Monthly Archives: July 2021

Working from home

I’ve always done it and Russell did for the best part of thirty years. Others have discovered its benefits (and disadvantages too) over the past year or so. My clarinet tuner has given up his premises and installed a sizeable, well-equipped shed in his garden, which probably cost a lot less than a year’s rent on the shop. We talked and he understands what I want. I said that I don’t know anything about technicalities, he does, so I will take his advice; given the framework I’ve explained. He’s also got the prettiest cat, an unusual shade of brown, which is more interesting than it sounds. I think she might be quite old, something about the way she walked. But anyway, I’m picking up my clarinet next Thursday and, by then, he’ll have options for me within my price range.

Ronan also decided he’d had it with the office commute and works from home permanently. He has been wfh since finishing parental leave a year ago, but has anyway changed jobs, to further his career as the young people do. We had a lovely time today at lunch, young Rufus tucked into his (good quality) sausages and mash with gusto, then a caramel cake, which turned out to have three layers: vanilla, caramel and chocolate, with a caramel buttercream, served with ice cream. Ronan advised that finishing it would be too much for him and he cheerily accepted the advice, so we asked for a doggybag.

We talked about applying for jobs. Why do people exaggerate their CVs? Do they think that checks aren’t made? Fine to blag a bit in an interview, but don’t put stuff down in writing that can be checked, because it will be. I’m not talking about telling lies about qualifications, more “chairman of the board” when it turns out to be a company comprising oneself and ones spouse, with a turnover of £20,000 a year and profit of not much. We look it up. It’s not hard to find. Anyway, Ro obviously didn’t do any of that because he’s not daft.

One of the cockerels didn’t want to come in last night, so I shut him out in the run. I felt bad, in the night, hearing it rain and went out this morning to apologise. He wasn’t there. I was bewildered. Eventually, I realised that there was a gap in the top of the run and he’d found it. There’s a section which can be lifted off, in case I need to get in the run and I’ve woven a bamboo cane through the wire netting next to it, to stabilise it. The bamboo had slipped and left a rooster-sized space. The boy was fine, but I can’t get him in. He’s not as tame as the girls are. I’ve left him food and shelter and he’ll be all right, as long as he has the sense to roost where a fox can’t get him, but he’s clearly lonely. Nothing I can do unless he’s willing to be helped, though.

After our lunch today, we couldn’t face a proper meal tonight. I really fancied sardines on toast, but had no sardines. So we settled on toasted cheese instead. And a glass of wine. Next time I go to the supermarket, I’ll stock up on sardines. And anything else that will give a light, savoury fix when we’ve had enough to eat at lunchtime and just want a little something before bed.

Post-lockdown languor

I’ve not found it very easy to get on with anything businesslike. I’ve let things drift, to the extent that I’m going to have a lot of work to do in a short time. But I still find I can’t worry too much about it. However, I did stir myself to contact my accountant last Friday to make an appointment. Rather to my alarm, she said that she could be free this week. I’d thought I’d have an extra week or two to gear myself up to do my paperwork. But I bit the bullet and made a date for today. So I put everything together yesterday.

It feels good, doesn’t it, when you actually get going and do a job? Furthermore, while I was about it, I have brought this year’s accounts up to date as well. Put down income and expenses for every month and printed out invoices. Charlotte my accountant confidently expects an email from me in early April next year, as soon as the new tax year begins, saying I’m done and dusted. It may even happen.

I have also contacted my clarinet tuner and booked in for tomorrow. My dear old clarinet is showing its age, I’m sorry to say. It’s about the same age that I am, but my keys aren’t chrome plated, even though my hips are porcelain and titanium. I’ve said to him that I want it repaired, but that it may be time to give it an honourable retirement and buy a new one. I’ve been in conversation with my clarinet teacher and may take lessons again. I’ve got to do something before I’m too old. I’m not too old to learn, it’s just getting more difficult. That’s quite all right. I’ve never shied away from difficult.

The rest of the week is looking good. Tim is in Reading at present, because he had appointments planned that we should have dealt with on our way home from Pembrokeshire. He will be back tomorrow, joyous reunion and all that. On Friday, we’re taking Ronan and Rufus out for lunch, for Ro’s birthday of last Saturday. Options are open for the weekend – I’ve half-promised to go to an open-air concert in Ipswich on Sunday, but I’m a bit wary because I don’t want to risk getting pinged, as I’ve got a valuation booked for Tuesday. Additionally, Weeza and the children are coming over on Monday. I’m more concerned about the valuation, because it’s an elderly client, but mostly I don’t want to be pinged. Zerlina had braces fitted to her teeth today and is glumly contemplating the foods she can’t eat at present. I’ve promised her that I’ll make cheese soufflé. She can certainly manage that and she loves it.

