It’s been another day when plans have been changed.  I still haven’t done the damn photos.  My meeting this morning took two hours, then I found myself saying I’d go back to school for lunch, sampling the new caterers’ fare.  Roast turkey, very good, by the way.  The finance manager said I should have it free, as a duty meal, but I paid – £2 for a roast turkey dinner is hardly going to break the bank.  After that, off to the blood donor place and 800 ml or whatever the current amount is was drained out of me in no time.  Wiped me out a bit, though, I’ve been tired ever since.

My little chick with the bad leg is still in her box in the tortoise run.  I’ve been quite despondent about her prospects but, for the first time, I fancied she was moving a bit more easily today.  I call the bird ‘her’ because I really don’t want to bring her back to health, only to find it’s a male and for the chop.  I feel quite dreadful about the handsome young cocks in the kitchen garden, they’re lovely looking birds and I can’t do a thing about it, they have to go. Such a pity, they’re more handsome than their father.

Tomorrow, I’m going out for coffee with a friend and then, in the afternoon, I must open today’s post (yes, I’m so far behind with things that I fear the post) and then do those pictures. I’m going out for dinner in the evening.  I’m lying low and hoping for no presents, I’m not in any sort of mood for a birthday present  – and celebrating it seems ridiculous at my age, anyway.  I’ll celebrate 64, if I live that long, because it’s a jolly good number, but that’s all.  I’ve got a couple of cards, which is lovely, it’s nice to be thought of, but there’s nothing I need.  Except a butterdish and a log basket, but I’ll get those myself.  Oh, and I’m going to buy myself a ring before long, I hope.  But not for my birthday.  I’m hoping to get to the Goldsmiths’ Fair this year and I would like to get myself something.  It seems to be assuming some significance for me, to do with caring for myself.  I’ve got to find time to get to London at the right time, though.  So if I don’t, what will that mean?  Hmm.

We took the photos – we had a good system going, with Ro being the gofer, I taking the pictures and Weeza doing the condition report.  I have yet to load them on the computer and cut them down to size, but that’s a must-do tomorrow.

I accidentally let the oldest chicks out on Sunday, I didn’t fasten their coop properly.  They had such a lovely time scratching about that I’ve let them out every day since.  They’re quite good about returning, though it took me twenty minutes to try to persuade the final one in last night – in the end, I had to catch her with a net.  So tonight, when a single (different) one was awkward, I just swooped her up with the net and didn’t waste time.

Mother cat brought a small mouse, dead, and dropped it at my feet.  She’s really doing her very best to ingratiate herself with me.  It was a charming gesture from a feral cat.  Still, she and Eloise are no friendlier and my own cat comes first.  Worryingly, Roses’ cat Rummy didn’t return last night and we can only hope he’s okay and will stroll in soon.  I don’t know how far he strays – Eloise doesn’t go far at all, I just have to watch out that she doesn’t get shut in a barn.

I’ve been emailing governors’ stuff today and will be glad when I don’t have to do it any more.  I’ll miss it, but I can’t take much more of it.  This is my 28th year and my last, I hope.  Last as a governor, that is.  Although who knows? I sort of felt I’d done my duty once Ronan hit 18.  Borrowed time ever since, perhaps.

Update – Rummy returned in the early hours of this morning.  No clue where he’d been, but he’s fine.

I’ve been too busy to blog, but that means you poor lovely people have missed a few details of my life.  I’m so sorry, darlings, I know it’s endlessly … um, well, you’re kind enough to drop in anyway.

I finished writing the lot descriptions on Saturday, ready for photos on Sunday.  Then I headed off for the village show.

A point was made in the comments about nitpicking about details that don’t actually matter in home cooking – yes, absolutely.  If you enter a show, you’re supposed to do exactly what it says on the programme, otherwise you may get the dreaded ‘NAS’ (Not As Scheduled) on your card and your lovely tomatoes, cake or beans won’t be judged at all.  Well, that’s not my way of doing things, not at a friendly, lovely village show, and that’s one reason – the main reason – they ask me.  I get it.  I know Denton, the village, and that’s not the way they play it.  Some years ago, a friend and I used to judge it and she was a professional home economist and she was a stickler for detail.  She actually used to get out a tape measure.  They stopped asking us – they knew it wasn’t me, but they didn’t want her to feel left out on her own.  She has moved away, though.  Marie, who is a professional school cook and I got a jug of water and two cups, a large and a small knife, a couple of saucers, two plates and some paper towels and got to work.

First, we went for the flavoured bread.  There was a brown herb bread, a white ditto, a cheesy bread that had rather sunk in the middle and a brown soda bread with beer.  We were intrigued by that last, though slightly doubtful that it counted in the same category as yeast bread – but we didn’t really like it, I’m afraid.  The white herb bread was delicious, a clear winner – and the hand-kneaded one, the other two were made in a breadmaker (which was allowed).  Then we went on to rock buns.  Well, they were all good, it has to be said.  I like rock buns, you can’t go far wrong – but again, there was an outstanding one and we chose three winners.  Shortbread was slightly trickier because some looked better than others but didn’t necessarily taste better, and the one with the best flavour of all was a bit more of a biscuit than a shortbread really – but it had the edge in the end.  Then marble cake – the first one we tasted set the standard, especially as it had been baked that morning.  Sadly, another tasty one was slightly undercooked in the middle.  I confess that we don’t write notes about everything, it takes just so long, but we did mention that.  Another contender was a bit uncooked too, which was a pity.

