Send us your diary entry for Saturday 9 August!
Are YOU going to send us your diary entry for today Saturday 9th August, 2008?
George Orwell's diaries - which he began to keep exactly 70 years ago - is published today as a daily blog. iPM is using it as an excuse to nose into your Saturday.
You should give us your diary entry for today by clicking on Comments at the bottom of this post...or post on your own blog (or YouTube, Twitter, etc) and add the link. Tagging it 'ipmdiary' is a good idea.
We've had an actor in to voice some of Orwell's words.
| Add IPM Radio4's channel to your page |
And if you need more inspiration, Allan Massie wrote about Orwell in yesterday's Daily Telegraph - he says George Orwell would have blogged.
MONDAY 1100 UPDATE:
By the way we are aware that some listeners have spent a LONG time trying to post diary entries, and getting error messages that don't seem valid. This is a problem we've moaned about for some time...simple things like "&" can render a whole script invalid. We are moaning again. In the meantime please accept iPM's apologies for the faff. We are sorry and will try to improve things soon.
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I took time off work - had the HDTV set up - the 5 channel surround sound humming in readiness and sat back to be immersed in the experience of the opening event - slightly perturbed when the presenters continued talking over what was obviously the beginning of the event but turned up the volume as they stopped and the image moved to the drummers.
No sooner had the coverage begun than the presenters started talking over the music - droning on - puerile innane comments - stating the completely obvious - talking absolute rubbish.
By this time I was shouting "shut up - shut up" at the TV - but to no avail - then another presenter chipped in with even more irrelevant and pointless chirping, now I was swearing, the drumming spoilt by the idiotic chit chat - it went on and on - justifying their presence I expect...
Furious I searched around trying to find ways to cut off the commentary BBCi? but gave up exasperated.
Would Hugh Edwards talk all the way through a Proms concert? - tell us the history of the music, the composer, the composers dog, would he tell us that there was an orchestra, there that they were wearing suits, that they were playing instruments, that there was air in the hall?
I gave up and went and dug up some potatoes - blissfully without any commentary, I 'phoned my 78 year old Mother later to find that she had been shouting "Shut up " at the TV too...
The BBC need a "Commentator kill" - sorry "commentary kill" red button for events so to prevent "TV Rage" from becoming a social menace.
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Got up.
Thought up something highly witty to say on Any Answers.
Didn't phone it in, 'cos 03700 100 444 rang on endlessly and then went dead..
Thought of something dazzlingly amusing to blog in to PM.
Didn't send it 'cos a flag said it was profane.
Devised set of most amusing puns using a BBC presenter's name.
Didn't send them in. Decided better not.
Thought World at One wouldn't find them funny and you know how TOUCHY John Humphreys can be.
Wrote very droll letter to the Independent (it's easy to get trivial billet doux published there)
Didn't post it. Realised I was replying to an article from last week.
Devised complaint to Beeb about Olympic coverage on 03700 100 222.
Lines engaged.
Went shopping. Got as far as the end of the road and got drowned. Came back.
Went back to bed. Got up again just to write and post this.
Nite.
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Couldn't post my diary straight away, 'cos iPM thinks itself separate from all other BBC blogs and here I'm a new bug.
Tell that to Big Sister and DMcN (and TIH of course)
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Went to my allotment. Picked 9lb of runners, 5lb of purple french climbing, 1 bazooka, 2 footballs, 2 butternut squash and 2 beetroots - plus some garlic and shallots. That's shallot! Then it p***ed down, so I came home.
Don't know what I'm going to do with it all. Give it away probably. Will eat some tonight with the bangers and mash. Time for a gin and tonic, I think.
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Woke up far too early for a Saturday, especially when it is an empty day. Determinedly dressed in white trousers and a worrying sunny top. Added a top underneath.
Went into town expecting to have to replace all 4 of my car tyres: woohey! only 3 needed replacing. How lucky am I .....
Came back to a pleasantly quiet house, until those naughty boys came back and played on the wii. Who designed it needs shooting! Why does it cause so much argument?
Put out some washing (son's cricket gear) about 5 minutes before it started raining. Well, it IS August!
Tidied out part of a cupboard (can't face it all at once) and pleasingly, found a DVD I thought I'd lost.
Still raining.
Wasted most of the afternoon reading silly remarks on various mbs. And then writing a diary entry.
No longer raining - but too late for any gain from it. Will just make the pork chops for tea.
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I'm just glad Mr. Orwell's dog had more sense than his owner and hightailed away from the adder.
Well, that's one thought I'll put down in my diary for today.
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Saturday August 9th.
Yet another wet weekend. All those plans to finish fitting locks, put up guttering, and complete the weatherboarding on our 'big' project have, once again, flown out of the window. So I whiled away the day sharing in the banter of the PM Blog, sent a few urgent emails, and then spent the rest of the day beginning a mega clean up of the house.
Not very inspiring, but utterly veracious.
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Misty rain this morning in North Yorks so decided to avoid walking, and took the train from Ribblehead to Appleby in Westmorland. A cup of tea there - actually a pot holding four or five cups, made with two bags - was a pound. Placename: Doomgate.
Back at the station just in time to see a steam express pass through. Even heavier rain by the time I got back to Ribblehead, and dived into the pub - warm, hospitable, and suddenly enliven by the arrival of the bride and groom.
Spent the afternoon in Sedbergh, now a book town, and spent too much money on books.
I've had the Penguin edition of Orwell's collected writings and journalism for years and love dipping in. I'm looking forward to following his diaries. Also today's haul, which includes Joshua Slocum's "Sailing Alone around the world", Wainwright on Ingleborough (which I walked yesterday with magnificent visibility) and a massive account of Allied military deception in the 2nd World War.
This evening in the camper van I shall mark more assignments by Open University students - mobile broadband makes so much possible - and eat the vegetables bought this morning in Appleby with the remains of the Cumberland sausage from last night.
IPM gives way to a sever weather warning: yes, it is. Cosy in the van with hot food, and good books.
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Today not too bad. Proud of myself being able to work. Seems normal for most people and I seem like a normal person. But I don't feel like a normal person and I'm not always able to work.
10 years, 5 months since I was first abused. You'd think I'd be over it by now but it's not something you get over that easily. It seems a long time ago, but it's still there every day.
No nightmares for 3 nights now. Was able to sleep last night. So doing well. I'll survive another day.
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Bought a dairy. Planned to write some thoughts in it. Found it full of cows waiting to be milked.
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Diary for Saturday
If sunny, paint house (no chance, rain all afternoon)
ipm want copy of this entry - very dull, but so was George Orwell's. (Don't show off, like some of the earlier entries!)
Get extra fish - fishmonger on holiday for next 2 weeks - done
Stuff to take to G's tomorrow - cherries, rice salad
Go to Cem to sort out why Lodge have lost power to their shed - done (fuse box was off, now labelled to keep ON)
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05:30, woken by Rosie (young female cat) wanting to be let in. Let her in and put dead mouse (present) in the dustbin. Went back to bed.
06:30, woken by Stella (older female cat) wanting to be let in. Got up, fed both cats, put the kettle on and had bowl of fruit salad I made last night.
07:00 to 17:30...
Showered.
Made bed, had to play with Rosie as bed making is a game to her.
Fired up Laptop PC, started posting blogs on the BBC PM Beach.
Fired up TV to catch up on news.
Fired up radio to listen to R4.
Realise I am 'duty dog' today so can expect loads of RL IT problems to be fixed.
Prepared and cooked Beef Vindaloo for dinner tonight.
Rang wife. (she is on holiday with relations in the West Midlands)
Washed up cooking things.
Hung the washing out.
Cooked pasta for my next-weeks pasta salad lunches.
Got the washing in 'cos it is now raining.
Finished reading Alway Unreliable by Clive James.
Answered loads of IT on-call calls.
Played with Rosie.
Listened to the Now Show....magic!
Watched a bit of the Olympics, then spent some time channel hopping. (God, there really is some carp on TV!)
It is now 18:15, so am about to pour a galss of ice cold Cider and put the rice on to go with the Vindaloo!
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Sat 9th August, an august day - but why? every day has the same monotony for me since being forced to take medical retirement at the age of 44. My life of monotony relieved by longer episodes of hospital admission for bouts of madness and despair they call manic depression.
But my garden looks beautiful today with the recent rainfall making everything green and lush.
I keep a daily mood diary as part of CBT to see if I can identify mood swings and learn to control or manage them better. No patterns so far.
Today I'm alone so woken early by the cat gently clawing at my head to wake for his breakfast. He's diabetic and needs insulin injections which is the last thing I feel like giving in my medication induced hangover.
Take my breakfast back to bed and contemplate the day. Keeping the diary is my only commitment. Shouldn't there be more to life? Do I have what qualifies for a life? War and famine rule the world but the olympics dominate the news. I should feel lucky to be where I am but I feel guilty and undeserving. My life used to be one of care giving and looking after, now I need the care and hate it.
Instead of doing anything useful I made a paltry effort to read a novel, then went to sleep for the rest of the day until woken again by the cats for feeding. The cats are my routine.
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After a breakfast late enough to qualify as lunch, I collect a carless friend and we nip into local supermarket for emergency rations.
At the fish counter, my mobile rings: another book to edit once the current one's finished! Last book I did for this author was about negotiating skills, and I used tips in chapter 1 to help a friend needing a negotiator. This one will be about managing change, and I am plotting major changes to a committee I'm on, whose AGM is soon. Great!
Friend and I are both busy this weekend, mainly with 2 charity fundraising events. She is stressed because some of the organisers aren't pulling their weight. The rain isn't helping her spirits either. Traffic diverted from the A47 is causing havoc in town and on all other roads around here. To avoid road rage we resort to smiling sarcasm:
"You're welcome!" to the driver who doesn't acknowledge I've kindly let him out. "No, why don't YOU go first?" to the van that cuts me up. "We don't doubt it for a moment!" to the late-middleaged driver of the enormous red sports car...
Mindful that I'll be eating later than usual tonight (at event #1) and that we're camping at a festival next weekend, I make a very late lunch for SO and me, and a vat of Big Sister's meatfree chilli to share with the tent-provider in a week's time. Still can't get the spice levels right in the latter; add 'soured cream' to next shopping list.
While eating, we watch 2 episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation we'd set taping before we went to bed last night, and curse BBC2 for its typically lousy time keeping as it cuts off the denouement of Beverly Crusher's court martial. You don't ever want the denouement of your court martial cut off, believe me, but if it ever is please make sure the knife is very sharp.
Rest of the afternoon is spent editing chapter 6 of a book about being a tour guide in South Africa. This is turning out to be a lovely book but chapter 6 is still twice as long as it should be, and all 8 chapters must be done by the end of Thursday. Lots still to do.
Decide what to wear to charity rock concert in a marquee tonight. Want to be warm and dry but have been challenged to do the 'rock chick' look. Decide on black jeans, black top, biker boots and biker's leather jacket. Should I rub grease into my hair as well? Are tattoos essential??
Belatedly remember I was going to add something to this diary. What on earth can I say? It's been such a normal Saturday for me ... sitting here typing in my comfy biker boots ...
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"Today saw the 63rd anniversary of the most vicious and unnecessary act of wanton destruction ever perpetrated upon an innocent civilian population. In the interest of gathering more data and to test an alternative trigger mechanism, our great nation destroyed the Japanese city of Nagasaki, including the largest population of Christians in Japan....If we had given them more time to consider Hiroshima, they might have surrendered before we got to try out the alternative methods...meeanwhile, here in 2008, it's time to go and count my neighbour's livestock in the light drizzle"
;-(#
ed
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09.08.08
First free day in literally months and my brother commands me to his birthday party. I clean my house, go to the osteopath, walk the dog in the rain, and pack for France, traveling tomorrow. I have had a life changing week working for the education department at The Globe Theatre, so I expected my life to be changed today. But it isn't - although my attitude towards it is. I see the garden drinking the rain instead of moaning that the sun doesn't shine. I'm thankful my son seems happier than in recent days instead of being pissed off at his mess. I visualise my happy future instead of feeling burdened by responsibility. I put pen to paper and write this blog.
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Diary entry, 09/08/08
I thrilled to watch a tree surgeon at work on an overgrown laurel and siver birch threatening my neighbour's roof from her garden.
She and I have fallen out, (pun intended), over trees, fences and general boundary issues. I took the opportunity of taking a couple of snapshots of the work on my digital camera and have made her a peace offering of these, along with some similar shots of the magnificent giant beech outside my own window when it was getting its hair cut earlier in the year. One thing we share is a love of trees, so I am hoping this will help to heal the wounds.
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Woke to find right eye swollen to the size of a ping pong ball thanks to vicious bite from mosquito, not a good look.... thirty something wedding anniversary tomorrow and now batting eyelashes at beloved out of the question... took delicious granddaughter and mad terrier for walk/swim early..then crunched through the debris of the building site to make cheering hot lunch...read for an hour and listened to ipm and now have cracking headache from trying to log in (it sounds SO easy 'just type in bbc.co.uk forward slash ipm....' and have just snapped at beloved of thirty something years because I feel like an idiot almost every time I use 'my' laptop...
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Saturday the 9th of august 2008..
I am currently over in Swizzerland, the weather is breezy; the slopes are amazing. Myself and Tarquin have just emerged from the steam room - the sauna is quite refreshing. This morning i woke up at the crack of dawn, watched the moon light fade into a pink sky tinted by an icy glow which inevitably became an amber horizon - BEAUTIFUL. The silence was no less than golden, tranquility reminiscent of the time I was in Osaka Japan in the temple of the wise man Master Chien ?´?`.
I rose from my bed - 12 pillow cushioning a hard matress yet my bottom is still feeling raw, perhaps from all the snowboarding I've done lately. Tarquin and Farquhar where relaxing in the tub waiting for myself and Arabella to breakfast together. As we ate our caviar we basked in the scenery which captured out gaze - oh the chalet is tres magnifique!
On with the snow boots, trancer and vixen our huskies where awaiting our arrival. I must say the rent-a-husky scheme is quite charming. The snow stretched for miles, i could feel a crisp droplet of snow upon my finger - trust me to forget my snowgloves, new, from harvey nichols only 297 on offer - prada's new season also, quite charming.
We climbed upon our sled - would you believe 30 minutes of struggles - Arablla wanted to go back and change her jacket as it did not correspond with her boots, Farqhuar was rolling about in the snow creating an ice fairy, and Tarquin and myself were ready poised in the carriage. As the huskies drew us away past a group of young girls giggling quietly, past a propper copper nob and his mother or so i presume, and down an icy glacier.
After several hours of boarding we finally withdrew to a polite little coffee shop perched high in the alps. De-caff for myself, skinny late for my friends. Oh what a day, so memerable, yet providing us with such simple pleasures.
As the evening is upon us, I am preparing for a relaxing night in gazing upon the stars, wishing for a more perfect moment, that I cannot forsee. What more can I say viewers, bonnuit mes amies x
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LOl.....Feefs.....I am having problems imagining you as a 'rock chick'. I always think of you as an R and B Babe!
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Woke up at 7.30 and staggered through to kitchen to make tea and fetch newspaper - (Daily Mail but only for the TV progs). Back to bed for half an hour. Out at 8.30 and take husband to garden centre where we have bargain breakfast in their cafe. Leave when it gets busy with rain soaked grockels.
At 10.15 off to the Saturday club I help supervise for kids on the Autistic Spectrum and their families. Meet my boss who hands over the keys to the building. As it is held at the school where we both work we have a chat about the new kids we will have in September. Half way through the school hols now so don't mind looking forward as the horrors of last term recede into the distance. Quiet day so do some clearing out of cupboards etc. Off to supermarket, fight my way round through aforementioned soaked grockles. Home and a restful afternoon with my husband. Grateful not to be on holiday in this weather.
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Up early and out for nice long walk with whippet. Optimistically didn't wear wellies and waterproofs; soaked to skin pretty quickly. Cut walk short.
Went to tip with clippings from garden - monster snow berry I'm trying to tame. Bought Grauniad and settled down to read it on sofa with dog. Dozed off.
Lunch then upstairs to read book on bed with dog. Dozed off.
Afternoon walk with dog. Wore wellies and waterproofs. Rain held off.
Home for din dins and evening in, in front of telly. Sound turned up due to torrential rain.
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Had a good night with Kez she only woke to be fed at 3 and 7am and unlike yesterday went to sleep afterwards and did not want to play, so managed a hot drink and some breakfast. I had been feeding Kez looking at the blue sky thinking must put some washing on but Sue beat me to it so will have to do that later mind it was blue sky at 7am it's been wet more or less ever since but Kez needs some clean clothes she has puked on nearly everything this week including most of my tops, must do some today though and at least get some things dry or I will be going round topless and scaring the locals by the end of the week.
Had a shower after Sue who we are still staying with had finished in the bathroom . Kezzy really enjoys a shower too but the creature of the night (Sue's middle one Max) was in bed and is a moody sod if woken before midday (or just teenage moody to be honest). Then I came down and dressed Kez and then fed her again ready to go to ASDA to restock the cupboards having had them raided by 2 teenage boys. Oh joy what a way to spend a Saturday. Sue came in and offered to have Kez while I had a shower Errr already done that. Topped Kez up while Sue sorted out a present for her youngest to take to a party at lunchtime (fantastic means we don't have to take her with us 9year old girls and a quick shop do not mix). Here is a way Kez looks at my boobs when she is hungry like she is going to suddenly develop fangs it is really quite scary, you can see the though going through her brain ?ah food? I am a milk machine, produce it and spend all my time smelling of it even straight after a shower.
By the time we were off it was pissing down with rain and everyone seemed to be on the way into Boston too oh how I hate town on a Saturday. We finally got to the shop and of course there were no Mum and baby spaces but we managed to get a spot by the garden which gave us a little room to get Kez out if we stood on the plants. Amazingly we did not bump[ into anyone from Work or the village which we normally do when we get there but as could have been predicted Kezzy started balling think she likes shopping as much as I do. The other predictable factor of going shopping with Kez is total strangers coming up and commenting on how small and cute she is, today she ?made a total strangers day? ????? by being in the shop. Sue took Kez for a while to get some Shower Gel for Max who had rung not long after we arrived while I joined a queue. Now I know she will always bring her back but boy do miss Kezzy when she is not within my sight, it is like part of me is missing, I actually start to get panicky and tearful.
We got to the shop doors on the way out and the rain was coming horizontally towards us so a quick reverse with the aim of having a coffee in the café but I was full seems others had had the same idea, so back to brave the weather. Sue went and got the car and brought it round so at least Kez did not get too wet. Next we had to work out which travel agents was the easiest for her to drop me off at so I could sort out coach tickets to go back to Bristol a week tomorrow to clear out the house and put things into storage. Got soaked getting out of car and promptly put food in puddle both feet and bottoms or trousers soaked, ended up getting tickets in Thomas Cook and could not even use my student rail card which is valid into November which is a real pain meant it cost me more. They also were totally useless and could not arrange for someone to meet us at Brum and help us change coaches (travelling with Kez baby seat, suitcase and pram bits is going to be fun) Will book trip to Lakes at end of month while in the coach station in Bristol at least they make sense in there.
Back at home and the house is beautifully quiet (other than Kez screaming for food as we arrive telling the street she is starved and never fed. Boys are dragged out and ordered to empty the car, I dash in with Kez and stick her straight on the boob. Blissful silence resumes. Well up until the point Aiméé returns from her party then the boys start winding her up and she starts squealing, thankfully although loud not for as long as Monday night (when sent up stairs because she was screaming to be quiet) She slammed the door 4 times (just so we heard no doubt ) taking the surround off (which her Dad has only just fixed today) screamed for a further hour in-between sticking her head out the window shouting her parents had:-
swapped her,
were cruel,
did not feed her (she wanted a fresh bread roll Sue had made and could not cope with being quiet so she could come down and get one).
Thank god most of the neighbours know Sue and Paul or social services would have been round. Thankfully today's episode was short, roll on the day I get the flat bought and can move out of this back room then Kez and I can get up make noise and not put up with teenage tantrums. Living in a friends back room although a kind offer and I am very pleased to be up here and really appreciate it is certainly far from ideal with an 6 week old baby.
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Saturday 9th August
Raining: Got wet taking dog out.
Hairdresser rang to cancel appointment for this afternoon: Bad hair for another 4 days.
Beloved car broke down 400 yards from home: I've owned my lovely black Mazda 323 for 9 years since new and it's always been my friend until today. Glided gracefully to a halt and wouldn't start again. (Fortunately, just got through the roadworks and found a handy lay-by).
Husband failed to start it: He kindly drove up and after 10 minutes had succeeded in opening the bonnet. Nothing obviously out of place so phone RAC.
Garage can't take car in: Nice RAC man identifies fault (one of the 2 starting coils) but my garage has closed for the weekend for receiving casualties. Can't even book it in for Monday.
RAC can't get car into my drive: Nice man tows me the 400 yards home but we have to leave it round the corner as drive too sloping and awkward and road outside too narrow.
Tell neighbour why car outside her house: She looks dubious but says she supposes it's alright there.
Still raining: Got wet again taking dog out.
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Off to Aunties house for lunch with the family, all warm and sunny, and looking foward to a day in the garden, by the time we arrived it was pouring! Lots of chat, cake and a great time with my fabulous 2yr old niece.Wore white linen trousers and got a chocolate kiss round about the kneecap.Given some FiFi stickers to wear, i wore all eight proudly, even into the local shop on the way home, no wonder the man behind the counter smiled at me.Tired but happy and felt the day was nicely rounded off by watching 'The incredibles' DVD.A lovely day.
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Today was one of those days when I feel so glad to have moved back to my native Fermanagh, and am so grateful I've retired. Unusually we had the best weather in the UK today. It was one of those days we in Fermanagh call ' a soft sort of a day.' I felt particularly lazy today but that may well have been due to the antihistamine I took for the two wasp stings I got yesterday when one of the nasty beasts got inside my T shirt. I was on the phone at the time to a friend in Devon ( where we used to live) and she said that she didn't know I could swear like that. Fermanagh seems to have a real wasp problem this year.
I started the day with porridge and Broadcasting House, had a bath and washed last night's dishes. Coffee and and a bit of tidying up and it was lunch time. Had my afternoon cup of tea while I read a William Trevor short story 'The Ballroom of Romance'. I wanted to read it again as last week I went to a play based on his story and in the very ballroom which was his inspiration. At about 4pm I went for a walk with the dog up to Topped Mountain via the path known locally as 'The Goose's Neck'. I stopped half way up and sat on a mossy stone where I could hear nothing but the sound of the trees and the river in the Glen. Thought to myself how different my life here is compared with the lives my children live in Manchester and London. Got a very wet bottom on that mossy stone so decided I would dry off more quickly if I removed my knickers,which were sensible cotton, as my trousers were the quick drying technical sort. Checked nobody on the lane and did a quick strip. With damp knickers in pocket continued on my way eating wild raspberries, and even a few blackberries which seem to have ripened early this year. Met a nice young couple with a dog on the path and we exchanged a few words. Made my way to the lake and threw sticks for the dog before making our way home. Walking sandals and feet very muddy so had do a bit of a clean up. Meant to be back for the start of PM at 5pm but missed half of it as I had a chat with a neighbour on the road. Listened to the bit about babies in the cinema whilst scrubbing my feet and am now worried about my 2 year old grandchild having been taken to these yummy mummy matinees. Will she be scarred for life?
Started cooking dinner but there was a knock at the door and it was a someone inviting me to an art workshop near Topped mountain next week. Haven't read the bumph yet but something to do with making wax castings of bronze age sculptures. It's being run by a German artist who lives nearby and is interested in the local archeology. My husband has been busy today clearing some ground to extend his bog garden, so I could feel a bit guilty about my lazy day, but I'm not going to. I had a lovely day today although I do wish the wasp stings didn't hurt so much.
