The old wire and angle iron fence has been removed. I did take photos, but the best angle was into the setting sun, so they’re not very good. I’ll take some more in the morning, if I remember. There’s nothing to see, of course, because it isn’t there. The hardwood gate is ludicrously expensive compared to a softwood one, but I’m biting the bullet. I want something that looks good and will be really durable and it’s the only time I’ll have to buy it, after all. I don’t like to think how much I’ve spent here in the last five years, but the old fence had been there for nearly forty years and it wasn’t secure any more. And the septic tank drainage and the fencing round the field and so on and so on…never mind. If we’re living here, we have to look after the dear old place. It’s been in the family since 1928 and maybe we’ll keep it long enough to make the century.
Tomorrow, the Calor gas guys are coming to upgrade the system. Apparently, it doesn’t allow enough gas through or something – they came to check it out a year or two back, said the job needed doing and would be scheduled, but I’ve had to hurry them up because Rose’s annexe needs a new boiler and the boiler guy says he can’t test it properly unless the supply is correct. Calor gas has been very good, I must say. The man on the phone and the one who came round were helpful and efficient and, when they couldn’t manage the original date they were going to do it, they juggled jobs and brought it forward, so as not to inconvenience the heating chap.
I have lunch with women friends once a month; it’s a club that’s been running for over thirty years. My mother took me in the first place and I was the youngest then and I’m still the youngest. We’ve all grown old together. The person who makes all the arrangements and I have had a couple of phone calls, wondering if we should go ahead next week. So I emailed round to the two thirds of our members who use email to ask. Some of them phoned back, some emailed. We’ll decide tomorrow. I suspect that there may be about a dozen willing to turn out. Several of us are in their nineties, everyone else but me seventies and up, so we’re all “vulnerable” and many have health issues. We meet in a private room in a small hotel, there have been no cases in Norfolk and so, at present, the risk is modest. My dear friends mostly live alone and their social life really matters to them, but so does staying well. Isn’t it sad?