I think we went on to jam tarts next and none of them was anything less than good, though one batch of pastry was about as good as my shortcrust is – ie tough.  The gentlemens’ class was apple cake, with a given recipe.  Again, can’t go far wrong and they were all good.  Two had been baked that morning, which did give an edge.  We read the recipe and studied the cakes carefully – you put in half the cake mixture, added the apple, then the rest of the cake – but only one had a real layer of apple in the middle.  There were also ground almonds in the mix and flaked almonds on top, it was interesting that some tasted far more of nut than others.

Only three entries in the lemonade class this year and two in the eggs – we don’t eat those, it’s a visual thing.  We’d given two third places in the apple cake and the eggs were just beautiful and clearly new-laid (when broken, you can tell because there’s a plump circle of albumen that the yolk sits on) so I suggested two first prizes.  De, who puts the certificates out, patiently wrote out an extra card.

The killer is the part we leave until last: the preserves.  Jams, then marmalades, then chutneys. We always feel a bit queasy after those.  Several of the chutneys were too freshly made to have reached their best, the spices and vinegar were a bit harsh.  Two or three hadn’t been cooked long enough, there was liquid.  We still tasted them all, though.  The best of all was gorgeous, I must find out who made it and beg the recipe.

Finally, there was the carrot taste class.  They started that, with tomatoes, last year.  Just one carrot in the class and appearance didn’t matter, it was all about the taste.  Marie and I had to agree to differ there, she liked one best and I liked another and that was that.  So we gave two firsts.  Then we debated the rest and decided there had to be two seconds.  So the final two both came third – because that was far better than disappointing someone.

Afterwards, we were given lunch.  Hah.  I took some salad, to be sociable, but it was impossible to eat an actual meal.

PS Cheese straws!  I forgot to mention them.

The help desk is singularly unhelpful. At least I ascertained that it was ok to email my reply and got the address. The website that Tim linked to in yesterday’s comments was not exactly plain English, but gave me enough idea to realise what I needed to do.  Weeza was coming over and she would help.  I phoned my cousin, the solicitor, to check with him – he wasn’t in the office today, but a nice woman gave me some advice and I’m taking in the letters on Monday for her to have a look, to be sure I’ll be doing the right thing next.

It took us the whole morning to write my statement, but we printed it, I signed and scanned it and sent it off.  Then we posted hard copies to the defendant and the court, too.

We hadn’t had time for the job Weeza came for, but she’s coming back on Sunday, lovely girl.  I spent two and a half hours typing up most of the lots of china and only have nineteen left.  We have the photos and condition report to do, then Weeza will put together the catalogue, ready for printing.

The son of a friend of mine has left college and is looking for a job and, in the meantime, is helping me in the garden.  He was chopping logs today and will cut down nettles and brambles soon too.

I have a home for two of the bantam chicks – this doesn’t sound many and it isn’t, but probably half of the, will be males anyway.  The oldest ones are ten weeks old now but I must look up when the others hatched.  I’ll be very glad when all this is over, it’s not a simple job, keeping them reasonably dry in the very showery weather we’ve been having.  Edweena, the adult tortoise, seems interested in hibernating but that isn’t going to be allowed for a while yet.

Tomorrow I’m off to judge (co-judge, anyway) the cookery section of the village show. I won’t need lunch afterwards   Continue reading →

You know that court case  I mentioned a few weeks ago?  I phoned to see if there was a date set, two weeks ago, and it hadn’t been.  Today (this evening, as I’ve been out), I had a letter to say that it will be on 14th December and I have permission to file a reply, whatever that means, by 4th September.

It’s the 3rd September.  This sucks, rather.  I’ll have to phone in the morning to ask what it does mean and if I can use email, because clearly I can’t get it there any other way.

I went to a Nadfas lecture this morning, the local one – I belong to two societies.  I only got to one lecture last season, because I was so busy, and I had a warm welcome – dear friend Jenny hadn’t seen me since Russell died and hugged me, said very kind things, she was a relatively young widow too … kind as it is, this is very hard to cope with, especially in a public place.  After the lecture, I went to say hello to the Area chairman, who wrote to me only a month or two ago, having just heard that Russell had died.  This was immensely kind, most people would have thought it too late to write – I would have myself, I think.