Maybe I’m emerging from lockdown languor. It will take a week or so before I can tell. I really do need to get on with things soon.

Z looks busier than Z actually was. Apart from the garden stuff, obvs. And sorting out the dishwasher.

Having been thwarted of my holiday, I said that meals would mostly involve no cooking and be very simple. A fail there, yesterday. Not that there was a huge amount of cooking, but more than I’d intended.

Lunch was more preparation than actual cooking. To start with, I had to roast a whole bulb of garlic. In fact, I roasted three, because that was no more bother than one. Then I peeled six small cucumbers and liquidised them, added yoghurt and some crème frâiche, squeezed out the flesh of the garlic and added that, quite a lot of mint leaves and some seasoning. So little cooking and not really much actual work, but it still took a while. I chilled it and we ate it with naan bread that I’d taken out of the freezer and we followed up with some St Helena cheese from Jonny’s farm. He lets other people use his dairy and his cows’ milk to make their own cheeses.

I’d got one chicken breast. Tim, reading the Guardian, found a recipe for which we had all the ingredients. So I grated ginger and garlic, added mustard powder and lemon juice (should have been lime) and bashed the halved chicken with a meat mallet, then spread on the mixture and left it to marinate. I quartered peaches and grilled them, grilled some tomatoes from the greenhouse, chopped chilli and shallot, cooled and peeled the peaches and tomatoes and added those. At the last, i added more lemon juice and olive oil to make a salsa. I floured, egged and breadcrumbed (home made sourdough breadcrumbs) the chicken and fried it. Also sautéed some courgette from the garden.

After we’d eaten, Tim said “I thought you weren’t cooking?” D’oh. Today, we finished the soup and salsa and, for dinner, we’ve had scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. I’m not very good at not cooking. i’ve fed the sourdough starter and may well make a loaf tomorrow/Tuesday. I’ve realised that the slower bread is made, the better it is. I’m in no hurry nowadays.

Friday was the 35th anniversary of moving to this house. And yesterday was Ronan’s 37th birthday. Time doesn’t seem to have much meaning. Memories blur time.

Change of plans

Well, it had been very hot. And Tim didn’t feel at all well on Monday morning and felt quite woozy when he went out to buy a paper. So we spent the day relaxing and we had to give our apologies for the party. Thinking about a long drive to Wales to stay in a caravan, we knew it wasn’t a good idea, so we’ve postponed our trip. We came home on Monday night, driving in the cool of the evening and we haven’t done a lot this week and feel better for it. Disappointing but a relief too, it would really not have been comfortable there, particularly at night.

I hadn’t driven Tim’s car for at least two years and that meant I hadn’t driven a car with a gear lever and a clutch. I managed to stall three times getting out of his driveway and around parked cars into a turning space. But after that it was fine – until I was coming off the A14 at Bury, when I forgot I had to put my foot on the clutch as I stopped at the roundabout. Didn’t stall that time, luckily. Oh, how we laughed.

Since then, I’ve mostly been watering the greenhouse. One happy cucumber plant can produce an awful lot of cucumbers. I’m not watering the outside ones because I don’t want to have too many more – though actually, I think the outdoor ridge cucumbers have the best flavour of all.

Waxing gibbous moon

it’s 10pm and I’m sitting in Tim’s garden, enjoying the evening air. Although it’s still 25° it feels pleasant, neither warm nor cool.
Tomorrow will be a quiet day, or that’s the plan. We might venture down the Oxford Road to the Exotic Superstore but that’ll be the limit of our excursion, probably. We might do a bit of housework- it’s pretty dusty. I’ll wash my hair. That’s the summit of my ambition for the day. We bought a quiche for supper and I roasted some home-grown courgettes to go with it and we’ll finish them for lunch tomorrow.
We have little idea what to expect tomorrow night, which doesn’t matter. Just going with the flow (one way along the river, that is, against it the other way…). Our return taxi is booked for 11.15.
Even though it’s too hot to be outside in the middle of the day, I appreciate the heatwave. Really beats wishing the heating was on in the middle of July.
The moon was lovely but, by the time I thought to take a picture, a cloud was drifting over. So I hope you noticed it too. It’s the same moon for all of us, after all.