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August? I suppose this is what all Augusts will look like from now on. Early morning and already a warm grey drizzle greets me. A jolly voice from the radio informs me that the only prospect is its turning to heavy rain by the afternoon. My mood set by the weather I rage at inanimate object and curse incompetent politicians whilst hunting for misplaced articles of clothing. In a black mood, and late, I drive up the hill and onto the plain. Apologies for lateness but glad that I have made the effort as only four of us have gathered. What today? - To erect a realease pen for the partridges. The birds arrive next week so an essential preparation. We walk to where the panels have been dumped and spend two hours erecting them, placing pikets at the corners, pushing netting over the top and preparing shelters for the birds. The drizzle continues but good company and light banter drive away my foul mood. The country looks good, even in the rain. Thistles as large as artichokes bright purple even in the dull light. The strong smell of mint in the game crop and the sharp tang of fox on the air. He will greet the birds with enthusiasm, if allowed. Job done we are reluctant to leave and spend 40 minutes discussing the ills of the world - the Russian invasion of Georgia, events in Iraq, Afghanistan, the Olympics. At last, satisfied with a good morning's work we break up and make our ways home. The rain now falling in earnest - but a much better day than when it started.
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Got up at 7.30 - early for a Saturday as was taking my son sailing at Hornsea Mere. When I got there was dragooned into crewing. Left my car keys in the car as didn't want to lose them if we went over.
A good day's sailing, until the rain fell. Capsized twice - once in the middle of the Mere, where the mast got so stuck in the weeds that even the rescue boat had trouble getting us out. Then again just as we were coming in.
Unfortunately, although I had left the car keys in the car, the remote was still in my pocket - and didn't like being submerged, and refused to let us in the car. So we had to scrounge some kitchen paper from the cafe and try to dry it out.
Eventually the remote worked, and we got into the car, but as I hadn't taken a change of clothing, had to drive back in my underpants, being my dryest item of clothing.
Have taken up "money laundering" as my wallet was also in my pocket.
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My turn to visit the parents today. Picked Dad up at the care home and drove him to Mum?s where he is having more and more difficulty climbing the steps. Inside, he began to unpack the large bag he always brings with him, containing a random assortment of objects. Sometimes it is copies of The Oldie and a selection of books, but on ?madder? occasions the contents can be unpredictable. Today he had with him the case for his elecrtric shaver which, on inspection turned out to contain a neatly folded banana skin. ?I thought you?d like to see that? he said. ?This is all we had for lunch one day?. ?What just a banana??. ?Yes that?s all ? but we had other things too?. Careful interrogation elicited the salient point that lunch had included a whole banana and not merely slices, as usual.
Meanwhile, Mum is panicking because I have filled the freezer with food leaving no room for frozen chips. She doesnt eat frozen chips, its only her grandson, aged 15, and I point out that if he insists on chips when he visits, it is not her problem. But this is pointless, because in her very self-centred world she likes the idea of him wanting chips. I heat up some pasties for lunch, which Mum has remembered to take out of the freezer the evening before ? only one slight problem; she has defrosted five and there are only three of us.
After lunch, Dad produces three plastic beakers, in which the care home normally delivers his orange squash, which he has filled with soiled hankies which he would like washing. Tactfully ? because I have expectations of what may lie at the bottom of his bag ? I say that if he has any other washing he should go and put it by the washing machine. Later, he announces he has put some ?vests? there. These turn out to be three pairs of soiled underpants that he is too embarrassed to give to the care home to wash. I text my sister to say that the underwear (which he has been carrying around for a couple of weeks) has finally been retrieved! She says she?s already phoned the home to explain that he is stashing his dirty underwear.
Dad has to be helped up from chairs and up and down the various steps in the house, as his right leg is getting very weak since he broke his hip a couple of years ago. I comment that his leg is getting bad and Mum announces that her leg is bad too. ?Its not as bad as Dad?s? I comment. She indignantly replies ?How do you know?? ?Because you can stand up and walk around without a Zimmer frame?. Typical of Mum, her mental condition means she is very self-centred and her conditions are always worse than anybody else?s. I think about how, when the social services arrived unannounced a couple of years ago, Mum was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea whilst Dad was lying on the floor upstairs and had not had anything to eat and drink all day because Mum had not thought to find out why he had not come downstairs.
Both parents spend most of the afternoon snoozing, which is easy to deal with. I cook tea for them but, halfway through, Mum remembers she has not taken her pills. She collects them from around the kitchen ? each different type is stored in a different cupboard or drawer at all four points of the compass. She places them on a special red saucer and brings them to the table. Dad is looking puzzled ? ?is it Saturday today?? he asks. ?Yes?. ?Ah; was it Saturday this morning?? This alarms me, but only for a second or two. I remember that I need to translate. What he really means is ?I was confused this morning as to whether it was Saturday? which, although still confusion, is not as worrying as a literal interpretation of what he?s just said.
Another struggle down the ten steep steps to the road and then I drive him back to the care home where he has settled in remarkably well, although he still thinks that one day he will go home again. I drive the hundred-odd miles back home relieved as always that the visit has been fairly uneventful, and glad that it is not my turn for another three weeks. Glad also that, although they are both suffering from slight dementia, and varying degrees of other mental illnesses, it is not as bad as it could be.
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Woke up to rain, no chance of going into the garden today. Did Rosemary Conley exercises and listened to Today while making a loaf. Took J. to Bromsgrove. Picked Jean up and went to Barber Institute to see a small exhibition of Gwen John's work, 'Reunited', art arising out of Rodin's rejection of John and her subsequent conversion to catholicism. Still raining. Went to see 'Mamma Mia' - more rejection, not sure its art, but very funny at times, especially the Greek chorus and Julie Walters. Meryl Streep IS a super trouper. Garden tomorrow.
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We went to a sixth wedding anniversary party today.
Our friends live in Marks Tey and we were surprised that the cost of a cheap (!) day return had doubled since the last time we visited. National Express have taken over the route and I suppose they don't want competition for their coaches.
They were having a barbecue - so of course it was raining. But their house and garden were full of wonderful people and they were having a fabulous time.
Happy Wedding Anniversary.
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I awoke to find the sun streaming through the curtains. It is summer after all ? I shouldn?t be too surprised ? but I am ? the forecast was rain. It is good news ? Saturday - an opportunity to go out on my bike in preparation for the London to Paris bike ride! I?m reluctant to move. I always am. I know that when I can pull myself out of bed, in to the shower, and down on to the bike, I will be in my element. But now, just now, slumbering for just that extra moment beneath the covers is pure extravagance and worth enjoying while I can.
The bike is heavy and the clouds above look threatening. Why did I say yes? Through the passage, unlock the Fort Knock door which keeps the unwanted at bay, and out on to the street. The sun has gone - maybe the forecast is correct? I make my way out into the city, down along the canal, nodding to the fishermen, occasional joggers and the dog walkers - all enjoying their moment of peace, alone, before the daily grind of association takes hold. Out to Wigston and then back down the Great Central Way into the city once more - not a long way ? but a warm up for the day ahead.
I get home, pleased that I?ve been out, but feeling just a little guilty that I didn?t go much further. It?s my day. It?s Saturday ? ?Me time? ? stop the guilt! I indulge in cereal and read the post that I didn?t open yesterday ? a begging letter from a charity I support, statements, and junk mail. The excitement is over stated.
I ring a friend - we were due to go to the great orange DIY store for paint ? my door is shabby and in need of a change. Bottle green with a cream surround ? in keeping with the Country Estate feel ? if only my London friends could see my 2 up 2 down red brick Midlands house ? what a fraud! Regrets I didn?t go up market? DIY though is off ? the forecast was correct.
Down to the Barbers. A place I hate. Why do so many people go to have their hair cut in public ? by people who feel a mistaken compulsion to talk to you about nonsense while they ?artistically? cut your hair ? or ?clipper? it for so many? I prefer to keep my hair ? not go naked on top like the Yul Brynner of the King and I fame ? he managed to pull it off ? many don?t. Why does a 50+ year old sitting at the end get special treatment with a cup of coffee? Why does he insist in prtending to be 20 again with a cut like that! Why does the young assistant always go and put a bet on the horses just as its my turn to sit in the chair? At least the Olympics is on ? makes a change from the usual horse racing. I long for the old days when the Barbers was a meeting place with interest and they understood what real men wanted ? not modern day false images that serve no purpose than to say ? I conform, even though I don?t realise.
Next door - pick up a lovely loaf of bread. Smells real and honest. Home and devour half of it.
Down to the bike shop ? expensive here and very middle class. I need a few things but debate long and hard ? scrutinise most items as I peruse the accessories and clothes. Do they really need all this specialist kit just to ride a bike? I buy a cycling windbreaker jacket and new gloves - recommended by our London to Paris leader. He?s done Lands end to John O?Groats ? surely knows best - makes my 40 mile journey the other week seem like a stroll! Drive to the out of town car and cycle shop - pick up cheap bargains ? half the price of the specialist shop ? but they feel inferior. Guilt of a middle class man as the image isn?t there ? but pride of a working man for saving a few pounds!
Once I get to Paris I have 3 days to myself - real luxury but guilt I?m not taking one of my many friends who really would like to go! The joys of being single ? guilt!! So what do I do when I get there? I research on the Internet to find out. The Internet is the best invention since steam combustion. While typing away I listen to some bloke on the radio invite people to fill in their diary for the day. Why did I never keep a diary? I did - but it always ever lasted for a few weeks before I got bored or I was frightened of what others would think of my thoughts. On the bookshelf are the thoughts of a close friend who kept a diary when she had breast cancer. I feel guilty reading them. I feel guilty not reading them. She wrote them I?m sure in case she died. She died. Do I pry or do I not? Why keep a diary? Is it a feeling that one day you will be ?somebody? and the World will want to hear your ramblings? Is it your councillor telling you to express yourself? Is it just a real feeling of getting it off your chest? Is it a real feeling that in years to come people will be interested in what it was like to live in 2008? Who knows? The radio guy is maybe onto something though. Sounds like an interesting thing to do - capture the diaries of lots of different people on the same day. Must contribute ? I?m sure my thoughts are worthy. Maybe?
The grey clouds continue and I don?t fancy a trek out for food. My freezer has a portion of mince with various beans added during a health fad a few weeks ago. That will do with rice ? save me going out. Can I open a bottle of wine just for me? Of course I can ? I?m middle class now ? I?m cycling, working in London during the week, living in my Country Estate at weekends ? wine is just the job! Why else do I go to the monthly Teddington Wine Society if it?s not to indulge in wine?
So here I am, large red wine in hand, writing my electronic diary or should I say blog? Duvet beckons ? what will tomorrow bring? No diary but an early morning bike ride for sure (assuming I extract myself from the guilt of a moment longer).
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Woke up to the strains of Today. Logged on to find out what caused all the fuss in Georgia (IIRC, that region is officially part of Georgia but wants to be part of Russia. Georgia fed up with militias from that region, so decides to invade. Russia not happy so decides to invade as well - cue lots of civilians caught in the crossfire), add a bit to a frog project I'm interested in, and check the blog and FB.
Eventually decide might be a good idea to bathe/dress/eat breakfast, so do so. Put a load of washing on - marred by having to carefully take out the dispenser drawer and empty it after absent-mindedly pouring washing liquid in the conditioner compartment and vice versa.
A few hours more internet fun, whilst watching Time Team in the background, before I decide to take a break for lunch, and tidy / hoover the 2nd bedroom (aka study) and landing.
Then off to the supermarket to stock up (the big posh picnic one), disappointed by the lack of fresh meat, resolve that every little helps would be better in future.
Cook dinner, have wine, notice that Google and Facebook aren't loading. Check router stats - 3dB SNR - not good. Reboot router, 6dB SNR but still no FB or Google. Oh well. Check iPlayer for opening ceremony - 4hrs long, not downloadable. Bugger. Oh well, looks as though I'll have to keep a post-it handy when I do watch it to note times to start / stop it. I wonder if any other broadcasters have downloadable coverage...
Onto Camstreams, deserted (typical!). Onto blog, leave a few comments. Over here, leave a comment (hint: you're reading it!). Check Camstreams - guest2 has been and gone, still no regulars. Oh well. Time to refill my wine glass...
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I was woken up by the sound of the post coming through the door - but was disappointed that our Edinburgh Fringe tickets still haven't arrived, in spite of being booked and paid for nearly a month ago. Our first show is tomorrow night, and we'll have to queue for duplicate tickets as soon as we arrive in Edinburgh tomorrow.
I'll postpone the panic - we still have today to deal with.
Went to have my hair cut - very nice - the hairdresser put lots of hairspray on it ''to protect it from the humidity'' - the rain is lashing down!!
Got ready for the (third) wedding of one of our oldest friends - the bride wasn't even born when we first met at the age of 22! The reception was in a marquee - thank goodness I was wearing a (posh)cardie to help stop the shivers! Met a couple who we hadn't seen since 1982. The whole event was quite bizarre, but in a ''good'' way ;o)
Going to bed now, after setting the alarm - we need an early start as we're driving from Staffordshire, and need to allow time to find the B and B, queue for duplicate tickets and go for a meal with a friend before going to see Bert Jansch. Phew! Roll on tomorrow night!
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Has been celebrating our wedding anniversary today. Shame about the weather, was the exact opposite five years ago today. [Posted via Twitter]
Not having a widescreen TV creates some interesting typos. 'GOLDIE' is now 'OLDIE' :D [Posted via Twitter]
Making plans to see The Dark Knight now we've seen Batman Begins. Great film. [Posted via Twitter]
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Saturday 9th August 2008
A bright morning as I helped M. with his paper round. Rest of the day got cloudier, then rain. By evening, dark and wet. And this is August.
Mt. got into a mood. Couldn't find the tent. Looked everywhere. Found the flysheet in the attic loft but not the rest. I went into the attic above C's. bedroom but couldn't see it. Eventually Mt. found it in a black bag in the attic loft. Put up tent in living room to try it out. C. and H. excited.
Today ate: Breakfast = Jordan's raspberry crunch cereal. Lunch = bagette with chicken. Tea = pizza, lasagna, garlic bread.
Went shopping to Asda this afternoon. Think Mt. calmed down after finding the tent. Played the Great Game of Britain with M. - I won twice! The girls watched the High School Musical DVD which arrived today. I can't get the enthusiasm to watch it.
Watched the film "Flight 93" after the girls went to bed. Quite good - I wonder if everyone on that flight got a medal.They should have.
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Hugh had to get up unbelievably early to take Rachel to Gloucester station on the first leg of her journey back to Abu Dhabi. He got back to bed at some point and we dozed until 10 am - we had been at the proms last night, and had driven back late. The whole outing planned at the last minute: spontaneity is a great boon but it takes its toll! Tremendous programme, starting with a piece commissioned by the Beeb to celebrate the Olympics - 'Olympic Fire' by Chen Yi, Chinese ethinic modes in western classical dress. V impressive and great fun. One lone shout of 'free Tibet' at the end. I got the sense most of the audience was rather puzzled by this. The rest of the programme was Rachmaninov and Vaughn Williams - the last piece his 6th symphony, not at all jolly folk songs but dark and heart rending.
We had coffee in town with Sam and Merlin, who had a new batman helicopter. Some desultory talk about dark films for grownups and unsuitable marketing for kids, but Merlin was oblivious. The rest of the day was very domestic - but nice as it was the first time for weeks that we had the house to ourselves. We re-inhabited the newly painted and untypically elegant kitchen; we shopped; I sorted papers; in the persistent drizzle I watched the serried ranks of slugs continue to munch their way through the garden. The rain had more or less ruined the cricket as well, so Petersen probably won't lead England to victory in his first test as captain.
Drank white wine and watched Foyle's war. Stayed on to catch the 11pm news and was dismayed at conflict in Georgia, and the killing of a tourist at the Drum Tower in Beijing. Then remembered this opportunity and logged on.
Mackerel and
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The time...2337 and i've just slipped out, with great difficulty, of my extremely wet and dirty army issued boots. Somebody, in all their wisdom, decided that we, 3 platoon, should have a little jaunt in the countryside. Nice we thought couldn't think of anything better to do on a saturday afternoon. But of course the jaunt very quickly transpired to be a 15 mile slog over muddy, craggy terrain designed specifically for the downright mentalists who apparently call this fun!! Not I, said we, 3 platoon that is, although very quietly and more under our breaths.
You see as British soldiers we are nutured, designed if you will, to react indecisively to a command at the drop of a hat, this is discipline and contributes to the very values we strive to adhere to; selfless commitment, honesty, integrity, loyalty and......something else, give me a break it's ten to twelve at night!!
I love the Army and I can see in a sadistic sort of way why I do, but on a saturday, when the championship football just started......
My bed and shower is calling in no particular order.
Goodnight!!
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highlights of 9th August:
Sammy came over for dinner, Dad called, cat sitting on my lap, email from my love.
All's well.
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Today, Saturday the ninth of August, I arose far too late by unshackling myself from the dungeon of unnecessary sleep at 1.45pm before meeting a friend of mine for lunch in town. I spoke to him about changing my job due to a personality clash with my boss but he cleverly hinted that i shouldn't leave my job but change my boss... and be patient. Slightly confused I left dissatisfied with myself. I was ashamed of the lack of knowledge i possess compared to my flamboyant and sincere friend. I felt the need to develop my intelligence.
I tuned in to Radio 4 in the early evening to hear about this new project of sharing diary entries. I am so glad the BBC are sharing Orwell's entries with us. But it makes me wonder. The pinch of irony sprinkling over this situation is worth inspection. As the author of "Nineteen Eightyfour", one expects Orwell to be opposed to the implementation of a surveillance state. Yet his personal opinions, thoughts and feelings are now being displayed all over the world via the internet and people are being asked to comment on them and leave the skidmarks of their own racing minds on this blog and comments page. Are we not all just putting out our hands and asking to be cuffed by the thought police? Or at least targetted with marketing material conducive to our flagged up lifestyles and attitudes. And what better bait to use for arresting us than Orwell, a hero to the excessive surveillance dissenters...This is a marvellous display of genius from the designers of the modern thought process and those of us blogging here have marched on the catwalk of thought fashion showing how naive we are haven't we? Or have we?
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Entry for Saturday 10th August.
Woke up - and persuaded (simon) other half that being a Saturday we could provide Hotel guests with breakfast half an hour later than usual - however slap and tickle seemed out of the question.
Full house to feed and just about coped with the daily onslaught.
Chris J telephoned to say his wireless internet connection had gone down, - I rebooted the wireless repeater at the bottom of the garden that seemed to rectify the situation.
Warmed to a gay couple who have been staying with us for a week or so - one is 58 and from Marseilles, his partner is 20 years his junior and from Cologne - both lovely people. The younger German man is here to study English. He was given false promises from the language school.
He could probably teach them more for the £600
Said farewell to several people and prepared for the arrivals - still in need of a shower and shave - the service bell refused to stop ringing!
Finished preparing breakfast and dived into the Internet in search of a replacement portable wet and dry vacuum cleaner as the Black and Decker has given up the ghost.
Why is it that the French people refuse to eat of plates and use the table instead.
CCTV monitor/ Freeview for Simon - died in the kitchen. Off to Richer Sounds and bought a 19" Poloroid at a bargain price.
Decided to treat the French boys to a proper afternoon tea with Simons Silver service - as they had bought scones and clotted cream etc from M and S for us. They are so charming.
Invite Chris J and one of his lovely friends 'Rob B' over as well.
It was all very nice.
It's nice to have - and share - international feelings aswell.
Simon was feeling the pressure of having a full Hotel - I was trying to let it drift over me - the kitchen was a nightmare of pliers and old televisions scatted everywhere.
Chris J invited us to his place for drinks at 7 - along with the French people.
We all turned up and stayed an hour or so.
We invited the French couple back for a meal with us at the Hotel -as Chris and his friends preferred a Chinese. I then took the French couple for a trip out to see the gay scene in Bournemouth.
A waste of money and time really - total wash out full of the young binge drinkers - we had a pint and returned at midnight in torrential rain with a taxi.
The French/ German couple where shocked at the drinking culture here. So many staggering bodies around.
I had no answers?
Checked Camstreams and no one there - usual :-)
Now off to bed after checking the blog.
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Raining. Outdoor concert to do. Not looking good. Got to concert rehearsal, ground muddy, very squelchy. Stage wet round the edges. Stage coverings flapping in strong winds, emptying water on the unwary outside. Music a nightmare, having to be re-pegged at every page turn. All smiling bravely (through gritted teeth).
Evening - thousands of hardy Brits turn up with tables, chairs, food and brollies. Spitfire can't appear for the advertised display because of the weather. Audience very understanding about it.
Conductor foolishly makes remark to audience during lull in the drizzle - "I think it's over, we'll be fine now". It's as though someone has flicked a switch to operate a power shower. Immediate downpour, to his mortification. The sound of the music drowned by thousands of brollies being unfurled, as one. Clearly there is a God, and he has an ironic sense of humour.
During the second half, conductor (who has a range of sequinned jackets and waiscoats that would put Shirley Bassey to shame) puts on a pink sequinned stetson, trimmed fetchingly with white fur, and marches around the stage to one of the encores. This seems perfectly normal by this stage of the evening.
Home just before midnight, greeted by soaking wet and hungry cat (if we're not home, he's not smart enough to come in out of the rain). All in all, a pretty routine summer Saturday. Right down to the weather.
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Today had the usual battle with the computer...I won..maybe so far!
My world..it calls itself a 'rising area ' but actually has inner city status so at 2 a.m. the usual kids (and I mean kids 14 is usual ) and the 20 somethings who seem to have nothing else in their lives are still outside my windows in the pouring rain.They are complaining about the rain,White strike? (blue bottles of cider which seemingly if you take the laabel off it don't count!) whatever it's called , and how wet they are..and have been doing it for 4 hours! And how the dealer didn't come round.I consider myself lucky that I didn't have to end up calling the police because someone was being kicked or beaten senseless (a usual occurence) etc and because it's raining.Rain is good!Glad of it come the weekend.
Eventually sends them home after watching them sitting in puddles .Stupid but true..Try living in a maisonette!It is an eye opener and a real education
.Local dealer was buried over the weekend.Interesting how the local press reported it as a local death with few frills.. National (Lancashire) went much ,much further..why?
And me,well my stalker did his bit on line.And I am so ordinary ,he and I were so many years ago.And if he finds out about this I will so get it.Ain't life grand!
Glad whaen I move.
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Forecast is wet and windy.
Certainly wet by 0730hrs.
Bit of shopping locally in morning.
Wiggy arrived on Hilary's new Scooter, only 50cc, but looks the business.
The Drinkey lot are away to Edinburgh this weekend moving student stuff for David. They will likely take in some Fringe events(especially if they are free).
Run to Dumfries to buy new Dyson to replace our 7 year old version, which has gradually lost the will to suck!
Sal and Barry are going to pictures to see the Batman movie.
Gill phoned Alice to see what was going on in Glasgow, only to find Alice is over staying at Dunbar for the W/E.
The London lot came round to us for a Curry and a few glasses, very pleasant.
Weather turned out less bad than forecast, actually dry all afternoon.
1st. glass Merlot 1745hrs. Yum!
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9th Aug.
Woke by four year old climbing into bed at 6.45. I should not have read that book till 1.00 am last night but it is a good story. Dozed till 7.30 when I had to get up cos I'm working. Showered then sorted breakfast and into work for 8.55. Two patients did not turn up but a couple of good dispenses. Between patients continued to re install windoze on cctv PC. I think the CD drive must be dying 'cos it kept crashing out. Eventually got original install disc to work but now need to run the update before I even get the cctv stuff sorted. 1.30 by now so as I gave up and returned home.
