It’s been a busy few days and blogging – and reading blogs – has lost out. Long gone are the days when I determined to write a daily post. This started as an exercise in determination but eventually started to rather rule me, so I made the opposite decision, which was to not write every day but when I wanted to. It’s a bit like coming off a strict diet, not always easy to find the right balance.

Anyway, I went to Essex to fetch most of the rest of the china for the auction – news on that to come, it’s not all settled yet – and, the next day, I went down to Wink and loaded the car up again. She does have a removal company whose quote she’s accepted without a firm date yet, but she wants to move everything but the furniture and ‘white goods’ gradually. So I’ve got china, glasses, books, vinyl records and some other odds and ends. I’ve put all the boxfuls in the hall in the annexe.

I got home on Sunday and, on Monday, Tim went off to Reading to see to things at his house. He’s had a productive day today, even achieved things that weren’t on The List. Yesterday, I went shopping for cards. There are all the rest of the family birthdays, plus those of friends, as well as all four family wedding anniversaries, between now and the end of September. So I bought a dozen cards and some wrapping paper. Then I unpacked Friday’s china, labelled and described it. I should have labelled more china today but I was too tired. Best not to handle delicate antiques when you’re so tired that you’ve become clumsy.

I wasn’t tired because anything had gone wrong though, but because of a lovely day. I spent it with Weeza and family. It’s Zerlina’s 12th birthday today. She has been taller than me for a couple of years and has pretty well caught up with her mother. She loves being tall and, as she’s lean as a whippet, she hasn’t got the bulk that might make her self-conscious; not that it should anyway. The outing she’d have liked with a friend couldn’t take place because the friend’s grandad is receiving treatment for cancer, so the whole family is shielding to protect him. So young z completely understood and accepted that and the visit is postponed. She’s kind enough not to go without her friend, but to wait.

I’m not sure why I was so tired when I got back, but I couldn’t move for a while and then spent an hour feeding animals, watering and dealing with the dishwasher, so I was tired again. I feel perfectly well and it’s just that, after a lifetime of being an owl, I’m now neither lark nor even nightjar. I just flag in the evenings, to my annoyance. I suppose it’s simply age. I used to liven once 9 o’clock arrived and now I start wondering if it’s too early to go to bed, which it is.

Tomorrow is Weeza and Phil’s 15th wedding anniversary and Thursday is Gus’s 9th birthday. With nothing else planned, I’ve invited them here and I’m so charmed that the children wanted to come. I’ve bought a long piece of rope for a new swing, because z is far too tall for the one hanging from the apple tree. Phil and Weeza, possibly with the assistance of LT (not me because I’m far too short) will construct it to hang from the stone pine tree next to the big oak on the drive. We’ll need a hook or something to loop it to the trunk when it’s not in use, I think, but there’s a sturdy horizontal branch about ten feet up, or three metres if you prefer, which should be just right.

Stone pine is the name of the species, it’s not made from stone. Fabulous big pinecones, everyone admires them. Russell’s brother Austin brought the seeds back from North Africa about 60 years ago; they grow around the Mediterranean normally.

It is also Eloise cat’s 6th birthday. I had an egg for breakfast and shared the yolk with her, and bought new batteries for her cat flap. If she understood the concept of birthdays, she might feel a bit short-changed. But hey, she’s happy.

It’s still all about the animals, darlings, I’m so sorry. I know I’m dull but, as I’m not actually gay, I have to be proud to be dull instead.

Polly Garter bantam has turned up, sometimes in the morning, but not in the evenings, and I’ve been looking for her nest. I have now found where she’s sitting. I don’t think she’s being dedicated enough to hatch any eggs and she’s pretty safe, so I’m leaving her be. I don’t know where Gladstone is.

Eloise cat is terribly proud of herself. Tim found her, this evening, guarding a tiny dead shrew, which Eloise clearly thought was the Prey Of The Mighty Hunter. It was about an inch long, which is about all that Eloise manages to kill. She can’t manage a mouse. Anyway, when she was observing it proudly, we left it alone but then she placed it carefully on the doormat and I removed it and chucked it in the undergrowth. I’m sorry for the little beast, which was harmless and unpalatable anyway. but Eloise doesn’t kill mice or birds and it’s about the worst she does.

It hasn’t rained. There has been rain in neighbouring towns and villages, but not a drop here. So I watered Wink’s tubs, our tubs, the greenhouse and then went to chivvy the chickens in. Most of them follow me, knowing they will get a handful of mealworms chucked on the ground, but there are usually a few cautious chicks who scamper around outside and are reluctant to come in before their aunties have gone to roost. Being bottom of the pecking order, they don’t get many mealworms and are in no hurry to go indoors. I escort them towards the door but some of them break off and go past it and have to be escorted back – but not tonight. Eloise is affronted that Zain thinks he’s in charge around here, so she chased the barn cats and, to her great glee, they ran away from her. She waited to make sure they wouldn’t come back and stood guard – and that meant that she prevented chicks from going past her, so the homecoming routine took two minutes.