Z is obliged to relax, out of the heat

I had so much planned, but it was too hot. I simply couldn’t go out cutting ragwort in an open field in the heat of the day. Also, the cattle were on that field all day and I didn’t want a group of bullocks taking too much interest in me on top of the rest. So either I get up really early tomorrow, which will only happen if I chance to be awake, or else I’ll have to deal with the plants seeding, which is a daunting prospect but one I’ll cope with.

I’ve shown Wink the ropes. I trimmed the nettles away from where she needs to walk and explained about the personalities and preferences of each barn cat. Her eyes glazed over. Still, the worst that can happen is that they miss me dreadfully and the best is that she took it so on board that they don’t care if I ever come back again. Mother cat is really affectionate, just like she used to be before she buggered off for four years. She’s desperate to be a pet and I would welcome her, dear little girl, if Eloise cat would allow it. She won’t. That’s that.

I’ve also put all the house plants into the porch, for ease of watering. I know that what’s normal for me is quite a lot for anyone else to be presented with at short notice. it’s just what you’re used to.

The next few days are promised to be seriously hot. So early starts, for maximum lounging at the end of the journey.

Z considers making a list, but it’s too daunting

We’re going away on Sunday, for the first holiday since September 2019. First to Reading, because we’re going to a party on Monday evening. It was originally scheduled for Saturday – tomorrow, that is – but when lockdown was extended (lockdown lite-ish, by that time), it was postponed. It’s a river cruise on the Thames and I’m looking forward to it immensely, never having been to any such thing. Tim will know more people than I will and I suspect that most of the other guests will know each other, but I assume that a convivial atmosphere will carry me through. We’ll go by taxi from and back to Reading, which we think will be better than staying in a local hotel.

The next day, or possibly the day after if it’s been a bit *too* convivial, we will head off to Pembrokeshire. Looking forward immensely to that too. Wink will, nobly, be in charge here. The house is never left empty. It never has been – well, not since 1945 at latest, anyway.

I have a lot to do tomorrow. I had a List (mental list that is, I hadn’t got around to writing it down) and some items slipped yesterday. I’d been to blood donors on Wednesday and, on Thursday morning, I was very busy: too busy, as it turned out. By mid-morning, I had a sizeable migraine. I usually tough them through nowadays but I didn’t even try and took pills instead, as Wink and I were going out to lunch and cancelling it would have been worse than carrying on. So the pills worked and it was all right, but I didn’t get anything useful done for the rest of the day. I was still a bit slow today, so focussed on food.

Honestly, this sourdough starter thingy. It’s just another pet. I fed it this morning, then took out 300g a while later and put the rest in the fridge. I left the 300g to ferment a bit longer, while I boiled some milk and left it to cool for yoghurt. I went to investigate the cucumber situation – the outdoor ones are healthy but only yielded a single cucumber, whilst the single greenhouse one had 8. Luckily, it’s a variety that has small fruit, so they only weighed the amount I needed for more bread-and-butter pickle. So I set that off (the cucumbers and onions need to chill, salted, for a few hours. Then I got the sourdough bread dough started. And then we had lunch.

When I read recipes in the paper and then online comments, people often complain about the list of ingredients. Yet even a simple meal can take a lot of components. Today, it was prawns, cucumber and tomato. Here is what I used:

Prawns in Marie Rose sauce. Prawns, bought mayonnaise (or else a list in itself), tomato ketchup (also bought, or else another list), Tabasco sauce.

Cucumber. That at least was straightforward.

Tomato, with French dressing. I’d already made that, otherwise it would have been oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, garlic, mustard, herbs (can’t remember which). Basil leaves strewn on top.

Lemon. Salt and pepper, obviously.

If everything were made from scratch and listed, it would be around 30 ingredients. As it was, as written here, 11. Took longer to prepare than eat, of course. Tonight, we had mushroom risotto. Tomorrow, hot-smoked salmon for lunch and something with eggs and courgettes in the evening. Then, on Sunday morning, we’re off and meals will be very simple or eaten out for the next ten days.

Tomorrow’s jobs are legion. Help.

Happy birthday to Tim

Wink took us out for lunch today, in honour of Tim’s birthday. So it’s also the 9th anniversary of the second time of meeting him, the first having been here at the second blog party.

I’d been out early, for me, with a 9 o’clock hair appointment. She trimmed my hair and left the fringe, which I’m going to grow out and see if I like it. Most of the grey hair is at the front, so I’ve got darker hair with a pale fringe, which isn’t a good look. We’ll see how it goes. I don’t mind going white, it’s interesting to see how it progresses. I’m not at all tempted to colour it. I am both too lazy and too inclined to fuss about roots.