Afternoon spent fixing show rack bought from a Ikea onto wall. Due to pipes to radiator that I, nor Marie, who measured the gap accounted for it involved more than just a few holes in the wall and a screw or two. Diy projects never work out simple. Had a lazy couple of hours whilst kids had tea, supper and got them to bed by 8.50. Early for a Saturday night. Cooked (warmed tea) Great thing about doing curry is that we end up with more than one meal so all I had to do was the popadoms, cook the Frozen Samosa's and warm the curry and naans. No rice with curry here, we do it with fingers and breads. Washed down with Belgian beer. Carried on the alcohol theme by having some Veuve Amiot (Loire fizzy wine made in the method of Champagne but can't use the name Champagne), whilst watching some House (what a life eh!). Can tell we are getting past it as did not finish the fizzy stuff. Re-corked (proper Champagne stop) and back in Fridge. Bed and finished my book. (The Glass Blower of Murano) and started HitchHiking round Ireland with a fridge.
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It?s a year today since my poor old cat died and I feel a bit sad. The present incumbent marked the occasion by throwing up his breakfast over the carpet. I heard an item on the Today programme about Tony Benn having invented a portable stool for people (like me) who have to sit down at regular intervals. This sounds just the ticket. I have been trying and failing for months to find something like this. He isn?t marketing them yet, though. I think they got through the whole programme (or the bit I heard, anyway) without using the word ?families? as a synonym for ?people?, which is my current bugbear.
Since my apparently undiagnosable disease kicked in a few years ago, I have joined an underclass I think of as the Insufficiently Crippled (because you don?t get any state benefit or bus passes, just patronised a lot). If I want to walk anywhere without clinging to walls and hedges I have to use a stick. (Sadly, being a tragic cripple doesn?t get you off cleaning up cat vomit). Yesterday featured one of those odd little kindnesses that punctuate my life now. I can still travel by bus, just, so manage to do my own shopping. To avoid being flung violently into someone?s lap as the bus lurches round a sharp bend while I am still attempting to totter towards a seat, I usually ask the driver to give me a few seconds? grace to find somewhere to sit before he or she takes off. This generally involves repeating myself about 3 times, then eventually they get what I?m trying to convey and wait for me. This time the guy nods understandingly and says, ?always ask?. A dialogue ensues. His mother has similar problems. Things like this happen from time to time: a flicker in the eyes, an instinctive movement which conveys knowledge of what helps someone like me (often happens with young teenage boys for some reason) and I suppose this is why ? they know this, they live with it, they?re used to it.
Kicking off a fortnight of sustained Olympics-dodging, I spend the afternoon listening to Beethoven, making cups of tea and watching the rain, while the feline sickbag whiffles gently on the sofa beside me, occasionally getting up to test his theory that just because it?s raining out the front doesn?t necessarily mean it?s raining out the back. He?s wrong; it is.
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Sat Aug 9
Check emails. There are a couple from Chris. The first one reads:
Jon
Your phone's engaged....
Fancy a quick walk today? There's a connection from east Croydon at 10.22 to c'boro. Give me a ring if do-able.
Chris
I notice that the phone is still off the hook from last night and hurriedly replace the receiver. The other email from him is an article from the Morning Star. I have quick look and it is a Keith Flett piece on this year?s GBBF and about more broadly about CAMRA.
I do fancy a walk and beer down in Crowborough but being currently skint I can?t really afford the fare down there, not until next MCPS payday. Also I have record reviews that I ought to make a start on and if I can, I need to finish off ?Love Knew Better Than That? for Hayley which has gone through so many re-writes. I call him up and apologise and also lie about the phone blaming A for leaving it off the hook downstairs. He seems a little disappointed that I can?t make it but we have a little chat about his recent holiday in Andalucia which he pronounces in an authentic sounding way with much lisping. We hang up making vague promises of a get together soon.
In the middle of the night I had written down ?I Do That Too? 4 Hayley on a slip of paper and put it on the desk. I call up the lyric and it reads rather well. It has a nice sentimental and gentle sentiment. I can?t remember the original melody but I seem to recall it was a little dull. I pick up the guitar and almost straight away I set it to brand new melody and chord sequence, a rather good descending tune and a simple but natural chord sequence. Hmmm, now that is good. I make a worktape.
There is a big pile of radio CDs that need to be finalised, a really boring job, and I set about it listening to ?Saturday Live? hosted this week by Richard Coles.
It suddenly occurs that in my conversation with Chris we didn?t mention Brussels once and I don?t think he even knows that Andy is coming. I call him up and, no, he didn?t know but is greatly chuffed and chuckles with delight, Andy being such good company. I tell him that I ordered his Eurostar ticket online and have also emailed the highly fanciable Madeleine to let us know we are coming. I also tell him that there is no space for him at Mark?s place and so he, Andy, will have to find a hotel. We discuss the possibility of that quaint place we were at before but perhaps better, a bed and breakfast style in Tervuren itself which will be more convenient for all of us. I tell Chris that he is in Dublin on a stag do at the moment ? a very un-Andy thing he comments ? but I am going to try and sit down with him tomorrow and go over it all with him, that is if he is in a fit state.
Hang up and decide to tackle the rock face of emails, deleting tons of old stuff.
Have another look at Douglas? email with his ideas for the untitled ?Holiday Song?. I email him:
Hi Douglas
"Our" anniversary, yes I like that and April Fool's Day, God, another
anniversary that didn't occur to me. Yes, we'll try and use these both
somehow.
I really like the story aspect of the song. You have a novelist, or rather
short story writer's flair which often comes out in your reviews, often very
amusingly. The narrative is good (the greetings card idea in the context of
this song is sheer brilliance) but will take a lot of working on. At the
moment I slightly favour the happy ending rather than the sad but that could
change. What I'd really like though is to first get the chorus and title
banged down which again would take a little time. It's so rare for me (and
for other country writers) not to have the title first but it can happen.
Anyway any thoughts to wrap it up neatly would be welcome and I will also
turn my attention to it when I get a chance - bloody record reviews have
just turned up. How would you feel if I got my American co-writer involved
in this - would you object very much (a smaller swimming pool when it's a
smash)? Let me know.
Thanks for all the great ideas.
Will talk later.
Jon
Talk of Ed Bentley prompts me to email him:
Hi Ed
I meant to write before now about the song. It's got a great bluesy feel and
I can hear the grooves already. Please send the demo as soon as it's done.
Hayley was a little negative about it I'm afraid but a good demo could tip
her. The slots are still open and Hayley is still looking so there's plenty
of time. I've just made a good contact with another female singer over here
and with your permission I will forward the finished demo of "The Real
Stuff" to her as well. Unfortunately she has just finished her first album
but is already looking for material for her second. Again not great big
bucks but she does license legally which is a plus.
I hope you don't mind but I had forgotten that I had earlier sent a copy of
the untitled "Holiday Song" to a writer here but he has come up with some
really good ideas and a very strong story to it. I will send a copy of his
recent email on to you. If you were to work on it, would you mind very much
a three-way?
Oh, by the way, the friend of mine who bought two copies of the CD is
sending his own CD on to you. As you will hear there are a lot of drinking
songs, some Shel Silverstein type novelties and a couple of tribute songs,
one to Johnny Cash, the other to other to Ernest Tubb. I hope you don't mind
me giving him the PO address. Let's say, his singing style is somewhat
idiosyncratic - mind you, as you know too well I ain't no George Jones
myself!
Best
Jon
Continue with email deletions until lunch.
A has gone off to football but at least has tidied the kitchen. Stuck for something to eat and settle for some sausages which I get from the freezer and defrost and fry (saving two for snacks later) with a fried egg and some toast. Contemplate fried bread but have had too much of it lately.
Return to emails to find Catherine Clohessy of Rosette has emailed me at home with the new track listing for the next DOD album and asked if I would check writer/publisher info. I tell her I will check them out on Monday at MCPS. I have a look at the track listing and it is depressing list of the most safe songs imaginable, good songs sure but not one single song that is unusual or new. So much for him doing ?Someone I Know? or any other of the songs of mine I was holding for him after that time he phoned me up enthusing about them. There is a little email exchange between myself and Catherine over which ?I Wish I Was A Country Boy Again? is being used and I suggest that it must be the Buffy St Marie Song.
Work a little more on ?Love Knew Better Than That?. The chorus is pretty good and the first half of the first verse is OK I guess but I am going crazy trying to set the second half of the verse to ease into the chorus. At one point the last line of the verse is something like, ?I told myself, no, a thousand times no? which seems rather theatrical and a bit silly.
Have decided upon a chilli tonight, always a favourite. I print off the usual recipe and head downstairs to check the ingredients, all of which we have and so there is no need to get them. To save a little money I remember some half cooked beef mince in the freezer which I am going to blend with the vegetarian ?mince? left over from when Julie M was over from the States.
I have been meaning to have a bath all day but delay as I go off to the shops. It?s raining and I get soaked. I am unshaven and a bit sweaty and hope that I don?t bump into anyone I know. It would just be my luck if I ran into JW.
At Sainsbury there is not that there is too much to get. I get some good bread, pave which we can have with chilli and also those classy Italian crackers for crumbling into it. I also get some sour cream.
Home and have my bath, climbing out of it from time to time to add lines to ?Love Knew Better Than That? and returning to the bath again.
Start the preparations for the meal. Happy phoned yesterday wondering if I fancied an early evening drink. He is at a loose end with Gary and Andy away and I call him up. He seems surprised to hear from me, not expecting a get together because of the lousy weather. I suggest 6.00-ish at the White Hart.
Make a start on preparing the chilli but abandon it as time is getting on and I need to get to the pub. I spot Happy through the window as I approach the pub. He has found a seat thank goodness. I order a pint of wheat beer (though they have some interesting bitters on) and sit down. We have a good session chatting about sci-fi films and the Beijing Olympic and how we are going to match it for spectacle. He says that British people will moan at the coast of it all adding, ?we moan so much in this country.?. I suppress a guffaw and nod in agreement. Have a couple of pints plus a half for the road that I don?t really need.
Home and A has returned. He said that he saw the spice and other ingredients on the kitchen table plus some onions fried up in the frying pan and talks about Marie Celeste and at one point said he was concerned that I might have been taking ill or something. Rather touching that he was so concerned.
Start the meal and it all comes together nicely. There is no instructions about soya to liquid ratio on the packet but I will just add some defrosted stock from the freezer to it before adding the whole lot of stuff together.
Select a movie for tonight a hit on ?Sunset Boulevard? which I haven?t seen for ages.
The meal is eventually ready. The blend of soya and genuine minced beef is no problem and gives it an interesting texture. Delicious if I say so myself.
The movie is terrific, kudos to Gloria Swanson for portraying a fading silent star so much like herself. William Holden anchors it down well playing the solid lead. There are so many in-references to movies and Hollywood in general. Terrific. Unfortunately tiredness kicks in and I don?t manage to see it all and will save the rest of it for tomorrow night.
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Aug 9
Saturday. Overcast; rain forecast.
The Olympics are underway; rather typically, an early British medal hope ? in judo ? has been beaten. I wonder whether all the official and media hype about Britain?s potential medal score of about 40 will prove to be hopelessly overstated. I imagine it will be.
The rain arrives mid-morning while H is at Elements; she has walked there, and though she catches the bus back, she arrives home drenched from her short walk from the bus stop, the rain having established itself in a steady continuous downpour. After lunch, in anticipation of our planned holiday in Bergerac next month, we sit and trace on the road map and through the pages of my diary, our last visit to the western side of France in 1997, when we took Eurostar to Poitiers, hired a car and wended our way through several days via La Rochelle, Bassac, Angouleme, St Emilion and other places to rendezvous with Paul in Bordeaux. It was there that we heard the news of Princess Diana?s death, brought to us first of all by French TV in our hotel and confirmed next morning by Paul when we met up with him at a café for breakfast. My diary entries in those years were fairly detailed, rather more so than I now have the concentration to compose: they do much more than list the places we visited - they set down my personal musings of the impact on me of sightseeing and exploring, of the vineyards and canals and landscapes of that beautiful part of France; they return us to Arcachon and its massive sand dunes, to the gorgeous food and wine we consumed at the little hotels we found en route, to the occasional calamities engendered by my inadequate French. Yet as I reread them now, I am transported back to blurred images of that holiday, to the streets and buildings of Bordeaux, to alfresco meals accompanied by busking musicians, and my mind and soul reawaken to the thrill and thrust of a culture I fell in love with as I studied its language in school more than fifty years ago.
A couple of days ago I fired off an email to Virginia Haywood, whom I have neither contacted nor seen since I resigned from the Affordable Housing Forum some months ago. I was interested to know if the Forum is still going and whether she still belongs ? and it transpires that she left soon after I did, being equally frustrated and disillusioned with the way things were drifting. So she is unable to give me much information, though she has sent me a copy of her long letter of resignation. For the time being, therefore, I?m back in contact with her ? I?m awaiting a response from her to my response to her initial response to my original email! She tells me she longs to rejoin the Forum and will do so once it is under new chairmanship; I, too, would love to be back in the fold to help to deal with one of the most pressing issues of our time.
But seventeen overs are bowled in the Test match today, during which S Africa move to 110-2, only a handful of runs behind England. It looks as though England have, for the third time in the series, surrendered a potential match winning position.
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Did usual circuit of the park this morning but before breakfast for the first time. Much easier going on an empty stomach. London Mela being set up at far end. Precursor to another day of noise and traffic mayhem and a disrupted Sunday tomorrow.
Listed to Walkman when crossing cricket pitch but play delayed until 11.30 at the Oval because of rain.
Checked on Billy the baby Brent Goose on the round pond. Still maturing and growing more like his parents every day. 43 Canada Geese on the pond - doesn't bode well.
Rain stopped play before lunch - Mr Boycott remarked that the girls protecting their hair from the rain were just like cats not wanting to get their fur wet. He has thus added the role of MCP to his lack of humour and total irony bypass. Shades of Grasse? What a thoroughly unpleasant man.
Miserable day redeemed by Prom on the telly although soloist left stranded by missing score. Second time this season!! Wouldn't have happened in my days at the LSO.
PS Totally agree with comments regarding blather at the Olympic opening ceremony. Sadly this has been going on since David Coleman did the same thing at the LA opening ceremony some 20 odd years ago. Surely BBC techy people could come up with a button that allows effects microphone only, so that inane chatter telling us what is self-evident from the screen can be over-ridden.
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August 9th 2008
Awoke this morning and contemplated the pile of barriers and ?road narrows? signs left by British Gas yesterday, ready for them to dig up the road on Monday. I weighed up the possibilities ? should be able to get car out on Monday morning, but will I be able to get it back in when I come home from work?
Put on Radio ? Today programme, war between Russia and Georgia. Made a cup of tea, put on TV ? Olympics. Stared out of the window. Would I be able to cut the grass before the rain arrived? The phone rang. It was the care agency. My elderly aunt had had a bad turn. Hastily dressed and went round to see how she was. Got back just before lunch. Rain spitting.
Put washing machine on. Got mower out and did grass. Finished as the rain set in. Aunt phoned to say she is a bit better. Had lunch listening to Any Questions/Answers. Hung up washing ? indoors of course. Sorted out week?s bills, then sorted out recycling and rubbish and put them in their respective bins. Ignored the three feet high pile of junk mail stacked in the hall, which needs the polythene covers removed, anything with an address on shredding/destroying, and the rest putting in the recycling bin. Filled up bird seed dispensers in garden. The little blighters had eaten the lot again. Still pouring. Hair and me wet, but no matter because washed hair next, then made some bread, while listening to a very funny detective play on R4.
Sat down with a cup of tea. Switched on TV. Olympics again. BBC News ? Russia and Georgia still fighting. Switched off. Got something to eat, while listening to PM/iPM. Phone call from aunt ? she?s better. Watched Dad?s Army. Listened to Saturday Review discussion on David Tennant?s interpretation of Hamlet. Wish I could see that. I?m a Shakespeare fan, as well as a Doctor Who fan. Got out packets of biscuits and checked milk situation ? I?m doing the tea and coffee in Church tomorrow morning. Sat down to watch the rest of the Jazz Prom on BBC2. That reminds me - when are they going to show the Doctor Who Prom?
When it was almost dark, about a quarter to nine, saw the young vixen dash across the garden, as she seems to most nights, sleek and red and fast. She jumped over the plant trough right outside the window, just as I was going to close the curtains, and disappeared behind the hydrangea, red brush sticking out behind.
Wrote this. Rain pouring down noisily now??.and then to bed with The Confessions of St Augustine. Fascinating to read the thoughts of someone from Carthage around AD397, who lived through the fall of the Roman Empire. You tend to think of people living before and after, not through. You realise that people were people then, just as they are now. I must remember to listen to the Sunday Worship from China tomorrow morning on Radio 4. Centuries and miles??the great cloud of witnesses??
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Today, Saturday 09 August 2008, I spent most of the morning on the Internet.
At 11.30am I left home for Stoke -by bus, to meet a mate in the betting office, before doing my main weekly shopping in the market. (not the supermarket).
The morning was wet, so I was grateful for it drying up a little -no sunshine, in the afternoon.
At about 3.25pm I again left home to catch a bus to visit my youngest daughter's home, situated about 4 miles away on the outskirts of the city.
The three of them, herself, husband and 5 month old granddaughter, had arrived back on Friday from a caravan holiday, two weeks in Gt Yarmouth, -with his family (an annual pilgrimage)
It was great to see that my granddaughter had not forgotten me, and within a few minutes it was as though we hadn't been apart. I left at 6pm to get the bus back home.
I broke my journey in 'Old Stoke' town centre to visit a pub, where, to my delight, were sat in one corner of the bar, two old friends who'd been 'at it' all afternoon, -having a drink while scribbling out bets and watching their fortunes ebb and flow on the telly above the bar.
They know how to pace their drink, so were not in anyway looking the worse for wear. We had a good hour of banter, discussing all manner of subjects -from one of them failing to become a Jockey, -our days doing National Service, (two of us in Cyprus), and finished up racking our brains as to which actor played the vicious Union Boss in the film of 1954 -''One The Waterfront''.
None of us could remember him. It was of course Lee J Cobb.
We said our goodbyes at 8pm... 'til the next time'. I caught the bus home.
Another successful day without using the car at all. With a bus pass, it seems a bit selfish to pollute the clean air blowing in from the Shropshire Hills, and it's also 'pocket science' to stay away from the 'pumps and parking meters' as much as possible.
Bed by 11pm.
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Saturday 9 August 2008
Woke late. I overslept. Saw the film Mama Mia (an enjoyable hour or so). When we got home the neighbours invited us for a drink. It was 1 am when we went to bed. I usually wake up about 6-ish each morning today it was just after 8. I get ready to go off to the Market as I do each Saturday morning. It's threatening to rain. No distant views this morning? Blackpool Tower, the start of the Cumbrian hills, the Welsh mountains they are all hidden behind the approaching rain. The lift is broken. I walk down a flight of stairs and call for the other lift. Its good having two lifts in the block or else walking down 14 flights of stairs isn't much fun. I buy the newspaper. We love our newspaper there is so much to read in it, it will keep us busy for a good few days to come. Then, I join the queue for ham, tongue and corned beef. The little shop, Arthur Strand, is always busy with a long queue. The wait is worth it. My bags are heavy now. Besides fish and meat I've bought some large field mushrooms, strawberries, cherries, a cauliflower and local, flavoursome tomatoes from a farm in Tarleton just outside Preston. They are grown by the stall holder's dad. The rain is quite heavy now. I call into the Harris Library and Art Gallery, they are just opening for the day the staff call cheerful greetings. I want to look at the newly arranged glass and ceramic cabinets. I did half of it last Saturday morning. It is all so beautiful there and I feel so lucky and so happy with all these visual treats. It is so good to be alive. My husband is happy too PNE beat Ipswich and on their pad too!!
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Saturday 9th August 2008 This morning husband showed me a letter from his urologist. The scheduled biopsy on his prostate is not considered to be necessary now. Good news; he can return to his South East Asian home for another nine months. Our lives have been separate for 32 years, but still good friends, he comes to stay here at my east coast flat on his UK visits. Where else would he go?
A wet, blustery afternoon went to meet lover of five years on the sea front. Normally a dull Saturday afternoon is spent in bed with music and maybe champagne. Discussed how he is going to tell his wife of 40 years that he is finally leaving. Avoided the subject of his infidelity to both of us in 2007; which brought the matter to a head.
It?s not often a man leaves home for an older woman and rejects an alternate lover twenty years her junior. Maybe charm, sharp wit and not least solvency won the day?
Pity about the rain it will spoil the folk festival tonight; decide to listen to the jazz prom instead on Radio 3 - bliss.
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MY TITS ARE AWFULLY FAT
I'm peering through the window now. They're there, just six feet away. A pair of fat, bouncy tits. I've always fancied birds - the ornithological variety that is. They see me, and one approaches spiderman-like along a branch, until it is holding on somewhat precariously to the stem of the furthest leaf. I open the window a little. He or she - I can't tell which - stretches out, looking laser like at that spot on the window sill - the drop-off point.
I worry about feeding them so many peanuts. Their rotundity makes them look more like multi-coloured flying golf balls than birds. I keep hearing dire warnings about obesity on Radio 4, on AM, or PM, or whatever it is - one of those newsworthy programmes that attempts, with variable success, to extract information from the political classes. I keep hearing about parents abusing their children by feeding them too much. Am I feeding my feather friends on the branch out there too much? Are they destined for a life of chronic inflammation, leading to cardiovascular disease and cancer? Will their arthritic little wings cease to flap some day? And will it all be my fault for indulging them? I did once look up the dietary composition of peanuts on www.usda.gov - low in saturated fats, so that's a relief. Of course, my bookmarked web pages will never be read out on - what is it - IPM. I'm not one of the "great and the good" - thank God! Of course, I don't think they can all be both great and good. There was this French, artistic type some time ago - forget his name - who recommended a site where young ladies entertained themselves with a little finger exercise. I had a look - after all if Radio 4 recommends a site, however indirectly - it must be decent, mustn't it? Quiet tasteful, I thought, but I bet IPM got some letters of the "Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells" variety - though what did Tunbridge Wells ever do to deserve its reputation for being as prim and proper as a Victorian spinster?
There's an irritated set of clicks coming from the branch. Like children, my tits don't like to be kept waiting. And, my tits are awfully fat. Women, I recall, get cellulite on their thighs and buttocks - nice word "buttocks", feels sort of round in the mouth if you know what I mean. I wonder if my feathered friends have cellulite under their feathers. Are they all dimpled and mattressed like a woman in a Rubens painting. Pity women don't have feathers. It would save them vast sums on those tight hosy things that they wear, and they'd avoid spending small fortunes on creams. As a male of the species, cellulite has always been one those female things, like tampons and cystitis, that I'm vaguely aware of, but which I've never had the misfortune to become intimately acquainted with myself. However, I feel like an expert on cellulite today. I came across an article on a wonderful, new thigh-shrinking - by 10% - cream in Life Extension Magazine, at www.lef.org - another bookmarked web page IPM listeners will never know anything about. Perhaps, just as well. What if thousands of cellulite laden IPM-listening woman were to attempt to log onto the site all at once. Those crazies in the Bush administration would probably consider it a denial of service attack, and label me a terrorist. And then our supine Labour government would hand me over to them to enjoy a spell of water boarding at Guantanamo Bay. Sounds so innocuous, doesn't it - "water boarding". Sounds like an exhilarating and fun activity, a little like "snow boarding". Wonder why they didn't try that line of defence at Nuremburg, "The defendants were not 'exterminating', they were 'facilitating' ... facilitating an early release into the joys of a glorious afterlife." Sounds almost benevolent when you put it like that. Of course, maybe I'm being unfair. American usage can be different from British. Perhaps, according to American usage "torture" is an irregular verb in the first person singular and plural: I water board, we water board, you, he, she, and they torture. Perhaps, it's all a misunderstanding. Perhaps, Karadzic should try that line of defence.