I was half-listening to a programme on the radio on Saturday, so I don’t know the background, only that a man was talking about his experience of being widowed, from the aspect of how people spoke to him or otherwise acted towards him.  He was very critical – I turned the radio off, after a while, because I so disagreed with him that I didn’t want to listen any more.  Sure, the man who sent him books on grieving was not tactful.  Other people were clumsy – but they tried.  Would he have preferred to be ignored?  I think not.  It really is the thought that counts.  Quite apart from our clumsiness, fear of doing or saying the wrong thing, misjudgement of what is consoling or uplifting, there is also the matter of how fragile and over-sensitive people might react, which might be quite unreasonable.  I read, in the paper some months ago, a letter from a woman who was upset at receiving Christmas cards addressed to herself alone, which she felt rubbed in the fact that she was, in fact, alone.  But what did she want?  Cards addressed to her and her dead husband?  No cards at all?  Meeting someone who clumsily says the ‘wrong’ thing – better that they cross the road and not speak to you?

Oh dear.  I didn’t know I was going to write this.  Ignore me, darlings.  No one has said the wrong thing to me – that is, I didn’t take it amiss – apart from the man who phoned to speak to Russell, was duly shocked when I broke it to him that Russell had died, then – after some conversation – let out that he’d heard but couldn’t believe it.  I think I blogged it at the time.  I was too startled to be indignant at the time, but I really was afterwards.  One chap, over-keenly, said “so you’re a woman of substance now?” a week after Russell died, which was pretty tacky, but I didn’t react to that either, just confirmed that yes, Russell and I had left each other everything in our wills, so I was worth twice as much as I’d been a week previously.  I think that a straight and dignified bat is the best way to play it.

I seem to be ranting, but I don’t mean to be.  Let’s change the subject.

I was in bed by half past nine last night and, though I woke several times in the night, once for over an hour, I slept for a good eight hours, maybe nine.  I was in no hurry to get up this morning – I love my bed.  I also love my Aga, it’s great to have it on again.  I feel rested, which is lovely.

The little chick is feeding well, but can’t walk.  Its left leg joint is swollen, I don’t know if it’s a break or a sprain or what.  I’m so sorry for the little thing, I hope it recovers but I’m not going to get too attached.

I’d put the rest of the hay under cover and the kittens pulled it onto the ground.  Bless them, they clearly need more comfort.  I’m going to make a sheltered space for them and buy them more hay.  They need somewhere comfortable for the winter – they can go in the barn, of course, but I don’t know that they do.  They are very dependent on the food I give them, which isn’t at all in accord with my idea of barn cats.

My darling daughter-in-law Dilly’s birthday today.  I managed to get the day wrong, I knew the date but somehow thought that was tomorrow.  I phoned her at 4 o’clock when I caught on and hope to see her at the weekend to give her her present.  It’s my son-in-law Phil’s birthday on Saturday and Dora’s birthday at the end of the month – all my in-laws’ birthdays this month, which at least is consistent.  And it’s Pugsley’s birthday this month too, and Ro and Dora’s first wedding anniversary, and the day of Russell’s funeral – all happening this month.  And my birthday too, now I think of it.

I think that keeping my Aga off for two whole months is pretty good going, but I’ve turned it back on this evening.  It feels like the heart of the house, it’s empty without it.  It’s still warming up at present, of course, I had to cook dinner on the little oven.

One of my chicks,about six weeks old, has been hurt somehow – I can only think she slipped on wet ground and hurt her leg.  She has been crouched in the coop and can hardly move, though can eat and doesn’t seem ill.  I took her out and looked at her and felt her tremble.  I suppose the best thing would be to kill her, but it’s beyond me.  I’ve made her a nest of hay in a plastic box, put a piece of Perspex on top with one corner held up by a tile, for air, and she’s in the tortoise run.  She will recover or not, I’ll give her a chance.

The mother of the oldest chicks has been laying eggs consistently for over a week, I’ve had four or five eggs from her, so I let her out this morning and have now put her in the hen run with the others.  She was a bit reluctant to leave the kitchen garden, but the others accepted her and she will be okay.  The black hen with two chicks got out and I’ve let her stay out too, the babies are quite old enough to cope, though I’m sure they’ll miss her warmth at night.  Still, I’ve put hay in all the coops for them to bed down on – they were fine with dry grass, but it’s anything but now.

Having moved all the coops, put in hay, changed the bedding in the nest boxes and so on, I was tired after a poor night’s sleep and had a nap this afternoon.  I do like the afternoon nap, though I’ve got out of the habit and rarely can manage one.  Now it’s September, I have to get back to work, including school work.  The governor who’s taking over from me as Chairman has to have a big operation at the end of this month, followed by further this and that, so he’ll be pretty well out of action – though sometimes available online – for the whole term.  I felt I had little option but to offer to put myself forward as a second vice-chair.  I still hope I’ll be able to quit at the end of the school year, but I won’t leave them in the lurch.  I’m on the lookout for a few more good governors – we’d rather keep a vacancy than have someone who hasn’t really time or understanding for the job, but I’ve got two gaps and I’m a potential third … I mean, my place is, of course.

Having had that nap, it occurred to me that it would be nice to switch on the Aga.  But then I went out to feed the animals and it didn’t really feel cold enough to justify it.  And I am strong on self-control.  Except, that I then thought, heck, I’m old and I don’t have to justify it to anyone.  Do It Now.  So I have.