Lunch was very good. I had sea bass (I don’t know why ‘sea’ is added, isn’t all bass from the sea?) with risotto and it was delicious. The risotto would have been enough on its own, without the fish and pickled samphire and I was sorry not to be able to manage it all. I wish restaurants wouldn’t put too much food on the plate. If there’s leftover chips, I’ll bring them back for the chickens. i’m sure they’d have loved risotto but it wasn’t very portable. A peach started to go brown right at the top and it wasn’t possible to rescue it. The chickens loved that, too. When I was weeding the other day, I saved all the edible weeds for them – they are pampered fowl.

I must look up a recipe for pickled samphire, while it’s in season. It would be good to extend its life. So delicious.

I remember the first time I ate samphire, in 1970. All fishmongers sell it now and it’s been a fashionable food for a long time, but it was so unusual then that a good restaurant sold it, boiled with butter, as a first course, just as you might have asparagus. Though I suspect that few places would just serve asparagus to eat with your fingers, nowadays. Which reminds me, I’ve at least one artichoke ready to cut.

Z says hello

I meant to post a letter in Yagnub today, but I forgot until half past five, which was after the last post. So I walked round to the village post box, so at least it will go at 9am tomorrow. There are some new bungalows, built on the field opposite and, because of the restrictions, I’ve not met any of my new neighbours. I went past a man and woman chatting, he in his garden and she on the pavement and thought I should do something.

I usually do a circular trip rather than retracing my path, but cut through the centre of the circle. By this time, the man was alone, trimming his new hedge and I said hello as I went past. He greeted me in return in a friendly way, so I stopped to pass the time of day.

This isn’t much, is it? Well, it is for me. To engage a stranger in deliberate conversation, that is. Anyway, we chatted for a while, I introduced myself as his neighbour and so on. He and his wife have moved from Durham and they like it here. I must make more effort. You don’t make friends unless you do so.

Gosh, there are a lot of big slugs about this year. I know there’s been a lot of rain, but all the same. I’ve left them all. My ability to kill for my own convenience is decreasing all the time. For food, yes (normally someone else does it and I buy the meat or fish, of course) and for others to eat, also yes. Anything harmful to me or a pet, too, such as parasites. But I don’t kill a fly because it annoys me or a wasp because it might sting me, an aphid or slug because it’s eating a plant I want to eat or look at. I’m a bit squeamish about plants, come to that. At least I’m fine about eggs. Vegans would disagree, but I know how well I look after my chickens and they exploit me quite as much as I exploit them. Also, cheese would be impossible to eschew. So, even if I find I can’t kill vegetables, at some time in the future, I won’t actually starve.

Z befriends a slug

I have fallen in love with Norwich again. It’s a joy, every time I go there. I used to love it many years ago, but it had lost its magic for various reasons. Now, it’s simply a treat to have the occasional visit. Sad that there are so many empty shops, though.

Wink went for her eye test – she’s had one already this year, at her old optician in Warminster. She wasn’t very happy with her new glasses and the specialist didn’t think they were suitable either. The person she saw today was very helpful, said that her old glasses are still fine for driving and the lenses in the new ones will be changed. The divide in the bifocals was very sharp and she found it very disconcerting to look down, then up. She fell over a kerb last week and is still recovering from badly grazed legs.

She took me out for a late lunch and we chose an independent pizza restaurant, which was a good choice. As we left, we looked at the sky and thought we’d better hurry. The rain started before we got to the shopping mall, but we scurried in and didn’t really get wet – I saw in the online local paper that the torrential rain caused that same mall to flood an hour later, along with various other Norwich roads. We were very lucky. Most of the way home, the roads were dry, but it rained hard for twenty minutes here, Tim said.

He cooked dinner tonight, a beef Rogan Josh. I’d bought fresh peas on the market, so we each had a bowlful as a starter. Naan bread out of the freezer, warmed in the microwave (as the Aga is still off) and dinner was sorted. With a few Kent cherries to follow.

Tomorrow, not much is planned. I moved the hen run to its new location today, so they’ve had a lovely time scratching in the new earth and eating fresh grass. I see there’s an artichoke ready to cut. It’s likely to rain.

The rain had wetted a saucer of dry cat food outside – the five barn cats are friendly and eat together to an extent, but some get squeezed out by others, so I spread the food about a bit. I thought they’d not eat wet kibble, so I’d give it to the chickens. There was a large slug on the saucer too, so that would be a bonus treat. But then I saw it opening its mouth and ingesting a large piece of soaked kibble and it looked so happy that I couldn’t feed it to a chicken. I left it. It’s welcome.