Having read that article I almost feel sorry for women - all that loose, dimpled flesh that's ushered in by puberty. What was it in LEFs latest cream? Ah, yes: glycyrrhetinic acid, aesculus hippocastanum, gotu kola, phycoboreane, rhodysterol, and the twins, adiposlim, and adipoless. Doubt if even that radio four newsreader could get her silky tongue around that list - you know the one I mean, Rachael, or Charlotte, or whatever.
What a "Walter Mitty" mind I have today. Well, to the task at hand. A steady stream of clicks is coming from the branch nearby. I place two peanuts on the window sill and even before I can withdraw my hand there's a flurry of feathers. For a brief instance two great tits stand on the window sill, eyes gleaming, heads twitching. Then they twist their necks sideways to grasp the oversized food parcels in their beaks. And then they're off. Like nose-heavy, lumbering, world-war two bombers they fly to hidden retreats in the neighbouring spruce tree to consume the spoils of their patience.
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Saturday 9th August 2008
It was to be our summer holiday, of sorts, sorting out the detritus of 46 years after the recent death of my father, the children sold on the trip as the only summer holiday they will get and the promise of the hire car and trip to the beach, two nights away, almost as much time away as work can stand. I work for myself.
But the Gods were against us from the start or rather the credit crunch was. Metal thefts are on the rise. Only a month ago thieves stole part of my boys' trampoline. Perhaps the rest was too hard to disassemble. Anyway last night they had taken part of the signalling equipment at Grantham on the train lines.
We see a crowded train at King's Cross and I ask the guard where it would be best to sit. He touches my arm for longer than necessary, but I like touch, even courtesy of Network Express. I am pretty and sexy and tactile. The high heels (Christian Dior) help. He sends us to first class. We find seats but soon even there there is standing room only. We learn that trains have left for three hours. Around us people's weekends are ruined - the man with 20 people who will now miss the football match he arranged; the people going to weddings. Unless we arrive only an hour late but no later, we cannot collect the hire car (as they close at 1pm everywhere in the city) and the weekend is pointless.
We are told to disembark if we can, before leaving to claim full refunds. We decide to leave the train before it sets off.
I join a queue for 30 minutes and when I reach the head they only then decide to change policy such that refunds cannot be claimed unless the ticket were bought there. I remonstrate that they might have told us as they instructed us to join the queue 30 minutes before. I am never normally assertive. I will have to trust my luck with an on-line refund attempt via the trainline. I am more put out by the disorganisation and the queue than the ruination of the weekend.
Positive thinking, at least we gain time at home and it rains so the trip to the beach may not have been so good. In year 24 of motherhood I cope well with a nine year old vomiting. He manages to land it on the track at Baker Street. He is so sensible and unfussed. They have hugely benefited from working parents. Their self sufficiency and responsibility is amazing. Children mirror your mood. They are upbeat if you are. Thus have I learned over the years with five children.
Three hours from when we set out from the suburbs to King's Cross we are home. Their student brother seems unfazed that his weekend alone will not happen. I can begin the process of attempts to reclaim the £100+ rail fare, the car hire charges and the like - our summer holiday due to various unmentionable problems and difficulties which hang over one, now into their second year. The only solution is to try to live in the moment until things are settled.
I unpack, deal with post, administration, sort out the house. Cook lunch - salmon, spinach, brown rice, corn on the cob and then frozen blueberries heated until they are warm.
Every day there is correspondence relating to my father's death. Today it is with DWP. The estate agent calls wanting to reduce the price - my late parents' house is for sale. I email my siblings. We agree. Our house. They were born there. My sister's placenta was buried in the garden, a rose bush planted over it. My father, a doctor, delivered her at home. I moved there when I was 2 days old. By the deaths of our parents we have been transported back to our childhood, free therapy in a sense, constant reminder of where we came from, how and why we are as we are in our 40s, sorting out cupboards, dividing possessions in a tremendously co-operative way which has pleased me, that we all have a sensible pragmatism and ability to give and take.
There is always much more to say but one has to end or life will go by simply in the writing about it. I write and have written so much; so many books it is embarrassing sometimes when it is mentioned. Later there were conversations with the potential lover who is besotted, but apparently attached. A bad deal and a complex topic for another day. I read the FT, Telegraph and Times, eat dinner but most of all I see to the needs of my children. In bed with the youngest who still seek the warmth of my body, who cuddle and snuggle. His twin is busy on his lap top in bed. He and I do music theory, grade 1, orally - he is brilliant verbally and then give him a pencil and expect him to write and it is marathon task but that will not matter over the course of his life. Being a parent having practised over nearly 25 years makes one pragmatic and wise, the wisdom of a grandparent with the relative youth of a parent when children are spread over decades. He is so pleased to get answers right. Would I have another child? The putative lover knows how to make women want him - classic, to suggest you would like them to bear your child.
My student daughters are abroad. I email them and go to bed. I always sleep immediately a legacy of years of five babies who virtually never slept. I am tired because of the early start, the rush to pack, the anti-climax. I had really looked forward to the chance to visit those isolated places in Northumberland with the boys, the isolated secret river where we used to swim naked with my father in Kielder Forest, the isolated coastline at Druridge Bay. I am asleep by 11pm. Perhaps at the end of August we can replan the trip although work may preclude that. So many people's weekends ruined for a few feet of cable stolen from a railway track.
s
8/8/08
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saturday 9th august
I woke up at 7.30. John got me a coffee. I didn't expect he would do any other jobs, and after a while Iwent downstairs to see he hadn't.
I hung out the washing and fed the dog and tided the kitchen.
9.30 John rang Nail he was too out of breathe to speak much but said he would phone back. Linda rang we asked if she and Nail could come over. She said Nail couldn't travel so we should go over there at 8 pm.
10.30 I got the washing in as it was raining Rosie rang. She asked if I still needed a lift to The Churchill, on Thursday. We discussed my progress and I told her that the radiotherapy makes me tired, but I am at the end of the treatment now. We discussed other people who have cancer, a subject that always seems to crop up these days.
After shopping and lunch. I listened to any answers. A woman suggested that young people should have to pay for treatment if is the result of binge drinking. I disagreed. Don't think you can moralise like that.
I drove us to Nail and Linda's When we arrived found that Nail was attached to an oxygen machine. We asked about his court case. He said he came second. Felt sad for him that he had lost, and this would have to be his last case.
We had a chinese meal. The juke box started up. Nail was able to join in the singing and didn't sound breatheless.
At 11.30 I said I was tired and as I would have to drive drove home. Bed at midnight
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Mobile alarm goes at 7 and for once I do fairly jump out of bed. Not much sleep as too much to do this morning and too much excitement over the last few days. Now the fantastic music of the Festival is over and the nitty gritty of getting 167 musicians out of their houses by 9am begins - not an easy task when some were partying til late and skinny-dipping at 2am. But we have to check all the houses and get the keys back by 10.
The rain starts again around 7.30 - it almost hasn't stopped for 2 weeks. I pity the campers packing up their tents in the mud. I'm amazed at how some of the orchestra emerge from the mud into evening wear and wellies to play.
The car is packed (neatly - can't bear messy packing) and I'm at 'Trejoron' by 8.15 waiting for the first keys. As I draw up, a young violinist leaves, picked up by his parents. Another one of many Festival 'family' that I won't see for a whole year.
At 9 my team of helpers arrive, armed with black bin bags, to go and check each house, bag up rubbish and remove the usual selection of towels, mouldy cheese and Y-fronts left behind.
The first key arrives bang-on at 9 and soon after our star opera soloist arrives - his performance of Peter Grimes was so heart-rending and emotional it made me cry - but this morning he is the bearer of 2 festival camp beds he has dis-assembled and packed away (neatly - gold star!) after cleaning his house and packing partner and children into the car. The last key arrives at 9.50 and I think I'm on for an easy morning. Just the rubbish to shift now.
By 11am my car is full of damp cardboard (it's STILL raining) and bags of rubbish to take up to our Festival farmhouse for disposal. But the phone rings and one agent has found vomit in one of our houses. By the time I arrive there are 2 cleaners and an almost forensic-style photographer taking snaps of the offending sick. I am shown this, plus various stains on the carpets (were they there 2 weeks ago - who knows) and a curtain rail which has fallen off. The Festival will have a bill to pay and we may lose this house for next year. Blogger.
I dump the rubbish at our Farmhouse base by the church and go to check an old cornish cottage we rent near the graveyard. Amazingly they are all packed and out but the washing machine, which is unfortunately upstairs, has flooded. I use the left-behind towels to soak up the excess and trudge round to the caretaker's house. By now it's pouring and my waterproof isn't. I wonder if the rain is in sympathy with our opera being sea-based and singing VW's Sea Symphony.
Get to the farm shop for coffee at 12 but many people have already left so miss saying goodbye. Go off to see more possible properties for us to rent next year. Still raining. Go shopping in Wadebridge and buy biscuits and local Doom Bar beer for work and friends who've looked after the house. Leave Cornwall around 5.15 and a bit of fascia breaks off the car around Exeter making the loose bit vibrate above 50. I turn the stereo up.
The rain stops around Stafford and I make Liverpool by 10.30. Check 72 emails - mostly rubbish - find Sunday Times review online and laugh out loud - not only does he love the Festival but also mentions my identically-named friend and I who gave him a hair-raising lift from Bodmin Parkway. Hahaha! Bed. Tomorrow I book beds for 2009.
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0001: The Levellers cheekily hold the last note of their last number clean through the curfew and into another day. Nobody's complaining; they lost 30 mins off the front of their set when Joe Brown and Dave Edmunds apparently overran ("I hear you knocking, but we won't come off" are just some of the words that might not have been used). I've never heard the Levellers play so well, or indeed at all.
0044: Organisers lift the road closure - introduced, I am told, to keep the number of reveller-vehicle contact events at the same level that has obtained since the first event in 1979 (to wit, zero) - and I am on my way home. My poor old bones really didn't enjoy last night in a tent, and seem cheered. After leaving the M40, I revel in the glory of rushing hedgerows as Chiltern after Chiltern rolls away under my wheels.
0930: Gently woken by the mrs. It's her wedding anniversary today. She liked the card and the earrings. But she's very cold. We set about correcting that.
1305: Arrive back at the encampment - line up on the four poplars, stop well short of the Cherwell, second-to-last on the right - and find the kids huddling from the rain. It teemed down in the night; the early sun burnt it off, but now the rain is back. Furl and stow the tent in a brisk wind. Sleepy bags ditto. Head for the field.
1420: Mrs heads off with daughter on a lap of the field. Objective: vegetable tempura plus pressies for August-born nieces. Ashley Hutchings's Larkrise to Candleford set plays on. On Thursday and Friday I'd listened hard to every act - Whapweasel, John Tams and Barry Coope, Supergrass, The Family Mahone, 3 Daft Monkeys and several more - and enjoyed most of them hugely. But the cumulative effect was a bit like eating too many puds. So I am happy to let today's acts drift past as - half-way up the field, beyond the vegan food stall and about level with killed-with-kindness organic meat - I read today's Guardian. Or try to. It's good that it comes in small sections: there's a fighting chance that each will make it along the row before the wind and rain render it to papier mache.
1450: Son buys me a belgian waffle with maple syrup and whippy cream, plus a good black coffee. He asks how often he has been to this event. I'm not sure, but he was probably aged about 3 the first time. So it can't be more than 16. I used to sneak down to the front for a number or two with him or his sister on my shoulders during their favourite acts. Now they have their own bank accounts...
1520: Legend - a Bob Marley tribute band - takes the stage and sound pretty cool. Daughter's fiance reckons they're the best act he's heard yet. They're still playing when I get back from dropping mrs at Banbury station; she has an entirely sensible view of sitting in summer rain, shared by precisely none of her nearest and, well, wettest if truth be told.
1830: Word arrives that mrs is safely home, having stopped to buy me August's Modern Railways - it is, after all, my wedding anniversary too! The killed-with-kindness pork and stilton burger is amazing. We miss one of the raffle prizes by two tickets. Julie Fowlis is great, but we must leave her and take all our impedimenta back to the car - there's serious work to come...
1910: Julie is still playing as we arrive back on the field. This time we head off right down to the front, where it's clear - even without the big screen - just how much puff a wee person needs to play the bagpipes. She leaves to rousing cheers and - after a lengthy changeover where we tantalisingly spot Simon's brown and white Strat., Peggy's blond bass, Gerry's red drumkit, Chris's matching mando and bouzooki... and Maart's laptop - Geoff Hughes, loud enough to reach all 20,000 on the field without a microphone, introduces the next act. It's darkening up nicely now, and the red lighting and stage smoke are engagingly moody. Onto the stage strides Capt. Jean-Luc Picard. (Actually it's Midge Ure, but the resemblance is uncanny.) We're not really planning to be impressed - we're just bagging our places up front for the main event - but sometimes you don't get what you plan for.
2030: Midge leaves after a solo acoustic set of some quality. We shuffle up and get 2 bellies to the bar, with the others right behind. Audients simply don't get any closer to the action than this. Indeed, daughter will later use the proximity to somehow blag a crew t-shirt.
2045: Fairport come on early and launch straight into a brisk, tight Ye Mariners All from 1978; it hasn't been in the live set for years - decades maybe - and hearing it again is just fabulous. From here on I'm not a diarist, just a fan. Babbacombe Lee set - fantastic. Woodworm Swing with dancing Exit sign on the big screen - genius. Jams O'Donnell's Jigs with the Tommy Connolly Irish Dancers - the bass *can* be a melody instrument... but the dancers moved their arms! The Fossil Hunter with visuals (this is what the seaside looks like, see the waves roll) - excruciating. Reynardine - dull, inconsequential. Eynsham Poacher - wonderful. South Dakota to Manchester - how did this dross ever get into the set? Capt. Picard back on to sing Tull's Living in the Past - wonderful. Reynard the Fox with post-fox hunting final verse - clever, crisp, fun. Hiring Fair with Simon's under-used voice and under-worshipped guitar playing - awesome. Matty Groves with Mr Potato Heads playing out the action on the big screen - surprisingly delightful.
Despite the brilliance that surrounds it, The Sandy Denny: 30 years gone segment stands out clear and pure and poignant. Vicki Clayton, Julie Fowlis, Chris While and Kelly While each sing one. Then Chris and Kelly duet on a heart-rending Who Knows Where the Time Goes?, surely the ultimate. But no. Here's Battle of Evermore, with Sandy's part sung by Kristina Donahue. Robert Plant's part is sung by none other than Robert Plant. Wow! For the next few minutes, Fairport Convention *is* Led Zeppelin.
2345: 3 flying hours are not enough even to skim a 41-year repertoire, but that's OK. The choices have been bold. The musicianship has been superb. And the warmth of belonging to a friendly family of 20,000 for a few days is beyond describing. Now it ends as it always does, this time with the surprise of seeing my shamefully unshaven face up on the big screen: "Meet on ledge, we're going to meet on the ledge. If you really mean it, it all comes round again."
2355: Simon: "Same time next year?" The Cropredy family: "Yes!"
If you have been affected by any of the issues in this diary, lucky you!
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9.8.08
Sometimes I think I am so obsessional. For days now I planned to run along the Limestone Way. I don?t know why. Bit of a George Mallory thing really ? because it?s there! The map is on the wall is in front of me every morning when I have breakfast and there is a big gap down there.
The weather this morning was horrible ? cold with persistent rain. I couldn?t find the start of the path. They had altered the configuration of the roads and built a new Sainsbury?s on the A6 at Matlock since my map was published. I never take a map with me when I go running. It just gets soggy. I just memorise the route. Blokes are supposed to be good at this. Of course it is fallible, but that?s part of the fun. I asked directions from other wet travellers, but they sent me in the wrong direction and I found myself in the village of Snitterton. I took the path to Wensley and Winster. The latter was helpful. The Limestone Way goes past it.
The path out of Wensley grew progressively overgrown with nettles and brambles. It was still raining. I stumbled around for a bit then met two walkers ? doughty middle aged women. They were lost too, but they had come from Winster and they wanted to go to Matlock so we told each other how we had got to where we were.
?Go up that path there?, they told me. ?Then bear off right through the wood. It?s hard going. There?s lots of trees down.?
Hmmmm. They weren?t joking. The path ran along a steep slope through a wood littered with fallen trees. I stumbled and slithered through the wood, cursing the weather, Derbyshire County Council and my own stupidity, and emerged in a rough pasture, where the path just disappeared. I came face to face with a magnificent bull ? Big Business ? he clearly had other things on his mind without worrying about me.
On the other side of the valley was a village. I headed for it, though a farmyard littered with old cars, plastic tables, rusting farm equipment and children?s toys, and went up the farm track into the ancient village of Winster (Wines thorn). I sheltered for a bit in the old market house and read that Winster was very prosperous in the 19th century due to the rich lead mines. It?s a charming village, almost French in character ? a clusters of tiny cottages cling to the steep slope with more prosperous dwellings nearer the main street.
Above Winster, I picked up The Limestone Way and followed it as as far as Youlgreave. It was still raining, but I felt fit. I can run easier than I can walk. I just get into a loose trot and keep going for hours. At Youlgreave, I turned east along the river to Alport and then found my way around the quarry and down to Haddon Hall, where they filmed ?The Other Boleyn Girl?. I didn?t see an awful lot, though nearing Haddon Hall, there were lots of pheasant chicks, that ran off rapidly like minature dinosaurs. I imagined I was in Jurassic Park. I was nearly home, just up to the ridge and I could see the big house at Chatsworth. Seventeen miles and four hours. It was still raining!
I ran my bath as hot as I could bear it. My legs glowed from the nettle stings. Not at all unpleasant. That?s the best thing about running. It can be wonderful when you stop.
Later in the afternoon, I finished off my article on Helpfulness, which I posted on my blog. Writing is such good occupational therapy. I can lose myself in it.
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Awoke to sunshine pouring into the apartment in Redisham Hall which we have hired for a week. All action stations to get to Southwold beach before the dreaded rain returns.
What is it about people who will not pay for a car park? Arrive at Southwold by 9.30a.m. residental roads are blocked with parked cars even through the car park is nearly empty.
Sea is really rough today but is much further out than Monday so more sandy beach is exposed. Pity Mark returned home Friday (to play football for heavens sake!) missing a really warm sunny morning on beach. Thomas seems happy though - beach being spoilt by smell of cooking bacon drifting from the cafe on the boating lake. Lovely sitting here watching the waves pounding the rocks.
Oh No! Really loud family have arrived and are busy bashing in windbreak only inches from where we are sitting. The beach is empty for heavens sake - GO AWAY!! Try to ignore them - why do people feel the need to shout all the time? Now two of the boys are having a fight and the youngest has gone off crying. Thank you God for sending the rain so that we can escape back to the peace and quiet of the parks surrounding the Hall.
Spend time reading up on the history of Redisham Hall and discover that a previous owner had three sons and two of them were killed in the First World War, so two little boys who used to run and play in the gardens I am looking out on - this perfect peaceful beautiful place - lost their lives in a muddy trench.....
Turn on T.V. to be confronted with footage from Georgia where Russian Tanks have gone in whilst the world watches the Olympics - more little boys loosing their lives?
Rain lashing down whilst driving to the Fox for dinner, pull in the car park and dash for the door. Enter into a warm comfortable interior with wonderful food waiting. Rain has stopped when driving back to Hall - how lucky am I. Lovely weeks holiday and two lovely sons fit and healthy.
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Saturday 9th August
Woke Up late, lovely breakfast on my verandah in the sun.
Began to rain so I started to transfer my pictures from my recent holiday in France onto my laptop. Took ages. They are all so lovely!
After lunch , a walk on the beach, some tea with friends and home.
After supper I spent the evening listening to R4 whilst printing all my favourite photos.
A futile attempt to start knitting for a baby boy due quite soon, a short chat on the web with a lovely Frogger and bed.
Mollyxx
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I can't post my diary; apparently it's got invalid html even though I haven't even dared to use anything to upset the new regime.
Have deleted loads of it but still unacceptable.
Not even slightly rude; quite censored, in fact, on the subject of no longer being able to listen online.
Will email it to you.
Utterly fed up with being bloggered off by R4 all week.
Do they really expect us to go on being insulted by being treated like sheep daggings?
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How about iPM looking at this, then?
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William Ross emailed iPM. He writes
Today I remember Nagasaki, as I also remembered Hiroshima on 6th August. The use of those bombs marked the start of the West's loss of Integrity.
Japan had conceded defeat and yet we pursued our course of action and wrapped it in lies. Today we find it difficult to discern Truth in the utterings of our leaders.
How can Bush condemn China for its human rights abuses. Russia can now turn round and say "Who are you to talk" when we condemn their actions against Georgia. Hiroshima/Nagasaki was a turning point in history. When it should have been for the better it has been for the worse.
Also we thought that the technology behind these bombs would herald in an era of boundless energy, but experience now fills us with fear for the wellbeing of future generations. And still we pursue our course of action. Where will it end? The end of our world ?
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Maryel FitzRandolph emailed iPM. She wrote:
A different sort of day altogether, today, even to the weather.
I tried to post a parcel at the Bridge of Weir PO but discovered it closed because of an 'incident earlier'. An incident?
Seems some body or bodies 'roughed up' the two Asian proprietors last Thursday, but failed to get away with any money.
That reminded me that the last time I was in the PO I thought about standing there when somebody up-to-no-good might come in while I was waiting in the queue. Was that a premonition?
Anyway, to the 'different' day. Yesterday's culture was international, emotional, exhilarating. Isn't The Fringe always so?
Today's was historical and participative: I had my third session in the (NTS) Weavers Cottage and continued to work the rag rug. Quite a busy afternoon with visitors. Made an embarrassing faux pas though: I lifted a jug. "One does not touch (let alone lift) the objects"! Whoops.
Then, in the evening, Gill suggested I drive to her place and we go out for a meal. We caught up on news and especially about her trips since I last saw her at her cottage in Walberswick. (She's been to Wimbledon, New York, Cape Cod AND Iceland in that time.)
Watched some recorded TV and promised I'd not go to bed too late. I can still hear rain out side my bedroom window despite Jazz FM playing my nightly diet. Today's blessing: variety of opportunities.
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I had the same thing. It has to be the most frustrating error message I've seen in a long time... especially when the text previews fine.
I finally succeeded by eliminating ampersands. Before then I had nixed n-dashes, proper quote marks & 2 instances of e-acute, so maybe those also played a part.
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Luckytumshie emailed iPM.
'Drizzling when I woke so back to bed with pot of tea and New Statesman.
Must copy article on New Spies to Maggie whose son has been coy about his employment since doing some intelligence related MSc. thing. We all teased him but now he's in Reading and is solemn. Is he really a spy or just teasing us?
Going to have to become a spy myself to find out I think. Splash up street to optician.
The runner beans got beaten down by wind and rain yesterday and when I was struggling to stake them up I got whooshed in the face by a sudden mass of wet greenery - just like Edwin Morgan's poem, The Freshet. Except that this whooshed out a contact lens never to be seen again.
Happily, the optician confirms that the old one I found at the bottom of a drawer (didn't tell her that) is the same prescription and perfectly serviceable.
Dropped in to P and G's wedding party in the village hall. BYOB, full of kids, friends, good music and home made chilli and macaroni cheese. Bit sad that L wasn't there but life goes on.'
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Mary Marden emailed iPM.
'Heavy rain all day, but we had to do one essential job in the garden; move the chickens.
They live in an ark in the orchard, and I keep them inside in the early morning when they feed and lay their eggs, and then let them out at about 10 o?clock.
There is a rat living under the ark and our plan was to finish it off today. So far, it has resisted the pungent cheese in a trap, and death by cider in a deep bucket.
Wilf shifted the ark carefully, and I waited with a spade. The rat ambled slowly out, I slid on the wet grass and the rat disappeared into the hedge. I have a bruise, but the rat is fine. A case for the council Pest Control Officer, I think.'
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Liz Carson emailed iPM.
'Woke at 5 am to see deep pink streaks under ominous dark bands of cloud above Solsbury Hill. Not a good sign.
