I don’t know when it popped up.  It’s a little – well, it’s not a wart but it looks a bit like one, and it’s on the top lid of my right eye, in the corner.  I’ve wished it wasn’t there ever since it’s been there, but I didn’t do anything about it until (because I check frequently) I discovered a month ago that it had grown quite a bit, not visibly from the outside but about half a grain of rice sized under the lid.  I was on to the doctor the next morning, made an appointment for the day after tomorrow (today being the day that was tomorrow yesterday, this was about a month ago) and received my hospital appointment within the week.  I was pretty impressed with the speed of it all.

Today, I was even more impressed.  The letter had a bar code to self-register on arrival, but there was a nice man there to help if necessary.  I was called by a nurse ten minutes early to have my eyesight checked, waited another ten minutes and was seen by a doctor, who agreed that the lump should be removed.  He also observed that there’s a discharge, which I was unaware of.  And he explained that, at present, they are only allowed to remove things that are giving concern – ie, that they might be malignant, which this isn’t in his opinion (nor in mine, for what it’s worth).  But, since it would be checked anyway, he would put on the form that it does give cause for concern, because otherwise there would be many pages of forms and a delay before they got authorisation for the operation.  So I’m not to worry about what the letter I will receive says.  And I’ll lose a few eyelashes, is that okay?  I said I could live with that.  He said they would use a local anaesthetic.  I’d expected that, said it was fine.

Weeza asked how long before I can drive again and how long it would take to heal.  Next day, and a week or so, though it might look a bit sore for a few more days.

We left the eye clinic at 20 past 9 from a 9 o’clock appointment, which was fantastically efficient, and I’d been treated with courtesy and kindness throughout.  I’d asked Weeza to take me, just in case they put drops in and I wasn’t able to drive for a while, but I’d have been fine as it happens.

Actually, I hate the thought – who wouldn’t? – of sitting there with my eyes open while one of them is attacked by a scalpel.  But it’ll be interesting, anyway.  And I’m working myself up to being quite excited about it.  I’ll be so glad to get rid of that wretched thing – I’m not a vain woman, but it takes an effort not to be self-conscious.  Anyway, I’m as lucky as anyone can be – if that’s the worst thing wrong with me, I can only be vastly grateful.  

Last Sunday

After a jolly good breakfast that left me wondering how much I’d be able to eat for lunch, Mig and Barney got ready to leave for lunch with their daughter, for a delayed birthday celebration.  Well, several birthdays.  They suggested I follow them to meet the family and I’m alwys up for a jolly as you know.  So off we set in the Reading direction.

I’ve no idea what the family made of this strange, almost silent (oh yes, Barney, you see I can do silent) who smiled and smiled and left quite soon because I had a lunch date.  Big hugs for darling Mig and Barney, and now I know where you live I might call again….

And I knew already where Tim lives, and I knocked on his door at an altogether suitable Sunday lunchtime time and – oh darlings, it was so good to see him again.  Lovely.  And, well, I’m not sure if he’s ever blogged about his cooking, but he’s a cook.  Anyone who can make wholemeal pastry taste delicious is a damn good cook, because it’s difficult (which means, for those who read between the lines, that he makes better pastry than I do).

I had an easy run home, just under 3 hours, and the Sage was all ready with a glass of wine and a dinner menu.  I still feel a bit fat, three days later, for all that greedy noshing, bur I have nothing but the cheeriest memories of the lovely company.  Thank you darlings.  Sorry for talking too much.  

Dodo’s birthday

Mel had to work on Thursday morning, so I went to meet her at Sherborne, leaving my car and going in hers because Dodo lives in a narrow lane with limited parking space and my Landrover would take up a lot of space.  Dodo was in great form.  There were five of us, more than six would test the limits of her sitting room.  Her nephew and family were going to visit at the weekend.

We chatted, ate cake, drank tea, sang Happy Birthday – as I observed, we all started in different keys but ended up together.  Here’s a picture of her card from the Queen.

In the evening, we met Wink’s friend Mandy at the pub.  The next day Wink had an appointment so I went to a coffee morning in her place, then drove to the house where she was dog and cat sitting for the weekend.  The dogs were a yellow and a black labrador called Rufus and Billy, the cats were a ginger called Hobbes and a tabby called Wicket.  On Saturday, another coffee morning, or rather a bazaar, where I won a bottle of port in the tombola.  I reckon the two fundraisers did rather well from me overall, but I did come home with some goodies, including whole lots of books and some brand new loppers.

We met another of Wink’s friends (she’s the sociable one of the family) for lunch and then I set off for Zig’s house.  It was lovely to see her again, we last met three years ago and a lot has changed since, but she’s as completely delightful as ever.  And she made jolly good scones when I saw her last and delicious banana cake (was there grated chocolate in there?) this time, and I met dogs and cats and chickens and talked too much, as ever.

And Mig came too, and I followed her home to find Barney unscrewing the gin bottle and cooking dinner – which was a joint effort though I had nothing to do with it, and it was all totally delicious.  Barney described me as “talky” which is fair enough, but I do hope I demonstrated that I can listen too, because I do have a worrying tendency to think it’s up to me to keep the conversation flowing and a blogger’s assumption that a monologue is fine, but not all the time, especially when people have interesting things to say.

Later, Barney went to bed several hours earlier than Mig and I did, which gave me the opportunity to make friends with Tosca, and it was after 1 when I went to bed.  We seemed to have left rather a lot of empty bottles behind, I’m afraid.