Then I fed the cats and it was only Barney who was too nervous to come. Eloise yowled at him and he ran away, as did all the siblings. Eloise was so impressed with her queen of all she surveys routine. As my one-time cleaner Patsy would have said, she’s now a real swell’ead. They say you can’t herd cats. Eloise has proved them wrong.

The forecast thunderstorms haven’t happened yet and we have not had a drop of rain. I’d rather relied on some in the night, so didn’t water the tubs and I haven’t done it today either, so it’ll be fairly vital by tomorrow. Though it is supposed to rain on and off for most of the day, we’ll believe it when it happens.

The last couple of days have been lovely, in fact. LT’s brother and sister-in-law are up from Devon, so came over for the afternoon yesterday and then took us out for dinner in the evening. I put on my face and everything – no, that’s not quite true, I didn’t put in a contact lens because it would only have been for the drive over to the next town to meet them. There was some chortling with glee at the end of the evening when our substantial and delicious meal cost a mere £40 for the four of us, including a bottle of wine and service. Thank you, Rishi. And thank you Bill, of course, who paid it.

Then, they came over here for lunch today, as did LT’s sister and brother-in-law, who live less than an hour from us but whom we hadn’t yet seen this year. Though we did meet in December and there are excuses for 2020 like no other year in my lifetime. Because of the weather forecast, we suggested doing lunch here but, as it was so fine, we actually ate in the garden and my strenuous housework has gone unseen. I dusted picture frames and everything, darlings. I moved furniture. Honestly, if I’d ever needed a different career, I’d have been a whizz as a lady what does, as house cleaners used to be called. Anyway, lunch was nice and relaxed and lasted several hours, which was probably nicer than going to a restaurant and being conscious that we were taking up a table for too long. Tim and I had leftovers for supper and not much of them, having eaten well earlier. I gave each couple a dozen eggs, because the chickens are laying gleefully at present and I even know where. I really should give some of the chickens away, but I’m so fond of them and it’s hard to choose which ones should go. Gladstone has been missing for a couple of weeks now, so could well turn up with a clutch of chicks in a week or two.

Back in June, I bemoaned the on-offness of my vacuum cleaner. It had a loose wire where the lead joined the handle and it only worked when I held the lead right down onto the handle. Wonderful Mike Da Hat, who mends electrical stuff, in an honourably eco-friendly way, when he isn’t taking photographs, kindly sent a string of instructions on the mending of the machine, starting with what not to do.

I passed it on to Tim, who couldn’t quite make sense of the very first instruction. So I continued to hold the lead right down onto the handle until today, when the fractious wire finally fractured. And then I aced the first, second and third instructions and then handed it back to Tim; who sorted out most of the rest, passed it back to me and I did the final putting together. And then I plugged it in and switched it on so triumphantly that the switch jerked back, so we thought for a moment that it wasn’t working. But Tim spotted the problem and it’s as good as new again.

Seriously, the Sebo X1 is the best vacuum cleaner ever. Mine is 34 years old and this is its second fault; the first being a need for a new fan belt, about five years ago. It’s a joy to use and beats Dyson (which, at the time, it cost the same as) into a cocked hat, and I have used Dysons and found them a lot poorer. Tim’s second in 30-something years has just packed in and it’s comparatively annoying to use.

Anyway, today I have done some housework. My cleaners came a couple of weeks ago and couldn’t do everything in the time, which isn’t at all surprising. This is a big house and it’s not easy to keep clean. I’ve been fairly relaxed really, because we didn’t see anyone for weeks and then all our entertaining has been out of doors. It’s not that I’m fussy but, over the next couple of days, we are having people round and thunderstorms might happen and festooned cobwebs aren’t a good look unless you really are Morticia Addams – who I adore and emulate, but I haven’t her sang froid. So, when the hoover packed in halfway through the very hot and sweaty job, it had to be mended.

That was my day, in short.

We had a fabulous weekend and Dilly finally met baby Perdita. Wink left yesterday morning and LT and I relaxed most of the day, apart from cleaning up the kitchen yet again – what’s that about? We did so after the family left and only had leftovers for supper, yet the place was a wreck by the morning again – and then I made a loaf of bread. I’d accidentally opened a tin of tuna on Saturday, aiming for anchovies, so invented a roasted aubergine and garlic number with a piquant dressing to go with it last night. I’m growing small aubergines this year, which are delicious and it’s a pity to cut them up.