Out for a Guardian later and one of Dev's saturday doughnuts (decided to walk into town later to walk it off). In the end got a bus as it was raining.
A family waiting obviously not used to public transport as very impatient (the bus was late) and the grandmother sounded like an aritocrat. I gathered they'd decided to bus for a 'holiday treat' for the children but as it was pouring and the bus was late, it was all going wrong.
Trecked round the saturday markets searching for material for forthcoming exhibition. To no avail.
On the allotment later, saw a baby rabbit. As if we haven't got enough predators with the deer, pigeons, slugs and snails. Very sweet but I hope the fox gets him. How mean. He
panicked when he saw me and rushed down through Eddy's plot.
Poured with rain later. Worried my flowers for the sale in two weeks won't flower in time; they need more sun to bring them on and the torrential rain keeps knocking them over. How can people still not believe in global warming affecting the weather?
News full of Beijing and Georgia - no coincidence in the timing I'm thinking, and such hypocracy, Bush pontificating on human rights.
Rang Andrew as he's gone off with the stanley knife and I need it for my 'collector's cabinet' exhibition stuff. Worked today on the 'Word Collection', a white cabinet full of words and phrases - we all collect things in our minds.
Bought a nectarine yesterday at Morrisons for a treat, not organic and flown in, but couldn't resist, the colour was so intense. Will have it for supper. Must stop.'
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sharingthesea emailed iPM.
'Diary entry 10th August
2am Painfilled night got up to look out over the Harbour; an upturned bowl of sky, clingfilmed and pierced by a plethora of stars over the vast darkness of marsh and a receding sea.
Listened to BBC World Radio. Concerned about trouble on Thai-Cambodia border. Hope Sara, Rosa and Arun are home safe. Think they cross Thai border to get home to Cambodia.
Arun will have to elicit help of Spydog. Oh how he enjoyed all three books.
Breakfast outdoors. Marsh suffused with purple sea lavender. Flood alarm -a practice-went off. Well done Marie and Michael for their relentless campaign to reinstate the alarm.
How could anyone think a telephone chain was going to keep us safe, particularly the elderly and vulnerable - and me a fairly immobile old bag!
Email from devout Antonia soliciting clothes and toys for women and children in Uganda affected by 'aides'.
Should I tell her it is AIDS acquired immune deficiency syndrome? Does she know I work in this field and have done work with refugees from Uganda? Should I refer her to Ugandan website run by Avert and risk the ethical controversy over condoms.
I am increasingly discomforted by provision of charity that should be pursuit of justice. Should I refer her to website for International AIDS Conference in Mexico attended by 24,000 people which has just finished?
The rich West was reprimanded for its dilatory funding of antiretroviral treatment which if made available would lead to large reduction in mortality and number of orphans.
Dog walk. Picked armful of whispering rushes and reeds for outgoing guests in Gooseye (my rented cottage). Tidied up Gooseye. Washed and hung up bedlinen....tears sting my eyes. Why is lifting so relentlessly painful? Warned new guests that Gooseye is on today's Carnival route so the road is closed round 3p.m.
Lunch of 'fives' apple, kiwi, lettuce, cucumber, grapes with bread and cheese.
Set up Carnival stall with baskets of brown money, (saved all year) and baskets of wrapped sweeets to give participants on the floats.
Friends and neighbours gathered with me to watch the floats under a sky flowing with wind and rain...poor kids. Colourful Floats representing all the Town's interests: school, health centre, art, sport, music clubs and other interests, coastguards, air ambulance, sailing club, Fair Trade, Homes for Wells.
We took it in turns to run amongst the performers with sweets and money for profered buckets.
Evening back to emails:
1. Had Jamie received the Kendal mint cake for his 5th triathlon, tomorrow: swimming, running cycling?
2. Hunter in Australia thrilled with his 'coollight' to celebrate being a teenager.
3. Imelda coming next week with two kids for seaside visit. What courage. A woman with her own story and spending huge energy bettering people's lives who live with HIV in Africa.
Bells tinkle in my sacred courtyard as the light falls; ring doves dive to the birdtable for evening nibbles poised on Buddhist bells.
Bedtime. Took a painkiller.'
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August 9th 2008
did, internet, out with G, rested, watched 'Last Choir Standing', 'Foyle's War', etc. Tipped it down.
(I know it's brief. I've kept a 5 year diary for just over 30 years and they don't give you much room.)
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Must have pressed wrong key with first one I wrote - seems to not have happened.
Sat August 9th started fine but by time picked my son R up the rain was starting.
We were off to our carers support group summer away day. Lovely venue in Wiltshire - old house used for adult education with lovely grounds. Various local clubs use it including the croquet society, we were hoping for some competitive play.
By the time we arrived the rain was pouring and we sat around in the marquee watching it not getting any better. We put drinks and lunch out and the raffle prizes. R sold the raffle tickets to everyone - the turnout was good and despite it all we enjoyed ourselves. Some hardy folk did manage a game of croquet in the now bucketing downpour. Sat around chatting for ages and after clearing up back to A's house for cups of tea.
On the way home we stopped to pick up fish and chips - at least no watering my sodden plants tonight
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'SnodlandDiarist' emailed iPM.
'Saturday 9th August 2008
Up at 5.20am, exercise, shave, tea and read until eight. Both sons all night fishing, all weekend.
Four mile walk with wife and dog, onto the North Downs via the Pilgrims Way. Still hot and sunny but now with a strong breeze ? strong enough to have brought down a 10 foot tall, dead hedgerow elm.
Ate some plump, sweet amd juicy west facing blackberries, north and east facing ones still small, hard, green and in flower.
10am to the Medway Towns, dropping off a bag load of wastepaper for the scouts on the way. Raining by now. Parked at Strood and walked across the bridge into Rochester, a number of foreign tourists, especially Americans, but otherwise quieter than expected ? I thought there?s be some 'protester overspill' from the neighbouring Kingsnorth demonstration.
Toured second hand and charity shops and came across a 1960?s 'Cliff Bennett and the Rebel Rousers' LP but couldn?t identify Chas Hodges (Chas and Dave) in the line up on the front. Dropped in to the Cathedral and saw a wedding in progress ? first time we?ve seen one there. Home via Morrisons for petrol ? 111.9p/litre.
3.30pm to mother-in-law hoping to get some late afternoon gardening in, but heavy rain prevented this. (We?ve turned her back garden over to vegetables). Runner beans are making a late rally but still down on last year.
Potatoes have been good, but no sign yet of the carrots and beetroot we planted at the end of July.
Spent the evening listening to the radio, music from the 50?s, 60?s and 70?s. Included two numbers I bought with paper round money more than 40 years? ago: ?Death of a Clown? (Davies) and ?Just Like Eddy? (Heinz).'
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had the kids so woke up with sound of cbbc blasting out of the sitting room... distinct lack of radio 1 or heat fm as teenage daughter at sleepover...result! hoiked my self out of bed and had the first of many cups of tea. collected laundry as i went down stairs,put a load on to wash, one to dry and emptied and filled the dishwasher...fed the cat and the guinea pigs...tidied up front room, scooped up cat poo from hall way (must get cat to vet), and thanked the lord for laminate flooring...another cup of tea and breakfast for 9 year old, bowl of 'credit crunch' as he now calls it - a devotee of the now show...listended to the today programme, them loose ends (quite like this rev chap, but absolutely loath singh koli and his grating edinburgh soony sauny voice). and its only 9am!?
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Saturday 9th.
Rain. boo.
Spent a lazy morning checking out the Judo at the Olympics. My husband used to compete when he was at university so I had an expert on hand to explain the rules. I think Ipon was one of them but I just kept thinking of Nippon the nasty powder one uses to kill ants. Managed to drag husband and 3 year old son out to the sorting office to collect a package. Some lovely holiday photo's ordered from Photobox. Then on to Marks and spencer for some bits and bobs. I desperately searched the 6 rails of maternity wear in an attempt to find something morale boosting and fashionable. However i was greeted by various sack like offerings in different shades of grey and plum. Not impressed. Attempted to rectify the situation in the shoe department, alas this was also lacking in anything fashionable and flat that I could waddle around in. Husband came to the rescue and suggested a pub lunch to cheer me up. I think he needed cheering up too as the British chap had just been knocked out of the Judo, the boy's had been hanging out in the TV section whilst I was browsing.
Afternoon was spent ironing and watching the boy's construct a vast sprawling brio train track in the lounge.
Mum popped round at 6 to take over as chief babysitter whilst we got ready to go out for a celebratory meal at our favourite reastaurant.
Arrived 20 mins late thanks to an overturned caravan. Had a lovely meal and tried Samphire for the first time with some scallops. Very impressed.
Toasted our joint birthday's and looking forward to having a new baby in the family. I had to resist the urge to evesdrop on a nearby conversation where the diners were discussing insider trading at a large bank.
Husband drunk, my tummy full of food as well as baby. Job done.
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Saturday is what C. (hubby) used to call my trojan day. I used to strip the beds, do the washing and vacuum the house.
That was all in the good old days before his accident and he ended up in hospital for 5 months. Now every day is a trojan day. Especially since he came home from hospital.
He's confined to bed and still has loads of problems. The big one is he can't eat any more, not easily anyway. I sit beside him and help him eat his porridge and honey in the morning. He struggles with each mouthful, but this morning was a good one and he managed not to weep or retch. That was a relief.
We're both upset about the news in Georgia. When the care assistants came we chatted a bit with them about it. They hadn't heard. It seems to me that Russia is being a bully boy and trying to slyly get what it wants in its devious plan to control oil and other resources in the region. The ladies were just horrified and sad about all the unnecessary human misery being caused. One minute Georgian people are just getting on with their lives, next they're being bombed.
Later lunch went well too. C. ate his poached egg and actually said he enjoyed it. I just wish I could get more calories down him, it's so worrying.
In the evening I set C. up with the laptop again. He's very happy since I sorted out an Internet connection for him in bed. He was quiet and occupied all evening, he didn't complain about his back or leg once.
That gave me a chance to finally sit at my computer. I went great guns on my transcribing of the 1813 baptism records. I got through loads of pages, I'm on November now so the end is in sight. I found a Kezia amongst all the Bettys, Johns and Marys. What a strange but appealing name.
The weather was a real Swansea humdinger today. Rain, rain, rain mist and more rain. It just didn't know how to stop.
But apart from that it was a pretty good day all round compared to some that we've had lately. No histrionics and miseries from C. and we felt closer again after all the days of his pushing me away.
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Saturday 9 August 2008.
Such a huge contrast with yesterday. ?Wake up campers, riot police in the woods!? was yesterday?s literal alarm call. Today it was ?Wake up Daddy, I want a cuddle? from one of my daughters.
I am back from Climate Camp at Kingsnorth Power Station, back in my cosy house, back with my family. But as I get ready to go to work my mind is split between the here and now of enjoying breakfast with my wife and two children and the memory of the amazing place I have just returned from.
It?s been an uplifting experience and I am feeling happy. I?ve lived alongside 1500 people in the most serene camp village, a place that was an empty field a week ago and will be back to that again in another week. I?ve met loads of interesting, intelligent people ? perfectly normal people in fact, except that they recognise we need to get it right on climate change. And I?ve learnt that we can change things, that there are practical solutions right now.
A busy day at work, but I am distracted throughout. Will H. make it over the Medway on his raft? I hope D. and her boyfriend are OK, hope the police aren?t being heavy-handed. These new friends have shown me that I can make a difference. That rather than sitting at home waiting for someone else to sort things out, it?s up to everyone to pitch in.
Radio 4 six o?clock news runs the successful protest as second item. We?ve done it! Almost involuntarily, I punch the air and shout ?Yes!? Only a week ago I felt powerless to do anything about climate change. Not any more.
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Sat 9 Aug, 2008. At the Climate Camp (http://www.climatecamp.org.uk/), near Hoo St Werbergh, overlooking Kingsnorth in Kent, UK.
Today's the culmination of this week-long peaceful protest against new coal power stations, when we march from this field the three miles or so to the gates of Kingsnorth Power Station. There are people involved in 'direct action' where they try to get in to the power station by land, sea and air(!), with the aim of shutting it down for the day. However, I'm involved in the family-friendly march which is going to be utterly peaceful and law-abiding.
It's all a bit chaotic between 8 - 9am. Nobody's 100% sure exactly what's going on - for example, whether the police are going to insist on searching everybody as they leave the camp, which could slow things down considerably. People from the camp have been liaising with the police all week about this march and they've agreed a series of timings and a route. There's about a mile of dual carriageway down the A228 - they've agreed that we can walk down one side of this. Otherwise, the route is along very quiet country lanes.
At about 8.45, we get the news from the front gate that the Police will let us leave the camp freely - no more searches (there've been plenty of those this week - dangerous items like crayons, plastic water pipes, bolts for setting up compost toilets, a bar of soap, felt tip pens, a board game and marquee guy ropes were among hundreds of 'dangerous items' seized). So a line of people forms in the camp site around a wonderful Chinese dragon carried by 26 people, carrying banners, placards and various musical instruments. I have a tenor sax around my neck.
We set off and are immediately held in the lane outside the camp for about 30 minutes by the police. Seems they are determined not to let us onto the road until the last possible minute. I'm worried that lots of local people who are planning to meet us at the roundabout at the end of the lane will get bored and thing we're not coming. News from the front reaches us that the police have changed their mind and we're now only allowed one lane one side of the dual carriageway. Eventually they start moving in front of us, and we follow four guys in riot gear on huge horses (also wearing riot gear) onto the road. There's a great happy atmosphere - people singing various songs which have been written in the last few days. One, not the greatest poetry, but superb with the simple tune it goes to, says:
Don't you know that Kingsnorth can't be built
Our economy has failed us
We need a low carbon economy
Come and join the march.
There are three events which mar the day - all, I'm really upset to say, caused by gross stupidity on the part of members of Her Majesty's constabulary.
1. A member of the march, playing a drum, is stopped by an office and questioned. Apparently he resembles someone who was arrested a few days ago, and bailed on condition that he didn't come back to the camp. Very quickly a large group of protesters surround them and chant "Let the drummer go". This happens quite quickly. Turns out the drummer is a prominent member of the Green party and not the bailee in question. Whether he was or not, I can't believe that standard police practice would be to approach someone in those circumstances.
2. The crowd has been spilling through the flimsy tape strung between cones, 10m apart along the road. The tape gets dislodged very easily - it's not securely attached. Sometimes a marcher helps it on its way. One young guy is spotted breaking a piece of this tape, and 2 officers go up to him and accuse him of criminal damage. Again, they're quickly surrounded by a crowd, and there's a bit of shouting. This is right near the front of the march, and two of the guys on horseback immediately wade in, swinging their long batons and hitting several people. This is appalling and extremely frightening behaviour. Any fracas stops quite soon (though not before more police have waded in, bashing and kicking people). The crowd start chanting "Shame on you!" at the 4 mounted police. They sit high up on their horses in front of us, batons drawn, glaring down. After 20 or 30 seconds, some of the marchers quieten things down. We stand there for another 5 or 10 minutes until the police decide to move off again. I don't think I've ever seen such a stupidly petty, provocative action, which put hundreds of people - police and protestors alike - in danger of serious injury. There was very quickly an announcement from the police via our own (cycle powered) PA system, that we were free to use both lanes The whole atmosphere of the march changed from that point. I certainly didn't feel like playing happy music for some time.
3. Once we got to the power station (a bit happier by then) there was a series of rousing, heartfelt speeches. The police had agreed that at 1pm we would move off and start heading back to the camp. Just before this, one of their 3 helicopters swooped low over us all and a voice announced that unless we dispersed, then dogs, horses and long batons would be deployed. This march was full of families, children, people on wheelchairs, people of all ages. At that point, we were all sitting or standing around, talking, eating sandwiches in fron of the main gates. These were locked and secure, with loads of police on the other side. Nothing was being obstructed. There was no sign of anything which merited such a sudden urgency, let alone the threats that emanated from the helicopter. Some people became very frightened. Some people also decided that this was absolutely unacceptable, and that they would refuse to move. Several of these stayed in front of the gates, and were subsequently arrested, although the majority of marchers were already leaving anyway, as had been agreed before any voices from the sky.
Until that point, my own personal encounters with individual police officers had been friendly - we even had some good conversations. However, I'm ashamed on their behalf that some of their number seem to think that these sort of actions are in any way a productive way to interact with their fellow citizens.
It's a long slow walk back to the camp. Yet again, some police seem intent on being bloody minded, preventing an elderly gentleman heading up the road into the town where there are some small shops and bus stops.
I reflect over the past week. It's the first time I've taken part in something quite like this. It's been a revelation in many ways - from the genuine attempt at a hierarchy-free consensus-based system of self governance for the thousand or so people who were on the camp, to the way in which a whole community was established in a field, and powered with mostly solar or self generated electricity, apart from a bit of gas for cooking.
I'm torn between thinking that the massively excessive police presence was either a huge waste of many millions of pounds or that without it - and its stupid actions - perhaps we wouldn't have received quite so much media coverage, which meant that the issues probably got a greater airing than might otherwise have happened.
It's time this country decided against more short-term fixes to the energy demand-supply equation, and really invested in the leadership (to reduce consumption) and the investment in renewable energy sources that might help us have a green peaceful place to live at all in 20 or 30 years time.
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Woke at around 7 and was relieved to see that, despite the forecast, it wasn't actually raining.
Retrieved all my cycling gear (including the training bike) from the back of my car and went through the routine of preparing for a ride. By the time I had got the wheels back on and checked tyre pressures, it was raining.
"You must be desperate if you're going out in this".
My response to this remark from Val resulted in a furious row which lasted about 5 minutes.
A truce was negotiated and a compromise agreed - I would go for a ride and meet the family at Ikea, Glasgow.
As I changed, I mentally re-arranged my route and calculated mileages and estimated times.
"About 3 hours, I reckon - give or take. See you there at about 11.30"
Made up 2 litres of isotonic solution and decanted it into 2 drinking bottles.
"My have some o' Daddy's juice?", said Ben. As usual, I let him have some.
"It's only the same sort of stuff they would give him in hospital if he had the squits", I exclaim in response to Val's protests.
I put the bike out by the back door and, pointlessly, covered the saddle with my spare waterprof cape. By now it was raining hard.
At the last moment I decided to put on neoprene shoe-covers and put a ten pound note into a plastic bag inside my waterproof jacket.
Cleats clicked into place on the pedals easily and as I picked up speed I felt the cold rain on my legs.
The familiar part of the route on local roads passed quickly, although I had barely cycled a mile before shoes, socks and shorts were wringing wet.
The climb up to the hill above Thornhill felt easy despite the water running down the road. Water mixed with some grit in my shoe cleats and the resulting friction made a slightly irritating squeak until the heavy rain washed the grit away.
Descending to Thornhill, the back wheel slipped. "Take it easy! Idiot!", I muttered to myself. As I passed through Thornhill I noticed some dejected figures standing beside a soggy, slack looking tent at the camp-site.
"Could be worse, could be camping!", I chuckled quietly to myself.
By now, the water running from my head was mixing with sweat and grit from my face and making my eyes sting.
I climbed the sharp rise through Kippen barely able to see through steamed up 'light-enhancing' lenses.
No cars to be seen for miles and the only sound was the watery swish of the back wheel and a slightly soggy squeak from the cleats again. I twisted my feet sharply and lifted them from the pedals. Freewheeling down the hill to Fintry I tried to splash water up from the front wheel to clean the base of my shoes. I was so wet by now it really made no difference.
A sudden rise had me fumbling to re-connect with the pedals. The squeak seemed to be cured.
I hesitated briefly at the junction. Familiar road to Strathblane or more punishing climbing into the Campsies?
I turned left towards Lennoxtown and was soon onto the steepest and longest climb of the route.
The anticipated relief after the steepest part of the climb never really materialised. Standing water on the road added to the misery of what had now become a long slog through the Campsie Fells. A Jaguar wooshed past, throwing up water.
"This isn't funny any more", I shouted.
The descent to Lennoxtown was taken gingerly, left hand permanently on the rear brake lever.
Stopping outside the village stores to remove the steamed up 'light enhancing' eyewear, the awning suddenly flopped slightly in the breeze and deposited about half a gallon of water over my head and neck.
The remaining 10 miles passed in a blur of sprints between traffic lights, episodes of road rage, and a moment of panic through the Clyde Tunnel.
As I handed over my ten pound note to pay for a warming cup of coffee at the enormous Swedish furniture store, I managed to force out between chattering teeth - "Sorry, it's a bit wet".
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First full day at the Fringe but Gah! Couldn't get tickets for Jon Richardson, despite queueing at the Fringe box office in the rain for an hour.
But we went to the Museum of Scotland and saw the first two floors, met up with Peter and Clover and had porridge for breakfast! Very Scottish.
Saw a bunch of free stand-up in the pub over dinner, one of them was very good, but there was a horrbile drunk woman heckiling nonsense to one lad who's confidence was obviously knocked by it.
Then to a random musical/caeliegh/murder mystery, where the play involved us getting up to dance and taking part in the raffle! I won shortbread! God, I hope it's dry tomorrow my feet are actually swollen from all the rain in my shoes.
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It's 2:15 pm..I've just had another go at repairing the small 'dent' on my car's bumper.... I bought one of those 'miracle' repair kits at the National Motor Show last weekend for 20 quid ("Save hundreds!!!") The salesman made it look easy ....very very easy. Oh dear...The dent is now deeper...the paint has been rubbed away...the small dent looks considerably worse. I will now have to let the garage do it...it will now 'cost hundreds' PLUS my 20!....my garage -and medicine cabinet- is full of similar cures. They have a 100% record...they never work.
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Stopped by the police.
Nothing I'd done, or that all 200+ of us had done.
We'd attempted to march, as a protest, to what would be our nearest post office should the closure of our local one at Altarnun be carried out.
But the police felt that crossing the busy dual-carriageway A30 was too dangerous to allow.
Thanks due to them, but none to the Post Office, who would have us risk our lives, or burn petrol by the ton (as a village, per year) in order to save them a small (undisclosed) sum.
This in the rain and the wind, on what was otherwise very much an indoors sort of day.
From the edge of a wet Bodmin Moor...
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Spent the first part of the day wondering where eldest son is... can't remember whether he has gone to Prague this week or next? Sent him a text message (third son taught me to use predictive text last week, and I'm quite good now).
Rest of the day spent designing the company website with husband.... between taking daughter to outdoor swimming pool - in the rain.
Saw Mama Mia again last night... second time... such good fun.
Wish I was on a Greek island....
Need to get folio ready for exhibition.. I really am rubbish at finishing off work.
Might watch some Olympics on the telly tonight... have done the ironing, and cooked dinner... still not heard from first son... must be in Prague...
Three weeks until school starts... I miss them.. saw three year 9s by the chip shop yesterday... love the way they shout across the road...
Three weeks to get the folio ready...hmm... red wine calling
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6.10 pm. Listening to Eddie Mair and reminded that I was going to add my diary for today. Couldn't add it on Saturday because phone line down since last Wednesday and had no Internet. Felt SO cut off! But BT man has been out today and I am in touch with the world again! Starting Week 4 of the (school) holidays. Scary to think we're over half-way through now. Not exactly looking forward to going back! Tried to mow lawns earlier but rain stopped play again. Haven't walked the dogs properly for a couple of days as a gas-gun is going off at 10 minute intervals, and Minnie (Border Collie) is petrified of bangs ever since her first bonfire night five years ago (night??!! month, more like!) Dogs are telling me it's tea time, so I shall have to feed them in a minute. Have wrecked my diet (again) by eating all sorts of rubbish today! Comfort eating? Probably. Well, that's more than I usually write in my diary at the end of the day, so signing off now. I can't imagine this is of any interest to anyone else, but it's been fascinating reading the others. I write to remind myself how I've used my time, especially in the holidays. Sometimes I think: What on earth have I done these six weeks?, and then I can look back and remind myself. Why do other people do it??