The next day, Barney cooked breakfast.  Why didn’t I take a picture?  I’m a fool, perhaps?  Yes, you’re right.

Going agley

I was such a fool, not only to make a plan but to put it in writing.  Of course it didn’t work out.

It was 12.50 am and the Sage and I were peacefully slumbering when I was woken by a noise on the roof.  When something falls down the chimney, it’s usually a pigeon, but it wasn’t that this time, so I could only think it was a squirrel.

Funnily enough, last week I had a conversation about such events with Wink and some others, about the problems of bats in the house, squirrels down the chimney, various creatures making their way in and causing havoc.  And I said a squirrel wasn’t likely to get into our house by the chimney route as the pot is 6 foot tall.  Oh, bitter irony, I thought, in the small hours, as the animal bashed about trying to get through the board that blocks the fireplace.  It settled down later however, and I went back to sleep for an hour until it tried again.  There was also a bleeping sound, which was probably something with a running-down battery (I haven’t found that yet, must look again).  So I decided to sleep in the next room and crept out, the Sage still being asleep.  However, he’d shut the door on that room in the hope I wouldn’t notice that he’d put a whole lot of Stuff in there (I was well aware, obv) and, as that door is slightly warped, opening it is a bit noisy.  I may well have woken him, I’m afraid.

I put my book, iPad and iPhone under the pillow (these are necessary, they’re my security blankets) and had quite a good night’s sleep after that, but I didn’t get up very early.  And then, having got a towel and a pair of gloves, we opened the windows and shut the door and cautiously took the board from the fireplace.  No squirrel.  Instead, a barn owl, which immediately took refuge up the chimney.

The Sage suggested leaving the fireplace and windows open, but I’ve been caught that way before, because there’s no way of knowing if the bird has left or not, so we balanced the board back and agreed to have another go later. And later, he went out and Dilly and Hay came round for a chat and it wasn’t until they left that I realised that Elle, who had a free period first thing, should have been downstairs for breakfast by then and I went up – but I glanced in the bedroom and there was the owl on the windowsill.  When it saw me, it flew to the other window, thwacked into the glass and lay stunned.  Anxiously, I went across and picked it up.  Darlings, you know how beautiful a barn owl is and I feel quite lucky to have held one.  And it was all right, thank goodness, though a minute later it shot its back legs out, intending to fly away (but I was holding it securely) and the claws went through my jumper, into my shoulder and one curved claw got caught.  It was so curved that I couldn’t extricate it so went down in search of Dilly for some help.

It weighed remarkably little, far less than a pigeon although it was larger.  Incredibly soft feathers.  That chimney is never used and isn’t sooty at all, thank goodness, so no mess.

It was all right, it had disentangled itself by the time I got outside, I put it on the table and it flew (or flue, as Rog put it) strongly away.  And Elle’s alarm hadn’t gone off, so I woke her and she had to hurry, but still had time for breakfast.  And I’ve done Meals on Wheels and the first letter of all the work I have otherwise still to do.

Later, possibly, depending on what’s happening around here, I hope to come back and tell you about my holiday.

Oh yes, pictures….

What an oddly wrinkled thumb I seem to have.

It didn’t try to peck, which was quite a relief.  I’d rather handle an owl than a squirrel, though I suspect I’d come off worse against an aggressive owl.

It’s a very small puncture (please excuse the glimpse of Zunderwear).

Z synchronises her apps

I started the day a bit late, to the extent that the Sage came upstairs about 9.30 and rather pointedly offered to bring me a cup of tea.  I’d been awake for a couple of hours mind, you, just didn’t feel like getting up for a bit, especially as I knew that the house required a fair bit of cleaning and – well, frankly, I couldn’t be arsed.

But I did in the end of course, changed four bedsworth of clothes (the spare room bed didn’t need changing, but I was switching duvets around, so did) including the little room next to ours where either the Sage or I decamp sometimes when one of us is restless so the other can’t sleep (which one of us leaves the marital bed, as it’s rather oddly called, depends on whether the restless one is awake or asleep at the time) and hoovered, dusted and cleaned sinks and so on, did shopping and ended up at school for an open evening for prospective pupils and their parents, which last kept me on my feet for three hours at a time when I’d rather have been putting them up.  So by the time I’d come back and cooked and eaten dinner, I was too tired to do much more than spend the evening drinking beer then wine and reading the papers.  And so I’m afraid my tales of Wilt and Berk shires will have to wait another day.

Tomorrow, I will crack on early.  Elle isn’t going to school until 11ish and the Sage has offered to walk a friend’s dog while she’s away so he’ll be off first thing, so I’ll have a couple of hours on my own.

Oh, I’ve remembered why I was tired this morning.  I updated my phone and pad software while I was away, which was useful as, reviled as the new Apple maps are, they turned out better at small detail than my satnav, so I was able to find the place I was staying on Friday night.  But I’d not had time so refused the offer to update the iTunes software on my computer before I left, and it wouldn’t acknowledge that it needed an update when I tried.  And it wouldn’t back up the phone and pad without the update and looked as if it was going to remove data altogether.  I spent a silly amount of time on it when I’d have been better with an early night, as I intended but didn’t get.  Anyway, in the end it succumbed to the force of my disapproval and did the job.  So now it’s fine.  And, for once, all apps are up to date.  But for a while I thought I was going to need some help.