Tim’s brother and sister-in-law are visiting the area this week and we’re looking forward to seeing them. We were planning to eat out on Thursday, with their sister and her other half, but there’s a likelihood of rain at some time and The Rules allow for us all to eat outside at a restaurant but not indoors if there are more than two households. I’m not at all sure what The Rules are at home but our dining table is quite big enough for three couples to distance themselves from each other and we’ve been following The Rules rather more than many people in government, so I think we’ll be okay.

I had a letter, a couple of weeks ago, asking me to take part in a survey for the Office of National Statistics. No reason why not, so I agreed online and I’ve just had a lengthy phone call. We were involved in an opinion poll three or four years ago and the chap came round then, but this time it had to be done by telephone, of course. I’m not entirely sure that I’m the sort of person they’re looking for, as we don’t shop much in supermarkets and we buy ingredients rather than branded foods, but we’ll save all our receipts and write things down for the next fortnight and they can make of it what they can. They are bunging us £50 each for our time, which is better pay per hour than I get from the auctions, for sure.

I was going to write a post last night, feeling very cheerful and in the mood for a chat, when I had an email to say that the mother of a friend of mine has died suddenly. My friend is Weeza’s age and her father had a major operation a couple of years ago, so all the focus has been on him and this is an awful shock for the family. They live in Somerset and she hadn’t been able to visit her family until now – fortunately she was there with them when it happened. Forgetting this, I set straight off down the road to call on her, but remembered on the way and came back again. I don’t have her parents’ address and emailing or messaging sympathy doesn’t feel quite right, though I sent my love on facebook. I’m not sure of the best thing to do in the circumstances. Email, I suppose.

I opened the back door to get some bay leaves and the heat hit me. Far hotter outdoors than in. This house has really thick walls and it faces east and west, so the midday sun doesn’t blaze in. The temperature had been in the 30s (Celsius, that is, of course) by mid-morning and, according to the weather apps on my phone, this afternoon it was hotter than Greece and the South of France, at 34º. But there was a pleasant, warm breeze and I took a book out onto the lawn and relaxed in the shade of the plum trees.

Wince the gardener found another nest of eggs yesterday. Polly promptly decided to sit on it. I’m not sure if it’s the one Gladstone has been sitting on but I haven’t seen her, anyway. I put Polly and the eggs in a coop, which affronted her and she left them. This isn’t a bad thing. I don’t actually want more chicks, it was just in case they were actually Gladstone’s and she might have wanted them back.

Polly had amused me yesterday morning. I feed the barn cats first, with a scoop of dry food and a share of the tinned cat food, then go to let the chickens out. They love meat, of course, it’s as good as worms to them, and I saw Polly standing by Zain’s dish, staring at him. She clearly expected him to be intimidated and move away, but he’s a confident cat and didn’t budge. It reminded me of Ronan as a child. He was a slow eater in a family of Simpsons. We used to eat up rapidly and then watch him take a bite, put his knife and fork down, pick them up, cut up another mouthful – it was remarkable. We had no idea where he’d got the idea of eating properly, it wasn’t from any of us. Anyway, after a few minutes, it would dawn on him that conversation had stopped and we were all looking at him. He’d eye us. “What? ” he’d say. “What?” We’d assure him we were enjoying the spectacle and he muttered and went back to his slow plateful. Zain was just like that. He felt watched and didn’t like it, but just hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore her. The adult chickens aren’t at all afraid of the cats, who don’t bother them at all. It’s a nuisance if not all the youngsters haven’t gone into their greenhouse (their shed is in a big old greenhouse, where they can also stay for the day if the weather is bad) because the cats hang round outside, waiting for me to feed them, and the chicks won’t go past them. They don’t know that the cats wouldn’t dare. A mother hen is a fearsome thing and more than a match for a cat, as is a protective cockerel.

Wink has invited us in for a glass of Prosecco. Have a lovely evening, darlings.

Looking at the header photo, taken after last year’s blog party – gosh, I miss you guys. Wink and I were saying today, we’ve actually done pretty well without a social life. I know there are people who’ve had virtual parties, all gathering separately with their plates and glasses and jollying with their mates over Zoom or similar but well, with me, it’s all or nothin’ – not that I’ve quite got Ado Annie’s exuberance in some respects, of course, but hahaha-ing at home and not actually being with the friends you’re laughing with doesn’t quite do it for me, but real social occasions are another matter. That being so, I’ve not spoken to that many people, though it’s been lovely when I have. And I’m looking forward to another family get-together in the garden on Saturday.

We put together that garden seat and Wink produced a bottle of Prosecco to wet its head, as it were. As we were toasting each other, Eloise cat appeared. Tim told her that there are two tables on different levels and the lower one is just right for her. She agreed, jumped straight onto it and peered out at us. She is very demanding and spoilt, but we don’t mind in the least because she is so sweet natured, just as long as another cat isn’t around.