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Saturday 9th August
Woke at ( o'clock and wondered if the strange noise was a result of standing in front of the speakers at the superb Idlewild gig the night before. Realised that it was rain on the tent. 30 years since I last camped or went to a music festival but am enjoying the experience at Belladrum with my 2 teenage daughters. Decide to drive back to Kinross tonight instead of camping for another night since everything is so wet. Manage to get the tent back in the bag and the rain stops. Enjoy listening to more bands in the sun until the girls have had enough. Drive home, getting to torrential rain round Perth, and plan to return to Belladrum next year!
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7 am rose and listened to "Today" while I ate my breakfast of black coffee and chocolate biscuits. News from Georgia was too sad for words. Alexander Litvinenko co-authored a book entitled "Blowing up Russia". It explains much.
9 am went to town to shop. Returned at 11 am. As Saturday is the Sabbath, I don't work. I meditate and pray for the rest of the day.
9 pm I open a bottle of the best beer in the world (Belgian) and listen to The World Service. I sit out at 10 pm but as there have been no moths this year, there is no food for the bats and they don't visit. But the white barn owl silently passes. And, as Samuel Pepys used to write ...so to bed
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This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.
Saturday's diary entry:-
Out for the papers as usual and to get the Lottery. Weather at first bright and sunny until around 10.00, then showers off and on, becoming more persistant and eventually very heavy by evening - good English summer weather!
Down town to do some shopping with (wife) and put a cheque in to the Bank. Back at (home) (youngest son) arrived and is having a busy time at work with his aeroplanes. Later left to go to a party organised by (his girlfriend) and to stay on at the Royal Oak.
Russia has now invaded Georgia, accusing the Georgians of aggression! It has all the fingerprints of Putin, now PM, the President of Russia Medvedev is meerly a puppet.
The Olyympics have been completely sidelined, much to China's chagrin!
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2.30 p.m. and I'm driving with my adult daughter to collect a couple of ex battery hens that I am going to adopt. We've had hens before but the fox always got them but this time I'm ready and I have the Fort Knox of hen houses in my garden.
It's raining but the A27 is clear and we fly down arriving at our allocated time of 3.30.
As instructed, we drive into a field and are met by a young woman with a clipboard. She has my name and confirms that I am taking two hens. At the last moment I change my mind and tell her I'll take three. After all, they might not all live but I don't know why entertaining this thought makes me feel guilty.
'That's fine,' she says, 'if anything happens to one the others will have company.' So that's alright then!
We have to wait our turn and are given leaflets to read.
My daughter is very quiet.
'They'll look awful,' she comments.
I know this.
It's our turn and we drive to a large greenhouse. Jolly, friendly people are in there and so are the chickens. Lots and lots of chickens in a pen. The jolly, friendly people pick three for me and put them into the dog carrier we have brought.
They don't look as bad as I thought. Some feathers missing and floppy, pale combs but they are a beautiful coppery brown and I love them.
A smelly, careful drive home and then the protesting girls are put into their new home.
For a while they are still and silent then they make their first, tentative steps into their run. They have hardly walked before and have never felt grass. They look awkward and I have a lump in my throat.
10.06 p.m. The girls were put to bed hours ago but I can't help myself and, in pyjamas and wellies, I go out and press my ear to the hen house. Nothing but quiet, contented hen sounds. Long may it last!
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At 6.30am the doorbell rang. My husband had had a rapid return from Heathrow - his flight from HK had landed early and the taxi had got him home in about 40 minutes. A record I think! Anyway, I'd double locked the door the night before (security reasons rather than locking him out). The two youngest went tearing downstairs before me and Daddy was swamped. I was promised tea in bed, so I returned upstairs. Our 6 year old then woke up and went downstairs. Tea in bed, a husband back from the latest trip, happy children - equilibrium had returned to our home.
Watched the weather deteriorate late morning while we had coffee, and the children all continued to get more of Daddy's attention.
Mid-afternoon we dropped the 2 older children at a party in the village and went to Longstock to buy some trees for the garden. I've been researching trees for chalky soil and we thought that we'd buy them before we totally lock down on spending money. Our 3 year old fell asleep just before we got to the nursery, but the promise of jumping in puddles ensured not to much grumpiness when we woke her up. The lady at the nursery was very patient and incredibly knowledgable. We all got completely soaked walking around, but we left having bought 5 fabulous specimen trees that will be delivered next week.
An emergency stop at KFC for a very rapid tea for the 3 year old was necessary. I hadn't been to one for 20 years. I don't think we'll be returning.
Picked up the other children from the party. They'd obviously had a whale of a time and were completely soaked - the parents had even had the hairdryer out trying to dry the kids before they went home!
Children had stories from Daddy and were asleep within minutes.
Drinks and supper with husband at home made a much welcomed change from solo eating. Husband fell asleep on the sofa - it must be bedtime somewhere in the world ....
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Saturday. Saw my father for the first time in two and a quarter years. He showed me the pots he had made whilst resident in the psychiatric hospital. They were lovely, but so sad and helpless.
I regret seeing him, not because I don't love him, but because I want to be rid of this sadness. Seeing him has renewed it all again, though it never goes away.
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Today I took my grandchildren to the RAF museum. It was strange to see these little children running about under the huge bombers. I tried to explain to the six year old (the two year old being too young I thought) that these had been used to bring peace to a war torn world nearly 70 years ago. He shrugged and ran off to press the buttons which showed on a screen what the cockpit looked like.
I felt a strange mixture of pride and sadness when we looked at the Spitfire. How could I explain that war is never good but sometimes necessary.
Afterwards we bought a gliders now made of poystyrene and not balsa. They flew them in the garden when we got home while I listened to Russia's conflict with Georgia. Somethings never change.
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ipm diary
Favourite day of the year, Cropredy folk festival. Music starts at noon, so aiming to get there by 11am. Weather dry despite rain forsecast. All set and ready to go, phone rang father had got problem with hot water tank in loft and water pouring out of overflow. Had to help him out.
Two hours later, set off in pouring rain. Arrived in pouring rain, missed half the music. Wondered whether it was worth it!
Managed to see Bob Marley tribute band legend, excellent. Enjoyed rest of evening despite rain. Watched Fairport convention and special guests including Robert Plant. Back to caravan. with mud on most of belongings and rather wet. Better luck next year!!! But so glad we made it this year.
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Planned to visit my mother today. She lives 100 miles away and will be 84 on Tuesday. Set off late because my teenage daughter had accidently deleted the wall paper on her "My Space". My mother greeted me with "You look more outlandish than ever". Apparantly because my hair was spikey and I was wearing a yellow shirt. She gave me a green shirt which was too small for her and we settled down for a cup of tea and details of her plans of how to kill herself when she gets too old. My daughter felt ill and went to bed. Had white wine,which I don't like, instead of the usual red with dinner, but it served to take the edge off the rest of the evening.
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Woke with the same start, and feeling of impending doom that I have experienced for every one of the last 215 days, ever since I was suddenly removed (without warning) from my degree, only 65 days before I was due to graduate... still feel disbelief.
Like a death in the family, only I am still breathing.... Powered by the sheer injustice and randomness of proceedings which don't reflect my abilities, but do reflect the arbitrary power assigned to a solitary practice assessor who has only had 90 minutes of training, and no disability awareness training to equip him to understand students with disabilities. As a Quaker, when the initial fog of misery recedes, I remember to feel quiet gratitude, for life, for two sons who are quietly and bravely battling with systems that seem loaded against us, a zero-sum game, social work roulette.
At 8.a.m. go and sit at my p.c. and sit all day emailing Lords, academics interested in human rights, the E.U,politicians...I am asking them to sign my petition to the prime minister to encourage more disabled social workers, to remove one of the barriers to a more inclusive society, since social workers are one of those interfaces between policy makers and disabled people, at the sharper end of the policies. There aren't many disabled people who are social workers...
Apart from breaks to eat, and the occasional phone call, sit there until the sun has faded over the horizon and Brighton has gone to the pub.
All that emailing, and only three people have signed up to 'disabilitywrongs'!!!! still, tomorrow is another day...only 26 left...to panel day.Go and watch 'House'.
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Only just heard about diary comments while eating meal and listening to PM . Today the only thing I have done is run in and out five,yes five ,times to save my washing form rain(oh the optimism there!) so I have decided I will write about weekend.Rain features there as well!
Saturday... Went reluctantly with already purchased tickets to Edinburgh Book Festival for the 25th anniversary opening session. Reluctantly because of threatening rain and because a friend had just informed me that the session was about Ian Rankin interviewing "mystery" politician.Ian Rankin is a favourite, politicians of all kinds- not.As I embarked on the walk down Princes Street from Waverley Station to Charlotte Square the rain began as if awaiting my arrival and so it was a very disgruntled and sodden me who took my seat to see the mystery solved.I waited as eagerly as you are now I'm sure,to discover that it was Gordon Brown,the P.M. himself.Not sodden.
Even if I did go to High School in Kirkcaldy same time though not same one as him...
Even if he used to be my M.P....
Even if I do feel sympathy for his teenage accident...
Even though I don't like any politicians...
Even though he was trying to sell his book...
Even though I was wet and hungry and he wasn't...
HE WAS AMAZINGLY RELAXED, FUNNY AND ENTERTAINING!!!
I even approved of the subject of his book, which was ordinary people and how they can be quiet,or sometimes not so quiet,heroes in their own way.
On my way home in the afternoon I again set off to trudge up Princes Street and again the rain was awaiting me but this time it was as if the morning had been the rehearsal and now was the big performance! There is no word to describe the degree of wetness but the panic on the faces of the people in the train who thought I might sit next to them and the despair in the face of the last person to board when she saw she would have to sit next to me,say it all.
Was wetness worth it to hear Gordon Brown though? Mmmm... jury's still out, but possibly yes even though he stayed perfectly dry.Who were the heroes that day?
Sunday...Tariq Ali. Any amount of wetness would have been worth it to hear the person who lived so vividly in 1968 talk about it.Learned so much I never knew even though I was there!
And not a drop of rain fell upon me!
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We had a new washing machine delivered today. There was not a lot wrong with the old one, just something wrong with the timer. Yet the repair would have cost over £200, so we replaced it. Such a waste since the old one was not so very old, we bought it at the end of 2000. It is one of the fundamental problem with the capitalist consumer society that such items are scrapped because of a relatively minor fault. I feel bad about it but cannot do much else than comply with it. It?s a lot easier buying consumer items these days of the internet. We selected the machine, another Bosch, from the Sainsbury?s website just 3 days ago and it arrived with us this morning. We had a few minor difficulties with the plumbing but got it going immediately. We had gone about 10 days without a washing machine and how the dirty washing had accumulated in that time!
Our kitchen was piled with laundry as we strived to get it dry. No use putting it outside as was one of the wettest days of the year. It rained continuously from dawn to dusk. It seems to have rained continuously since about mid June! Unfortunately, the Calstock regatta was held this weekend. It could not have been much fun for the competitors. The regatta weekend is also the time for the motorcycle rally when hundreds of bikers descend on Calstock for the weekend and pitch tents in the playing field. They must have stayed in their tents today!
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Don't write the diary till evening, the one I've kept for the last 5 and half months. Two days out of chemo. Feeling grotty, but it's the last one, I hope for ever. Op coming up, then radiotherapy. I need a whole new mindset now to cope with next phase. Rainy day - h'mm - that never really matters now. Saturday involves looking back and forward, rather than just concentrating on Saturday. Thinking takes up lots of time - we go out for a little walk, all I can manage, and I think lots about all the fantastic support and love I've had over the last few months. I think about the months and years to come and know I'm lucky. Can't eat tea, but appetite and taste will return, I know that. Saturday 11th August - another stage on the way to recovery.
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Saturday 9th August rain prevented my run so I exercised inside with a large purple ball, skipping rope and 2kg weights.
After breakfast took Mum and Dad (both nearly 90) to the Farmers' Market. Didn't buy as much as usual as we have plenty of our own vegetables from the allotment at the moment. Always buy a chicken and free range eggs though.
So glad I've got lots to do today as rain makes me depressed. Went to Widnes at about 11.30 to meet some young people who are involved in a project I am leading called Young Voices. These young people have just started an art group in the library. They hadn't done any publicity for it so it was a slow start but eventually we had about 6 children all happily sloshing paint on a long sheet of paper. 2 of them had to leave at 2pm on the dot as they are also involved in the local radio station. Don't tell me young people are idle layabouts or hooligans the ones I know are brilliant and I really love working with them. Mike (husband of nearly 30 years)went to the races with a friend (rather him than me) and in the evening we went out with 2 dear friends to celebrate a birthday. Had a really good Chinese meal in Parkgate. I had to be a bit careful as I had to be up early the next morning as I was leading a service at 9am and 11am in the church I belong to. We were home by about 12midnight I think and it was still raining.
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I spent Saturday morning returning the ear buds for my MP3 player earphones. I had bought some on the net which came the next day but I had chosen the wrong size. Fortunately, the company was only a few miles away in the town that boasts the largest Korean population outside Korea (well certainly inside the UK). Although the shop was not run by Koreans, they changed them without a qualm. Good service still exits.
Next, was washing machine spares in the shape of brushes for the motor. An error message came up on the washing machine display that was unexplained by the User Manual. Fortunately, the net came to the rescue. I put the error message into a well known search engine and up popped a forum with the answer that it meant I had to change the brushes. Luckily for me, the next village has a washing machine spares shop an I was able to get them and fit them the same day.
Having earned my Brownie points, my wife treated me us to an evening of "The Mikado", in a theatre under a railway arch, performed by 13 gay men. Well, it was brilliant, great fun and the most comfortable seats I have sat in an a theatre in London for a long time. It is not on for long but, if you can get tickets, do go and see it at The Union Theatre, Southwark.
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just added marvellous diary entry only to fail the profanity filter - why is this? N
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Written 7pm Saturday 09.08.2008
It's my grandsons O's birthday today so I call him early. He says the campsite in Cornwall is beautiful with sea on three sides but stormy so not sure about the special barbeque with everyone there tonight. Here it's not too bad first thing as I clear up from last night. J came yesterday after his meeting in town. He must be tired as he is not up at the crack of dawn as usual!
We are to catch up on the latest situation on our mother's dementia, teeth, flat etc etc. Most of all, we must decide what to do about paying for the care home. After she broke her hip in hospital last year, her life seemed to be leaving her pretty comatose and with no hope of finishing her days in her own home. The three of us are responsible for her finances and had always thought that the flat she bought after selling the house would cover everything. But we had not expected a credit crunch and the property market at a stand-still. Over the last few weeks viewings have almost stopped altogether. What to do?
People say we should try to let it but it needs doing up if it is to make enough to help pay for the home. J is quite keen to investigate letting but I can see only problems: expenses, too many flats to let around, bad tenants or worse still, none at all. The council might contribute and claim it back when the flat sells - whenever that might be!!! So much to discuss with so little clear information that we end up snapping at each other. J goes off to talk to one of the estate agents while another calls us with a 'silly' offer, some 25% down!! What to do?? Do we accept?? We decide to talk to M who is somewhere in the US at the moment.
J goes of to visit our mother as he has not seen her for some weeks. Nobody knows what to make of her 'awakening' though the people at the home seem to think it is an improvement. Certainly her eyes are open and she has charming, toothless chats in both languages with the carers. It all makes little sense but she has become very sweet natured and is liked by them all! Physically, this once pretty woman is now an astonishing, folded, skeletal creature so we have put some photos in her room of how she was, to remind everyone that this is also who she is. As she cannot leave her bed, her hair has grown and, tied in a top-knot to stop it getting tangled, she has begun to look like the Tartar forbears her family always claimed. Memories of her life in England since the last war have mostly given way to her early life and relatives that are long-gone. J and I start to talk about the piece on Radio 4 about Oliver Sach's mother-in-law and her theories on how to relate to people with dementia. We find that we have come to similar ways and I wished we had known before and been able to avoid many distressing scenes.
Sadly we will never be able to really talk to her again and will have to find ways of paying the fees without her. This is probably a good thing as she would be devastated to think she was to lose everything again!
At last, weary of it all, we talk of what to have for supper and how to spend the evening together as J goes home tomorrow.
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Diary for Saturday 9th August
Repacked daughters suitcase and down to town, where I bought the food shopping in the market before going to the gym for circuit. Worked hard. Zoomed home to find daughter and three friends playing on the Wii while waiting for my return. Set off for Manchester airport in pouring rain and poor visibility to drop them all off for 10 days in Ibiza. Got there really early but they seemed quite happy. Gave them all a hug and turned round and came home. The rain stopped just as I turned into our road. Grrh. Pottered, found a recipe for roast lamb on BBC Good Food site, went to Tesco's for ingredients, how glad I am to live in an urban area. I'd hate the country! Put the lamb into marinade, made salad and homemade burgers for husband and I, watched a badly cut Olympics opening ceremony and Foyles War without falling asleep (a miracle) and got a text from daughter before bed to say they'd arrived safely.
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Returned home early Saturday morning after a night at Le Moulin a lovely intimate restaurant in wheathampstead and drinks with friends.
Decided not to make the usual 80 mile trip to visit Nan. I'll go next week.
Battered and bruised by the housing market and simultaneous credit crunch, I've sold my house and secretly relieved that I withrew from my purchase. I'm trying to make the unfamiliar rented property seem like home. I do the laundary, wash the sofa covers and put some pictures up. This place is nothing like my character cottage which I miss.
I season a chicken breast and leg of lamb I bought from the butcher for £20! for saturday dinner and sunday lunch and as I do this I listen to an interview with yolande brown on choice FM. What a fantastic talent! I'd love to see her next week but other commitments won't permit.
I spend the evening watching the TV and drinking a glass of wine. At the back of my mind I wonder what would have happened if I had been made redundant last week like some of my colleagues.
When will things improve?
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I've just taken a sleeping tablet. The first time iI've asked for them n my life. It's 9 pm and I've been awake since 3am. Another 30 minutes and I will have oblivion.
This morning in the early hours I was wide awake and crying. Very quietly. My son is in Afghanistan and the tears are there. My husband by my side, his arms around me, is asleep. Soon he might wake up. He is tired but not as tired of me as I am. I'd like to rip off my head.
Every night I am awake.
I cry at inopportune moments. In public, to songs that set me off, with gentle friends that squeeze my hand, to the scary moments after I hear about an attack, a death.
I have mouth ulcers. My tongue is red raw sore. It's hard to speak or eat. I am a ball of worry, keep thinking of all the other mothers like me, all the wars before this stupid one; the families, here and in Afghanistan, in Iraq, the people who don't want to be involved and are forced.
My son signed on the dotted line. His life is not his own anymore but he has skills as a medic, that have saved lives and been by the side of some who have died
He's been very brave, much more so than me and none of them believe they should be there.
It goes around and around. I hold down a professional job. To speak to me you wouldn't know how distressed I am. Really, I hide it well but how alert I am to news, passing a newspaper, hearing the radio, I am all edges. Trying to keep a grip and in it's in the small hours, without a sleeping tablet running through that I go imagining the men who come to tell you what you dread to hear. The madness of unwanted thoughts.
Today, I have been to the beach, thrown pebbles, got drenched in rain, licked an ice cream, bought bread and milk and cheese.
Felt the sun on my face and imagined this twin universe, where he is, my love for him and worry. At 50 degrees heat they have to drink 11 litres of water-a-day but it's not enough, so they have to have warm IV fluids because there are no fridges , no food but Spam and noodles, no showers, beds under flimsy parachute silk, camel spiders running across desert, snakes, scorpions, beautiful poppies and thin, thin children who run after them for presents.
I sent a box to him with bubbles and toys and a tiara. For a tiara to Afghanistan I was nominated as the mother who sent the most useless present but it wasn't. When a little boy came in with severe burns, his six-year-old sister was there and she left with a paste tiara on and blowing bubbles. I like to keep that thought in my head as the tablet works its magic.
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Saturday 9th August 2008 was my 60th birthday. I had told my family and friends that I didn't want to celebrate and didn't want any presents. The number didn't matter to me: it was irrelevant. Since my husband's accident at the end of May last year, life has been very hard and I could see no reason to rejoice in the passing of a miserable year. My husband has brain damage and has undergone personality change.
I decided to do something constructive and so, after checking the ponies and cattle, (Highland Ponies and Highland Cattle), started to do a late "spring cleaning" by going through cupboards and throwing out the accumulation of twenty years of living here on the farm. I found letters, papers and clothes which brought back fond memories, which distracted me from the job in hand. I packed eight bin bags full of bed linen, clothes and knick-knacks, ready to be delivered to a charity shop.
I was so engrossed in my task that I forgot to have lunch. The first interruption was a delivery of a bouquet of flowers from my husband, with whom I can no longer live. The second was the arrival of my daughter, my son-in-law and my nine year old twin grand-children. Regardless of what I had said, they had brought me a much wished for Satnav system. (I am hopeless at directions and navigation).
My daughter poured me a celebratory glass of wine and I thought they would leave after that and wondered how I would pass the rest of the day, alone.
Then arrived the best neighbour in the world, who has been here for me when there has been any emergency, with his wife and teenage twins. They were followed by another neighbour and his son. They all brought me cards and presents: thoughtful presents, such as beautiful mugs with drawings of Highland Cattle, a bottle of good whisky and then another bouquet of flowers arrived.
My daughter had brought beer, wine, dips, crisps and finger food. The afternoon and evening passed quickly, probably aided by the bottles of champagne which had been in the fridge since Christmas.
It was a lovely surprise party, organised by my daughter, and I did enjoy the birthday I hadn't wanted to celebrate.
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Saturday 9th August. Alarm went off at 6.30am. A full day lies ahead. Usually I ride first thing and then drive 25 miles to be in my Sherborne shop all day but today is different so I mucked out Peejay, fed him and told him to go back to sleep. A similar message was relayed to my husband. Instead of saddling up I drove to Les's idyllic farmhouse nestling in a valley outside Bridport. It was his 80th birthday today and we knew he'd love a visit from hounds. And he did! He knew nothing about the visit until John, the huntsman, blew his hunting horn outside his bedroom window and when the old boy looked out there were 20 or so of us and 6 couple of hounds. He was absolutely thrilled and we stood in the pouring rain with a glass of champagne and sang Happy Birthday. A magical moment. Back home. Rode Peejay in the still pouring rain. He hates the rain in his ears. Rode past Ammerham and the marquee for this afternoon's wedding. Wished I could keep all my wet weather gear on for the festivities rather than have to slap up big-time. Felt mean turning out Peej in the rain but it's not cold. Got into my finery for the wedding and was pleased with the result but very hacked off at the wind and rain hooley going on outside. An almighty marital ensued on our way to Thorncombe church with me grumbling that the car hadn't been parked in the right place, the hedge hadn't been cut and was too drippy (with rain). And finally as we got out of the car at the church T put up the umbrella with a whoosh which sent a shower all over my silk top. Bugger. And then he walked too fast/too slowly and the umbrella wasn't over me. At least it made me laugh and the photographer, a friend, hopefully got a jolly pic of me grinning from ear to ear in a howling gale. The service was lovely and C and A looked so happy. The wedding format was perfect. Service at 4.30 followed by a reception in the still-standing marquee at C's home, then the speeches (Edward and Andrew's were absolutely brilliant) and then dinner. Half way through dinner the pipes and drums of the Ghurkas came in. It was such a privilege and just the most wonderful moment. We knew some people and met some new people, I dragged T reluctantly to the dance floor - so what's new - and got home at about 10.30. Perfect. Please god that A and all his Ghurka regiment come home safely from their second tour of Afghanistan in two weeks' time. What a full and fabulous day despite the bloody awful weather.
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Would have liked to have posted my diary entry for Saturday, but it was rejected by the profanity filter. Unfortunately there is no way for me to tell which of the (completely inoffensive) words in my diary entry was/were judged to be profane, so I have given up.