While we were sitting with our drinks, I spotted something white near the house wall. Was it a mushroom or an egg? A bantam egg, it transpired. So I picked it up and looked around under the plants, and found another. This had a snail firmly applied to it. I tried pulling it off, but no go. So later, the two eggs plus the snail were put in the coop for the hedgehog. It’s dark now. I wonder if they’ve gone.

I went out to look. My lovely fat hedgepig is curled up asleep in the coop, having eaten all the meat I put out. The two eggs are still there and presumably she will eat them or roll them away when she wakes after her nap.

When I went to shut up the chickens and feed the cats, Eloise followed me. I came out from having given the youngsters their mealworms – the half-grown chicks don’t go to bed as early as their mothers and aunties – Eloise was spitting and swearing at Zain the tabby, who was crouched in a corner glaring back. He’s not an aggressive cat and I don’t think he’d go for her, but he’d surely defend himself and he’d come off better. Eloise has about as much clue at fighting as I do.

Hmm. The chimney was swept today – well, all three chimneys. And I explained about the chicken wire that seemed not to have worked, or else it was blocking the wrong chimney – and indeed, the wire netting has been put in the wrong chimney. Leigh said he got 11 lengths of pole up the chimney and then couldn’t get the 12th and final one up there. It’s stuck pretty firm, he explained.

I’ll tease Tom rotten when I see him again. You’d think he’d have worked out which chimney pot had soot all round it. Leigh couldn’t whoosh it out but I hope to persuade Jonny the farmer to send someone round with the cherry picker to take the netting out and put it in the other chimney. It isn’t urgent, but there will eventually be a buildup of soot and it’ll cause problems.

Tim had the very good idea of buying a garden seat as a moving in present for Wink. When I was on my way to my dental appointment on Saturday. I had a bit of time in hand, so I called in at Notcutts the garden centre to check out what they had available, took a number of pictures on my phone and brought them back. There were a few possibilities and so we called over this afternoon. Wink looked at the benches and individual chairs, but decided on what I think is called a ‘companion’ bench: that is, two chairs joined together by a table, the chairs being slightly angled so that you can conveniently talk to the person you’re sitting with. It was in the sale, nearly half price, though frankly I think the original price was one of those things they put on in an obscure shop so that they’re within the law when they reduce it. Anyway, the assistant went and fetched it in a socking great box, which tested Tim’s and my abilities to shift it into the back of the car. We put down two thirds of the rear seat and managed to slide it in.

Quite enough excitement for today. But I was rooting around for beans and discovered in the overgrown veg bed a few broken eggshells and a few whole eggs. I have a happy feeling that we have a number of hedgehogs pinching eggs from our naughty laying-away chickens, and they are very welcome to do so. I put one of the whole eggs for the hedgehog that visits the coop nightly. A dish of cat food and an egg goes every night, though the shell is rarely left. I like to think of the urchin rolling it away to feed to her babies.

I’ve bought a Ford Focus. Boring, I know, but there we are. I’m quite accepting of my boring status. It’s useful and I value usefulness. Three and a bit years old, the various things I wanted are there and a few more I don’t understand yet and, having been a Motability car, it’s got an absurdly low mileage. Many disabled people really need their cars but don’t go far in them.

Simon the greengrocer posted on Facebook that he’d got a lot of leftover strawberries, he’d put them outside and anyone was free to help themselves. So I did. Tim and I have hulled and weighed them and jam will be made in the morning. I had to go to the Co op to buy sugar, though. I hadn’t any white sugar at all and needed some for redcurrant jelly and raspberry jam too.

We don’t really have sweet tooths and are far more inclined to make chutneys and relishes. I’ve left the courgettes to turn into marrows, I’m afraid, and will have to deal with them – which may be by whizzing them into a pulp for the chickens. Rose and her family assured me they were keen to eat all the vegetables I could grow, weeks before they decided to move out, which has left me with a surplus I can’t keep tabs on. So never mind. Do what I can and don’t worry about the rest.

Wink is arriving tomorrow for a week, which we’re looking forward to very much. A friend who used to live in the village emailed me, asking for suggestions for places to visit. Friends are going to be staying nearby and asked her for advice. But she’s out of touch and, at this time, so am I. I asked on the local facebook page for suggestions and got lots of them, which I’ve passed on – and some of them are really interesting and I think we might go there too. Booking ahead is required, which is fine actually. Nice to know there won’t be crowds.

But, after all this, the main news from my end is that I have visited the dental hygienist. This appointment was first deferred by three months and then for a couple more days, and wasn’t with the person I have seen previously. Likewise, my six-month dental check-up became nine months and then an extra three weeks. But anyway, Natalie (or something like that name) said that people have either been assiduous or resigned, and I’m clearly in the first category and my teeth look pretty good. I’m relieved. There are still a lot of restrictions on what dentists may do and I don’t want to fall into some sort of oubliette, whereby there’s nothing in between extraction and oblivion.