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O woke us up at 7. Went into his room to wish him happy birthday...1 today! Put toy in his cot so he could play with it and so we could go back to sleep....went back into O's room at 7:05.
Went downstairs and made tea for D and mother who was staying with us. Only 7:30 and am getting wound up already about the day ahead. I know I shouldn't get stressed about everything but someone has to so the rest of the guests have a good time.
Sis and other half turn up at 10:30, not ready for them yet but they are happy to make themselves coffee and eat biscuits...love sis!
D had gone to pick up his mother with O and so when they return we spend a happy while opening pressies and looking at cards.
Thank goodness for lunch, it gives me the excuse of being in the kitchen with the radio on and the open bottle of wine!
Even though it's raining we go for a walk once O has woken up. Get very wet but make it to the refectory for tea just as the heavens open. There is something wonderful, magical even, about sitting in the dry drinking English Breakfast and watching it throw it down outside.
Got home in time for O's tea and said goodbye to the family....bliss. I love them all dearly but a miss the quiet of just the 3 of us.
Fish and chips for supper and then bed at 9:30. What a wonderful day.
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I TOLD you I was ill...
I am feeling slightly better today; I can breathe more easily and don?t feel so rubbish. I managed to get some sleep. Ironically the first night I have slept with P since I fell ill, he had a dreadful night and kept me awake. On pretext of getting up/taking my pill/needing a wee, I left the bed and went into ?Cain?s room?. I had a good two hours, with no interruptions or anything.
Poor P. I don?t think he had an especially good birthday. He had had his test drives on Friday ? that I think he enjoyed, despite the grumpiness ? and Cain came for the day. I was feeling rubbish and tearful still, though not as much as Friday ? I cried for about 2 hours from sheer exhaustion and generally feeling low.
He did enjoy his lobster thought. Probably what caused his insomnia ? he had this HUGE one, but he didn?t offer anyone a mouthful. Mt. was away for dinner; what?s new?
Mt. was working all day, he left before P got up. He went to London with his school and spent the day at the National Gallery. He went to the Renaissance painters/ings, Uccello in particular. They are very colourful and phantasmagorical. He enjoyed them ? the lives of the saints appeal to him. I find it hard to understand all the symbolism, I am not erudite enough; I also can?t see the detail, and my eyesight isn?t up to it. I prefer more modern stuff, the Reformation, pre-Impressionist. I love Gentileschi, for example. He paints such lovely textures, almost tangible fabrics. I?m a bit eclectic in my likes, all over the place stylistically and periods.
It is strange to think that today five years ago, P was in hospital awaiting a very long operation to save his life. The cancerous cells in his prostate was just about to burst out and kill him. It was a close call, he is never going to be 100% but certainly now has a chance of longterm survival. He will also never be taken off the list for testing and all that...
Five years ago last week, Philip told us about his pregnant ex-girlfriend. Poor Ph. On the rebound from that appalling girl, gets this one preggers. P was MORTIFIED. I didn?t know what to say or do. I was thrilled at the idea of a grandchild, but P was so anti, that I thought I would never see it. Things have worked out so well in the circumstances. We are devoted to little Cain, his mum is not taking Ph. to the cleaners... Life is good.
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Sat 9th August (belated, now 12th)
I usually write 'forget what did' but have made a special effort for PM. Also a good exercise for the old memory cells...
I got up at 8.30am, the dog nudging me, (Walk?) The cat was on his dignity and hissed in derision; "Doesn't he know even with his limited brain power it's the weekend?" I made a resolution to have stern words later about the obligations of sharing my bed and the golden rule - no arguing - but getting downstairs took all my energy for now, too much red wine the night before. I made coffee and fed the zoo, listening to the remains of Today. The Remains of the Day? Hell, I have just got up!
Pouring with rain, typically August weather. Good thing I had two weeks of sun in Crete in June, otherwise I would be feeling very SAD.
Took dog for walk, usual route, through the park so I can pick up his doings out of sight. I have an aversion to picking up in full view, dunno why, maybe too much toilet training as a kid. I deposited the doings in the council bin and prayed he wouldn't do more as we walked through town. I understand the new regime re plastic bags in supermarkets but it leaves me painfully short of the said bags for dog doings. Wondered if the impact would be more dog poo left.
Home by 10am and did a bit of housework, bit being the operative word.
Logged on and found my usual weekly email from an old school friend. We knew each other at primary school and later, much later, re-established our friendship through Friends Reunited. Funny, we weren't actually very friendly at school. I guess we cling together as survivors of the 'never had it so good' generation. Though being at school at the time, I didn't realise we were.
Now we are the greatest friends and I look forward to the weekly email. Spent an hour relaying my week. It took that long! Wow, something must be picking up. We began as the school bus pass generation and are now the bus pass generation. Though I haven't yet admitted I am. Funny, at 13 I paid full fare to pretend I was 14 and now at 60 I pay full fare to pretend I am 59. Well, I would if I caught a bus. Hooray for my Mercedes Kompressor. Sod my footprint.
Missed lunch so I could indulge later.
Daughter rang from Canada where she is holidaying. Envious. I was there a month ago staying with second son, where she is now. Wondered briefly why we couldn't have all gone together.
Took dog another walk.
Opened a bottle of Merlot on return.
Still raining.
When it rains my satellite refuses to work so couldn't watch telly. No loss, only switched on to see news of the Olympics. Prefer Radio 4 anyway.
Had Mexican for supper with salad, got my 5 veg in.
Carried on reading the bio of Vita Sackville West. Interesting woman!
Cat on bed, dog on rug, where I came in. Goodie! Archers Omnibus tomorrow, an excuse for a lie in - sorry dog.
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12.05am Arrived at Perth Racecourse after 6 hour drive from York with 18 year old son and his two event horses.
12.45am Horses bedded down and in bed.
8.00am Woke, fed horses and ourselves
9.00am Started to plait up ready for dressage. Usually my wife?s job but she?s not come with us this time. You wouldn?t believe what a mess two men could make of a simple plaiting job!
11.30am Loaded horses and went to Scone Palace grounds for the competition. I?m not a ?horsey? type and can?t really afford this sport but you do end up in some great places.
2.00pm Went into arena for his first competition. Only had both these horses for two weeks so not expecting much ? didn?t get it either score was 49 ? wanted about 30!
3.00pm Try again with the other new horse ? this was even worse with a score of over 50. Why didn?t he take up darts or snooker so I could be in the warm and dry with a drink in my hand while I watch him?
4.00pm Had a sausage sandwich and took the horses back to the stable while he walked the cross country course ready for Sunday.
6.30pm Finally collapsed with a book and bottle of wine while son chatted up a female friend in a neighbouring lorry.
10.30pm Went to bed and listened to the rain all night.
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My family arrives for a visit and I feel uneasy. Why? There is no real relationship. I think how glorious it must be to see people who are at least a bit like you are - your clan - people who share values, eat the same food, have similar prejudices even, - who respond to you. I am exhausted when they have gone and have to de-contaminate.
But I invite them ! - we have to be related to someone, I think. I've struggled with this for years and no one from a broadly "normal" family can understand.
That's why I keep a diary. It's a good 'friend' and has been since I was 12. Most of it is a bit dismal and records unexciting things like the weather and prices. But there are some good outbreaks of action, learning to sail or having an article published.
I cry when the family have gone. A couple of years ago, I twice ask them for help but the refusal made life worse. It was strange to be experiencing a severe depression for a very long time and it not being even noticed or acknowleged by relatives.
So now I am as self sufficient as I can be. I keep it very light and it works. They've had a good visit and I make a nice party for them. But I am very glad they have gone. I do it every August and December.
Then I read some of the latest literature for the next book group - I don't say much now as most of the rest of the group are not like me.
Maybe I am born outsider. I try to relate and to be cheery but I have become quieter over the years. I've been let down quite a lot and a couple of close friends have died young. Luckily, I do like my own company. I make an effort not to be too introspective - the trouble is that I quite like it. I like to re-read my diaries. Maybe it makes me feel I have existed!
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To those failing the Profanity Filter: I got 'done' at the weekend, far as I can tell, for talking about riding a horse.
To those accused of Illegal HTML, you have probably put in an ampersand .. you know, the squiggle that means 'and .. which you can only get to appear if you type in - er - the html! (I can never remember how it goes, so I now drink G+T on the Beach instead.)
To DIY ... I headbanged in black, boogied in my biker books, and my biker chum laughed his head off to see me. I can do 'rock'... I loved metal long before I learned to love R+B!
To Rosepoet ... have you thought of suggesting it as a story to iPM? Or even for PM, now that the news well has run dry till Parliament returns? Go for it! Send that email!
F xx
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Saturday 9th August. 07:00 Woke early with sense of joyous anticipation. The house hasn't felt right all week as we've been two down. Today, my husband is coming home after a business trip and Number 1 son is expected back from a group activity holiday. Who will bring the most washing I wonder?
Husband arrives first - greeted with screams from Number 2 and Number 3. Thank the lord he slept on the plane and day won't be a complete write off. A very tired 10yr old arrives next with a bag of smelly damp clothes. Apparently the holiday was "well good" (highest form of praise in vocabulary) and he didn't go to sleep before 1:30 any night. That'll explain the bad mood then..
14:00 - All five of us went to see Mamma Mia. Number 1 sleeps through it. Came out wishing real life was like a musical. Wouldn't it be great if when you started singing, others would join in with choreographed dance routines?
17:00 Last minute dash to furniture shop to buy a new double bed. Boys have broken current one by pretending it is a trampoline and the mattress dips in the middle. Against every instinct we caved into pressure and have now bought a real trampoline but too late to prevent the demise of the divan.
10:00 Jet lagged husband snoozing in the dip of the mattress. My side is at a 45 degree angle. New bed coming in 4-6 weeks. Oh dear.
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The morning dawned bright, clear and calm. So - the BBC weather centre was wrong after all - a perfect day for a barbecue with 30 guests!
First, however, a wedding cake to be delivered to the New Forest . Pah - a mere formality of a 50 mile round trip. With nerve-wracking cattle grids strategically located en-route to threaten seismic disaster to the cake decorations. However, a successful delivery is achieved, and ho! to Salisbury to collect last-minute supplies for the evenings festivities. Grumbling up the A36 at A-pproximately 36 mph, then FREEDOM - the dual carriageway section looms.....with the last 2 miles chock-a-block as usual and down to walking pace. Curses!
Finally complete frantic circuits of Tesco superstore, desperately seeking £40 worth of goods to qualify for my £4-off voucher - of course I need more halloumi!!
Hmm....getting a bit grey and windy. Glad we got the marquees up last night!
3pm. Steady rain will not dampen our resolve. It Is Still On. Two tall sons and one Son-in-Law are systematically placing chairs and tables, and replacing tent pegs and side curtain rings, and bailing water out of the folds in the barbecue awning. Are We Downhearted? Of course not!
Fire up the barbecue as promised at 5pm. and the stiff wind creates an effect similar to a Bessemer converter. My eyebrows crinkle and my forehead lobsterises.The lads are channeling the spirits of Drake and Raleigh, hauling on topsheets, reeling in the mainbrace and generally preventing the tents from becoming an air traffic hazard over the Army Air Corps Centre. She Who Must Be Obeyed and daughter ferry vast quantities of food into the summer house, anticipating the arrival of rather more people than I recall inviting.
7pm. The wind is gusting to 30mph, the rain is lashing down - or rather across - and my back is soaking and cold, while my front is medium to well-done. I feel like a cross between Ellen MacArthur and Ainsley Harriott. I bet the crew of the Cutty Sark never tried to cook over open charcoal while rounding the Horn.....
9pm. The guests - bless 'em - are Making The Best Of It, fortified by copious quantities of the finest wines that £3.99 can buy, and mostly only staying on because they cannot find the gate any more, due in some part to the appalling visibility, but also the effects of unrestricted alcohol intake.
9.30pm. I abandon the barbecue at last. As a parting gesture, the awning deposits half a litre of cold rainwater down the back of my neck as I make my way to the main tent.
The guests politely thank us for our efforts, pronouncing the evening "unforgettable", only moments before their collective nerve breaks and they finally seek refuge in the house.
The wind rips a few more velcro ties off the gazebo over the decking, a tent peg rips out of the soaked lawn and, emulating some of the guests, its legs buckle and give way, lurching like a giraffe succumbing to an anaesthetic dart.
The wind makes the guy ropes of the marquee drone unmusically.
A lone beefburger blackens over the dying embers.
Another Pimms, anyone?
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Heard about blog re 9th August diary and felt I needed to share my entry. Woke at 5am and cried my eyes out. This morning I should have woken up in my idylic retirement home in Cumbria but some insensitive person buying my house let us down with his paperwork and lack of communication. How can this be justified as lawful. Both myself and husband are sitting like wet rags, boxes all packed ready to go, no food in house but no where to go. I ask myself is it worth it. We are praying that this will go forward another day but hopes are failing. I dont want to go to bed tonight, I dont want to eat, I dont want to do anything. Goodnight diary I wont be writing anymore.
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Stewart Munro emailed iPM.
"Get up at 6.30 AM (5.30 AM UK time) and check out of Berlin hotel. Walk to Zoo Station trundling our suit case.
On the way we pass the cafe where we have been having breakfast all week and the owner gives us a wave. At Zoo, we only have to wait 2 minutes for a bus, which gets us to Tegel Airport in less than 20 minutes : Painless.
We've already checked in and printed our boarding passes, but we can't drop our bag off until two hours before the flight. Frustrating, but at least we are at the front of the queue for a change.
As more people turn up to wait, I enjoy marshalling them. When we get on the plane, we seem to be in BA Executive Club children's ghetto. Very annoying little boy in front of us keeps staring at my son.
On my wife's advice, I try to ignore him and knock back free Champagne to stay calm. We land on time and take tube and bus home. A bit shocked by the cool wet weather. Definitely doesn't feel like August.
I rush around doing the laundry and food shopping. On the way back from Waitrose, I pass a lady and two little girls selling home grown vegetables and can't resist buying a bag load.
6.30 PM head off by car to Berkhamsted for dinner with friends. As predicted, they are barbecuing despite the weather. Very relaxing evening with good food and conversation lubricated by more Champagne followed by red Burgundy. In bed by Midnight."
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Diary Entry for Saturday, 9th August
Up early, around 6.30, due to anxiety overload. Eight guests arriving for dinner tonight and the house is a tip, though most of the shopping is done. Not sure which is bothering me most, the dinner party or the lack of a job after this month. It is surreal. I had to phone the building society yesterday to tell them we can't pay the mortgage next month. They were very nice and suggested a payment holiday. Haven't had a holiday for two years, so that will be lovely, although I don't think it involves any foreign travel or cocktails by the pool. How can a commercial property solicitor, who was in huge demand a little over a year ago, now be completely unwanted? My musings during the night ended with husband and I on opposite ends of Deansgate selling the Big Issue and rifling through bins.
Spent all day chopping veg and stuff and cooking fishpie, then poaching peaches in muscat. Kept looking at the rain, which relentlessly rained and remembered we had hoped to entertain our guests on the balcony where they could all lounge in the evening sun, sipping Pimms and smelling the lillies. Ah well, the plus side is, with the sun not shining, they won't see how steaky the windows are. The downside is, they will see the red wine stains on the carpet from the last party.
Husband broke the handle on the downstairs loo, so went to nearest DIY store. Husband is not a DIY person really. He came back with a handle, but had opened the packet in the car and various pieces were scattered in the footwell and under the seat. Couldn't mend it. We had to leave the top of the cistern off and tie some string around the plunger thingy.
All guests assembled by 8pm, bearing gifts of flowers and chocs. Self went back into kitchen fairly soon to cope with starters. When I went back out to get a re-fill of Pimms, husband was already getting a bit excitable, so decided we had better eat fairly soon. Think meal went well, everyone said they enjoyed it, but they would, wouldn't they. All the guests coped with the string loo flusher too. By the time I could finally sit and relax, the first guests (with the youngest children) were making moves to go.
In bed by 1pm, started to worry about paying bills and wondered what other job I could do.
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Saturday 9th August
Thank goodness for hot water and baths.
This is the only way to start the days at the Edinburgh Festival Craft and Design Fair. Outside, in little wooden stalls for 21 days. Come rain or shine. And we have had so much rain since Wednesday. I wake up slowly in the bath and try to gauge what the day?s weather will be before dressing ? always a difficult one.
Pack the day?s float, layers of clothing, brolly, plastic bags, thermos flask, orders I worked on last night, something for lunch, or whatever it is I eat when I have the chance, grab the £1.10p for the bus and am out of my temporary accommodation at just after 8am.
Buses aren?t as frequent on Saturdays and I hop on the first that will take me to Princes Street, and hoof the length of it at full tilt. Signs of the night?s revelry still apparent and the beggars perched on cardboard, and the Big Issue sellers add to the full city flavour.
The Book Festival hasn?t kicked in yet , and the weather has been so miserable that visitors to any outdoor venue are very thin on the ground and morale within the fair is wobbly. It has been running for 25 years, this is the first really wet week we can remember for a long time.
I set up my stand, make a cup of good strong coffee with my little filter and have something to eat, and over the course of the next few hours the fair comes to life as everyone concentrates on the job of being ready for what we hope is a busy Saturday. Over 100 makers, artists and designers commit to this event. It is good fun but very hard work. Open at 11am and all set, but the day turns out to be disappointing for me, hard work and very few sales. Heavy rain showers mean the puddle behind my stand appears again and I straddle it carefully; it?s amazing how often I drop something when the puddle is there. Lots of really interesting and interested folk come by though. Someone said I was a feature of the Fair! I remain cheerful and optimistic ? you gotta be in this game, and the heavens open just before we pack up which makes it all a bit tricky. It takes longer than usual and I don?t get away till 7pm. I overtake dawdling visitors along Princes Street to try and catch the few early evening bus options, weaving in and out, saying ?excuse me? in the few languages I know, dodging umbrellas and large visitors in huge plastic rain capes printed with the Saltire or sponsoring bank logos. They look ridiculous. But dry.
I hate umbrellas. Correction, I hate umbrella users. They seem to be unaware of their spacial impact on other people, especially those of us who are tall. I weave through them with hands held like blinkers, for they verily poke the eyes of us at this height. And don?t get me started on people who use golfing umbrellas in crowded city spaces??
I run (uphill) for a bus that does not go as far as my destination but decide to take it anyway as l?ll get as wet waiting for another bus as walking the extra mile and the exercise is good for standing-all-day legs. Actually the walking bit is wetter by far.
As I walk I muse on how I am beginning to get back into the city again, in spite of the rain. What?s really bugging me is Tracey Emin demanded the removal of the display cabinet which featured my work at the Gallery of Modern Art Shop. Actually it was in the corridor outside the shop. It is a great boost to have our National Gallery support Scottish makers and , OK , visitors would have seen my work before hers, but hey, she has all the rooms in the gallery and it was a really big deal for me. My work is now in the shop in a small cabinet and may be moved across to the Dean Building. The cabinet has been destroyed. I feel everything from rage to wanting to laugh at the absurdity of ego and art. Hers? Or mine? Where?s the sisterhood now?
There is a comraderie between those of us who work during the Festival as we can talk about the visitors and our experiences with them. Taxi drivers are, of course, the best craic on this subject and I wonder when I?ll get a chance to slip in an ? I had that Tracey Emin demand my work was moved? the next time I give in to exhaustion and get a taxi.
There?s meal on offer when I eventually get back ? hurrah - and a bottle of wine has been opened. I peel off the wet clothes, try and hang them about to dry before tomorrow?s jollity, and end the day in a hot bath, again. Thank goodness for hot water. Very tired trying to write this in bed. Sleep well Tracey.
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It's Saturday and am struggling with the benefits of this new ? and deliberately chosen ? lifestyle, 'downshifting' from a high speed career, to something more measured, balanced and real. Said downshift has brought with it many unexpected, though not unwanted, hours of liberty but old self is currently suffering from a rather paralysing bout of disquiet with new arrangement. After breakfasting with the live in lover and our Friday night guest, with whom we had enjoyed VTs al fresco til 4am, I bade farewell to the boys as they headed to the coast. Bored and flummoxed by the weather, I paced the flat while rain poured restlessly down.
Saturday afternoon had me defying the wet in wellies and straw hat, climbing elder tree and reaching into thorny wilderness of derelict neighbouring property to scrump for berries. On the stove top these fruits were soon transformed to a frothy, molten syrup, so sweet it set my teeth on edge. Was nonetheless proud that such home-made 'science' amounted to first ever jars of jam and wondered if earth motherhood is an inevitable consequence of 'career' woman's change of course.
When break finally came in the rain, pulled on trainers and went for a run, relieved to escape domestic confines. The park was hushed, damp, almost autumnal, apart from the dry hermetic worlds beneath the giant Turkey Oaks. Half way round the circuit, downpour began again. Even the ducks waddled mournfully in the gloom. A few scattered dog walkers peered curiously into my face as I paced the quiet tarmac. Under influence of current Olympic lexicon , my internal vanity show reel projected lithe and strident images of gutsy self running in all weathers. Spurred onwards, I ran further than ever before. As I rounded corner by phone box, a car horn honked; a man smiled at me from his window and comforted his baby. The few final steps to front door and a girl stares from the bus stop. Return home, glance in mirror - stunned discovery that black eye-liner's reaction to onset of rain has rendered me not dissimilar to an Alice Cooper / Johnny Depp in Sweeney Todd hybrid. Collapse on carpet in squeals of laughter.
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Woke early for a weekend and could not return to sleep, confirming my childhood suspicion that it is a nonsense to be expected to go to sleep when you're awake and wake up when you're asleep. Nevertheless, a little dozing, a little laziness and a cuddle somehow mean it's suddenly nine o'clock and I have to get up, wash, shave have breakfast and drive into Maidstone for a ten o'clock haircut.
When I get there, P is doing something technical involving chemicals and tinfoil. I had thought that ten o'clock might be his first appointment of the day. When I suggest this to him he says, in a hurt tone: "I've been here since half past eight." That's me told. A quick visit to buy razor blades follows before heading home to a lukewarm cup of tea: clearly I had taken too long.
We have been in the new house for a week, now and my beloved's* Decree Absolute has arrived. We took to the bedroom for some time and I decided that sex is very nice. Has it really taken me this long to work it out? Perhaps I'd just forgotten. But the pleasure of two lovers joining in physical union is truly something special.
Very happy and very hungry we have a late lunch of toasted cheese and chutney sandwiches with a little greenery for good measure, followed by tea and chocolate. We then get on with assembling flat-packed bookcases for the study before rushing off to the tip (or Household Waste Recycling Centre) to get rid of a carload of cardboard boxes. It is raining and, unfortunately, the boxes are becoming soggy, waiting to go into the car. It makes then easier to pack, though.
Back for a quick wash and brush-up before driving up the road (it is still too rainy to walk) for dinner with Mother and Father. Fizzy wine is opened in celebration of the new house. Creme brulee is eaten in celebration of Mother's new blowtorch.
And so home to bed: tired but still very happy.
*Obviously I don't actually refer to my beloved as "my beloved" in my diary: that would be silly, as well as a little impersonal. Strangely, though her initial is considered A Bad Thing by the profanity filter.
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Here is my diary entry for Saturday, August 9th, 2008:
I left home at about 10 o?clock, walked to Finchley Central Tube station in the sunshine, and caught a Bank train fairly quickly. But the morning at Guildhall Library proved fruitless. I wasn?t able to trace my London great-great-great-granddad?s name in the microfilm of early nineteenth century Whitechapel ratepayers, but better luck came after lunch. A library assistant suggested searching for him in the Times Digital Archive of nineteenth century newspapers, and amazingly, the program immediately turned up some eight references to him. The first couple I read showed he?d been made a bankrupt, and the reason for this became clear when two others revealed that his tallow chandler?s business in Spicer Street had caught fire and burned to the ground in the early morning of Friday, February 6th, 1824. Stored barrels of wax, boxes of candles and coals to the value of £10,000 ? which is the equivalent today of about £500,000 -- helped create the ghastly inferno, and my poor relative only just escaped having the building collapse on his head when he ran from his counting house with what ledgers and papers he could grab bundled under his arms. Few people have to face such complete and instant ruin, especially with a sixth child on the way, and I returned home feeling humbled by his experience. Later I worked out why the morning had proved so unfruitful: Spicer Street (now Buxton Street), which was then in the suburbs and led to an open expanse of farmland, is in Bethnal Green, not Whitechapel, parish. And so to bed, but without a candle.
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Apologies to people having difficulties posting. We should have small improvements at first & much larger improvements later on.
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Saturday 9 August
The day started at 1 minute past midnight with a text message from our son, David who was on holiday in Georgia with his wife and their 2 girls aged 9 and 11- we are in Svaneti region 200km NE of Zugdidi. Do you know the situation? Which towns are being bombed?- It was poignant. I got onto the BBC news on the internet and opened up a world atlas. Phoned a friend Beccy. She got onto the internet too. Between us we pieced together where Davy was. John was on Benjy's (our son) stag weekend canoeing on a river in Wales. I hesitated to tell him. At this moment Davy and co are safe high in the mountains close to the Russian border, but luckily too mountainous for a road through. Georgia is only a small country the size of Ireland. I phoned the British embassy in Tblisi the capital, and spoke to a really lovely girl from Belfast. She seemed quite laid back about the situation. I gave her Davy's mobile number. There are very few British nationals in Georgia. - Don't worry, he will be able to get out via the port of Poti - she said. At this point Beccy phoned on the land line - Poti has just been bombed - she informed me - Apparently Poti has just been bombed - I told the nice Belfast girl. - Oh that's probably CNN being dramatic - she said - No - I replied - It was Reuters - I then spent hours trying to register Davy and his family and their location online with the FCO. It was tricky because I didn't have his passport details. In the end I made them up, just to get the form accepted, but I did explain that I was his mother and gave my details. At 2.30am I phoned the nice Belfast girl again, - Have you had confirmation on the bombing of Poti? - No
All the while I was texting Davy. I went to bed at 3am and was woken by Davy on the phone at 8am. He sounded good. He is in the village of Mestia, - There is a park here. Children are sliding down a slide. Everything is normal and yet 100km from here there is fighting. - He told me that he had spoken to the embassy, - I,ve just been talking to your Mum, - she said. She advised staying where they were or trying to get to Tblisi. David pointed out that it was 11 hours to Tblisi and 8 hours to the Turkish border, also I had heard news that claimed the roads to Tblisi were closed and there was bombing on the outskirts. I searched for news all morning. Managed to get BBC 24 hour news on our new digital TV. All points of interest I sent by text to Davy. I couldn't ring his phone for some reason. The Russians moved southwards attacking a military base north of Tblisi, missing the base and hitting a block of flats causing panic. The Georgians were fighting back with intent. Beccy gave me news of Russian landings by ship in Ochamchire in Abkhazia. They bombed a Georgian stronghold at Kadori Gorge. This is nearer to Davy. I have never sent so many texts in my life! Davy has met a really nice girl who speaks good English. They are staying with her and she is trying to mend her sattelite TV to get the BBC. I sent a text saying that my instinct was that they should try and get to Turkey ASAP. He sent a text back saying that at least they were with a lovely person who would help to get transport. Meanwhile I have been in touch with John and kept him up to date and Sharon(daughter) who is in hospital after a car accident in Ireland and Simon(son) in Spain was shocked. He hadn't heard the news. He has been so stressed doing up an old cottage for his young family. - Now I have got something really to worry about. - he said. I felt gut filling fear for David, his wife and the children. I pictured them, their hopeful, optimistic faces full of honest caring love.
The situation in Georgia is escalating. Like Lebanon it has become the focus of the frustrations of the balance of power between East and West.
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Saturday 9 August
As soon as I got on the train back to London I burst into tears. I just couldn't stop. Then I realised it was three and a half years to the day since Kate was killed... which only made it worse. The more I tried to stifle my sobs the crazier I looked. The guy across the aisle was reading a book about Chinese medicine and had the enormous decency and self control not only to stay put but not to stare. I've always thought there was something in Chinese medicine. I played lots of computer games and did no work whatsoever, which was very statisfying. Later I had some pink fizzy wine to celebrate nothing at all as there is, and will never be again, anything to celebrate. I also watched two bad films and lots of Olympics. The lovely emptiness of it all!
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Yet another cloudy and rainy day, one week into my retirement. We sat down this afternoon to finalise the readings and service arrangements for our wedding. Because we are 61 and 58 and because we have both been married before, many suggested selections are inappropriate, e.g. the begetting of children, even phrases like ?throughout our whole lives together? give mortality too much air space. But we found a reading that we both liked, improbably via Wandsworth Council?s website and written by somebody named Oriah, Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder. Further googling reveals this person to be a present day Californian and a hit on Oprah. Enough ingredients to be running a mile and it feels a little like another Desiderata but there is an emphasis on being a patient and tolerant person ? ?I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments?.
As prerequisites for a marriage these struck true, so we are having it. Just have to check that Rob is OK about reading it.
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(I've decided to post in installments, to see if I can work out what the profanity filter is rejecting)
Saturday 9.8.8 - Part I
21.26. Weeeellll, I haven?t achieved as much as I would have liked today, but I have got some things done.
Woke up at about 0800, at which point R came upstairs and went to bed (after having fallen asleep in front of the TV last night). But I wanted to go and buy fish, and we both wanted to buy pillows and bedding before his mum comes to visit, so he did eventually get up at around 0900.
He had bacon sandwich, but I had some leftover Bombay potato plus the usual toast butter and marmite. Plus flopjack (last night I made B. potato, chicken korma and rice, and naan-breads-from-a-mix. They turned out quite alright, actually. And I cooked some more chicken and made some flopjacks too - ready for packed lunches at work next week).
I tested the aquarium water before we set off today. It showed much higher nitrites (or was it nitrates?) than the previous tests. I changed quarter of the water by siphoning it out into my bucket (x5) and then topped it up again.
There was lots of traffic going Worthing way, so it took ages to get to Sainsbury?s/Aqualife. We did our S?s shopping and then I went to the fishshop and picked some lovely tiny goldfish for the aquarium. They weren?t ?as cheap as chips?, as R put it - they were cheaper: £1.50 each.
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Saturday 9.8.8 - Part II
Took them home and acclimatised them to the tank while R made lunch (bubble and squeak (that's my New Thing of the Day - I have never had it before) with bacon and egg and cheeese). But within 15 minutes the new fish had started to bully my lovely Edith and Joe. R reckoned they were just asserting their pecking order, but I was very worried. And it got worse and more aggressive. One of the goldfish chased Edith under the (real) log, and she played dead so effectively that I had to go and poke her with my finger to check she was alive.
That gave me a choice. Either keep the new goldfish in there and allow my £3 fish to bully my £10 fish to death, or take them back to the shop and admit that I?m a rubbish fishkeeper. (Or just flush them down the toilet - but as they were only fish and not proper bullies that didn't seem fair.)
In the meantime, the day was ticking onwards and we still had lots to do. We?d decided to go to Brighton to get pillows and sheets and blankets from Linens Direct, and to get some more plates from Habitat. But as we were getting ready to go, the goldfish started going after my lovely moorfish again. I hoiked them out of the aquarium so we could take them back to the shop on the way to Brighton.
R stayed in the car while I took the fishies back, because it was too embarrassing for him. But the shop had no problem at all with me returning the fish, and gave me my £3 back. It?s a shame I won?t be able to keep goldfish in the tank - but I had no idea that they would turn out to be the ASBO kings of the fish world. I was thinking about buying a ?weather loach? (because R likes them. I think they?re horrid, though. Nasty long pale eel-y things) and wanted to ask if they would go with my other fish, but the fishBoy was busy with other customers. So I went back to the car and we set off to Brighton.
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Saturday 9.8.8 - Part III
Except that we didn?t go straight there - we went via Shore Pine furniture. I thought we?d finished all of our furniture-buying last month, but there is a 50cm-wide gap in the bedroom between the wardrobe and the wall, and R wants to put drawers there. Surely that must be the last item of furniture that we buy from there. I think they actually know us by name, now. I am worried that we might have become addicted to the smell of new pine furniture. Fortunately the house has reached saturation-point, and we can no longer sensibly fit any more furniture into any of the rooms. So, if we start considering buying any pine shelves to put in the shed I will know it is time to seek professional help. Maybe I should see if they have any jobs going at the shop. That way I and won?t have to keep forking out loads of money to get my pine-smell fix. Anyway, we found some likely-looking drawers, but that shop was very busy too, so I told R I?d go back and order the set of drawers on Wednesday.
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Saturday 9.8.8 - Part IV (aha - I?m getting closer to the word that the profanity filter objects to - I?ve narrowed it down to being somewhere in the next few paragraphs...)
We set off for Brighton again, along the coastal road. But at Shoreham(ish) I saw the Dunelm Mill shop ---sorry - I?ve only just noticed that my diary is full of adverts for shops---, and decided to stop there, in case we could get bedclothes there instead of going all the way into town.
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Saturday 9.8.8 - Part V
£158 later, we had done our bedlinen shopping. Four pillows, fitted sheets and flat sheets for both beds, four pillowcases, white blanket, honey-coloured blanket, and two flat-pack shoe racks. Plus two bath-sheet-sized towels for guests, and a bath sheet for R as well. I knew that moving from a one-bedroom flat to a three-bedroom house would involve spending ridiculous amounts of money, but the amount we are spending at the moment makes me feel quite sick.
We ditched the plate-buying idea, because our nesting instincts had been sated for the time being. And because that left us some time to go to Maidenhead Aquatics before they closed. I took ages to decide what type of fish to buy instead of goldfish, and in the end I narrowed it down to normal fantails, and/or a lionhead and a panda oranda. When I asked their fishBoy if the fish would all play together nicely with my other fish, the good news was that yes, they would (because they are all basically the same type of fish - just bred for different colours). But the bad news was that he recommended waiting until next Wednesday to introduce them to the tank, because otherwise it might overload the tank with fish poo, and not allow the friendly bacteria to catch up.
After my nasty shock with the fish-harassment episode, I didn?t want to rush into buying more fish anyway, so I was quite relieved at not having to take any home immediately. It is a big responsibility, this fish-keeping lark. I got the aquarium because I thought it would be relaxing - but today turned out to be very stressful.
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Saturday 9.8.8 - Part VI (Sussed it! The profanity filter appears to have found the sizes of our beds profane. (One is the size of a male monarch, and the other is the size of a super male monarch.) Although I might have described the beds as obscenely large, I wouldn't have thought they were profanely large. ? Oh well.)
On the way home we stopped at B and Q so that I could buy some more crates. I?d had an idea of getting a wheely plastic crate for the purposes of fishkeeping. The idea was that instead of carrying five bucketsful of water from and to the tank, I could just siphon quarter of the water into the crate, and trundle it to the kitchen to bail out into the sink. Then I would fill the crate with clean water, trundle it back to the aquarium, and scoop water into the tank. Brill.
Except that the wheels on the crates didn?t really look like they were up to the job. So I bought two normal crates instead. I?ve got a little trolley already, after all, so I can still trundle to my heart?s content.
Ooh - my other New Thing today was to use my fishtank siphon. It made very easy work of emptying 45 litres of water out of the tank.
01.09 Ugh. Can?t sleep. Again. I actually was asleep, but R farted on me, which woke me up.
02.13 -Fortunately I think I?m nearly ready to try sleeping again now. Night night.
?One, two, three four five, once I bought two fish alive. Six, seven, eight nine ten, then I took them back again. Why did you take them back? Because they did my moors attack. What will you buy instead? A fantail and a lionhead.?
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Saturday 9th August
Woke up at the seaside in Wales for an expected morning of rain and the second day of our 11th wedding anniversary. Quite pleasant in a way and a huge contrast to the 11 years previously which was boiling hot weekend.
Drove home in the rain, had a relaxing afternoon that included watching a film and having a back and neck massage and then out for a fantastically extravagent meal with the family. I think the wine was particularly strong but actually I think it was the third Remy Martin that made the end of the evening a little blurry, nevertheless an excellent Saturday.
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Made breakfast for my couchsurfer, Jan, from Germany. He was over in Norwich to find accommodation for the PhD he starts here in October. Something about the gene expressions of microalgae that live under the ice in the Baltic Sea - well, did live under the ice but there's less of that now so what will happen to the algae which are at the base of the food chain? Good we have folk like Jan around to sort us out for the future.
Jan went off to look at flats and I went to a film about the artist, Margaret Mellis. She must be over 90 now and it was wonderful to hear her talk about her life and her explanation of how she puts her work together. There's an exhibition of her work at a local art gallery that I will visit tomorrow.
Walked home but because I've got MS I was getting slower and slower till I came to a full stop and had to take a break in Borders. Thank you Borders for providing comfy seats and books to look at while I wait for my legs to work again.
Of course one has to try to be stoical about it. Everyone tells me how well I am getting on, etc. but sometimes I just want to hold up a big placard and say: "I hate limping around like this". Or maybe I should try writing a blog.
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Saturday was a good day.I spent the morning painting ceilings- had already done the walls then we decided the ceilings looked awful.
Listened to the cricket.Only 17 overs but limited the time spent listening to Geoff Boycott-the only cricketer who doesn't have a nickname like Aggers,CMJ or Tuffers.Wonder if this is because even his mother would find it hard to be affectionate towards him.
My daughter was 18 the day before- 18 on 08/08/08.Those lovely enlightened Chinese lay on a brilliant firework party to save me the bother.On Saturday evening we took her bowling and then for a pizza.Thankfully she won both games.
My stepdaughters spent some time explaining why they don't call her and her brother step brother and sister.I found this slightly odd as we all get on really well and there's lot of shared genuine affection.
When we got home my dear hubby confessed he'd spent most of the evening unable to hear a word because of the background noise.This depresses him as he didn't realise how deaf he'd become.
Spend a few minutes thinking about my dad who dying of cancer. This disease robs people of their dignity and it makes me so cross that a lovely man could be reduced to a half life.
And so to bed...........
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Yours Truly reflects on another busking session on the London Underground on Saturday August 9:
"I have entertained all sorts of travellers with "weapons of mad percussion" over four hours, generously spread between Liverpool Street and Marble Arch Stations.
I have watched people watch me. I have seen older people dance, I have seen young people dance and jump around, oblivious to the looks of others.
I have seen toddlers look and stare with looks of shock and curiousity; others have tried to imitate my movements, encouraged by their parents.
Tourists from all sorts of places have wanted to be photographed with me. Some have taken photographs of me. Some people have just smiled at me.
Still others have encouraged my efforts.
Some have even given me money.
I have pitched, I have played, I have performed, I have entertained. Exposed to a passing audience armed with the sound of bongo drums and a smile, I have watched a world of people pass me by.
For the majority, I will never know what effect, if any, my music has had on them.
For the others, for a few precious seconds before they catch their trains or head on their way...I have enhanced their travelling experience; I have changed their lives."
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Got up late since it is Saturday. Other half already out buying papers for me and his mother. Had breakfast in conservatory watching sparrows and starlings on the bird feeders - they aren't endangered in this area, we have more than we and the neighbours can keep up with the feeding of. Did washing - mine went to tumble drier as I am experimenting to see if not drying it outside will stop the annoying insects from biting my feet and ankles.
Into town for some shopping - found strawberries reduced to £1/lb. Wonderful lunch of farmers market mushrooms on toast with too much butter.
Afternoon spent reading Grauniad magazine and chipping some tiles from bathroom wall. If I can get this done then we may actually get the shower - bought 2.5 years ago - fitted. Got mattress turned and made up bed. Supermarket trip to see what is reduced to clear.
Evening watched TV and have nearly finshed knitting my sweater from wonderful hand dyed angora. In this weather I am looking forward to wearing it soon. House full of wet washing waiting for dry weather tomorrow to hang out for those who don't have insect bites.
Just another Saturday.
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Diary for Saturday 9th August
I woke up at 5.30am thinking of the Climate Change March to Kingsnorth Power station. Reflected that the Indymedia man said I would be the " most famous clown in the world." What was Kristoff the Clown going to say to the media when they interviewed me? Decided I would say that we needed to show China an example and stop building new coal fired power stations like Kingsnorth or the planet would end up like Venus. Got up eventually at 7 am and went for a dump at the toilets. Looking down at the amount of poo I generated in the wheeley bin below the toilet I thought it must be all the herbs and spices used in the vegan cooking. Went to get some porridge from the West Midlands Kitchen. Took ages on the make up until the dragon made by Raga moved off round the site and I was on the march . Rehearsed the Kingsnorth the Dragon song. Police allowed me through with no searching of magic tricks which I had in every pocket of my clown costume. The march stopped for half and hour and then entertained the kids with a impromptu magic show and the adults with my bad jokes book. When we were off and running filmed by Channel 4 news singing the Kingsnorth the dragon song. Kingsnorth the Dragon he is fed coal. Kingsnorth the dragon, no good for his soul. Kingsnorth the dragon he brings climate change. Kingsnorth the dragon he is half deranged. Kingsnorth the Dragon does not want to smoke. Thinks new coal power stations are a bad joke. Actually was on the news that day. Sang with Hugh and another woman the song on the way to power station gate. At the Kingsnorth power station loads of police and at least two choppers and strewn with banners against coal. Speeches came next loved Derek Wall's speech that Capitalism had to be removed before climate change was tackled. Raga gave a speech about the Kingsnorth Dragon. Then beautiful music of a song composed by Jess. Made sure that I stood up and was noticed as a clown by the cameras as wanted to project the image this was a non-violent peaceful protest against coal and climate change. It felt a long walk back in the rain and felt my 57 years in my legs. But kept the kids entertained Orr and Luca and others with tricks from my pocket. Peter an older lad joined me and told him how to do the Sqircle trick and he practised it all the way home on all the cops and got good at it. Jordan did the sponge ball trick as well. Got back exhausted and found some hot food eventually in the Yorkshire neighbourhood. Joined the debriefing and there were hundreds in the main marquee. Very celebratory and uplifting. 4 arrested as they got over the power station fence. Dan had been arrested as a pirate in the Blue group on rafts in the Medway. Could not do much in the evening as so so tired. Felt the dragon had been colourful and a centrepiece and had been proud to be the camp clown and entertain the kids and adults. Wow did I need my camp bed after the 6 miles walk.
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Saturday was the day of my 40th birthday party.
I hired Heydon Village Hall (an old WW1 hut), which, despite the grime and cobwebs that date back to the same time, has charm and character and ample capacity for the 70 or so people I expected. It took weeks to load all my CDs onto i-tunes, from which I created two playlists and I borrowed a PA from work. I also decided to provide all the food myself, a decision that I grew to regret in the frantic lead up, but which ultimately paid off.
Typically people had defaulted on the RSVP front and then a flurry of responses came on Thursday night, specifically that 'yes' my friend from University, who had been living in Malawi, was coming the next day to camp for 2 nights and that sadly my dearest and oldest friend (whom I went to school with from aged 13) was unable to come as she felt she was going mad.
My brother came with his 3 young boys, and due to lack of space he and his wife slept in my mum?s house (next door) whilst his children shared my boys? bedroom (this was later to be deeply regretted). My dear friends from Leeds (Ginny and Pete and Vicky and Alaric) came to the party and slept in our caravan. Noone told Vicky that the caravan toilet was out of action, so my husband Julian, now has to take the tank out and wash it or else it will go rancid. I heard later from Pete how it was a little alarming when Alaric burst out of the adjoining door in the caravan with precious few clothes on in the morning giving him and Ginny a shock.
Julian Bayliss turned up on Friday night and pitched his tent (with the ?help? of my two sons). He and husband Julian did a moth trap on Friday night (Julian is a butterfly specialist).
I was determined to enjoy the party preparations so on Saturday morning a big gang of us went raspberry picking at Wiveton Fruit Farm, as I planned to offer meringues, cream and raspberries for the pudding at the party. We rewarded our efforts with a nice coffee at the café overlooking the sea.
After lunch a gang of us decorated the hall and set up the PA and disco lights. Ginny and Vicky provided the red gingham bunting and table cloths which they use to run a Vintage Fair, Rayon Rose, in Leeds. Decked with balloons and fairy lights, tables and chairs set up, the hall looked a picture.
I rushed home to change and Ginny and Vicks did a Trinny and Susanna job on me. They worked wonders as everyone said I looked great.
We put out the food that we had slaved over and we were ready just as the first guests started to arrive. The oldies and relatives came first, and I jumped up to meet and greet everyone. A big gang of my colleagues arrived, and my lovely biker neighbours came and stood in the corner looking menacing. It truly was a crowd of mixed ages and walks of life, and many people commented on it.
I had done two play lists, with the first one to be played at a moderate volume, included the likes of Cesario Evoria; Jackie Mittoo; Vera Bila, Feist, etc
The second pay list I put on at 9pm ish and cranked up the volume by degrees. My strategy was to entice people to dance as a big group of people dancing would make my birthday complete. I began with a few guaranteed floor fillers: Just Jack, Cornershop, Fat Boy Slim etc and then I gradually cranked up the beats per minute.
In the middle of the excitement Ginny and Vicky stopped the music and made a speech about what a good friend I was. Wow!!
When we got home I was eager to dash to bed, but my friend Julian refused to let me go and said I was only 40 once. We danced on in the lounge and eventually I slipped off to bed at 2am.
I was woken rudely at 4am by Louis (brother Dom?s 2 year old boy), who had got out of bed and gone downstairs, and was on the lounge floor crying desperately for Daddy! Julian (friend) had crashed out on the sofa with his beer can still in hand and was totally oblivious to said screaming child. The back door was wide open and it was extremely lucky that Louis had not made any attempt to find his lost father (who was snoring his head off next door).
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9th August 2008. What is in a date? Today would have been my mother's 93rd birthday, she died in 1997 aged 82. It is also the day my mother-in-law died four years ago, she was 83. A day of shadows and times past.
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Saturday August 9th 'O8
This was to be a red-letter day! A belated Mother's Day treat (afternoon tea at Manchester's Midland Hotel) in the company of two daughters and two grandaughters.
As petrol and parking fees are expensive we decided to drive half-way and bus the rest. Three generations trudging in the rain!
The tea was delicious and the afternoon magical, simple in it's execution but grand in its connotaion as it is to be continued as a family tradition and my heart sang!
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9th Aug. Carol's broad bean recipe was AWESOME! I picked over a pound of broad beans but once shelled there was only about 6oz ? and a few very dried out looking seeds which I saved. And now I am eating ginger biscuits with dirt-plain vanilla ice-cream. Fabulous ?meal.?
H and I were talking about currency exchanges to make money and he said ?the pound lives with the Euro but shags the dollar.? Was that original?
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David Sorrill emailed iPM - and although it's not from last Saturday...figured we'd put it up anyway.
Diary entry for 16 August 1968
Yesterday 21 inches of rain fell in 24 hours. This is said to be the heaviest monsoon anyone has ever seen in East Pakistan.
Today I drove 10 miles upstream, avoiding three landslides, to see the situation at the Kaptai Hydroelectric Dam; it holds back a huge lake with an area of 200 square miles.
The water level in the lake is rising at 1 inch per hour and the sluice gates of the Dam are open as wide as they will go and discharging 300,000 cusecs of water.
The pressure of the water trying to get out of the sluice gates is so great the water jet on its top edge is almost vertical.
This gigantic discharge of around 2 million gallons per second is a scene of great drama and beauty with spray everywhere and within it an exquisite, overarching rainbow.
A technician told me that explosives had been laid in a low hill near the sluice gates and if the water continues to rise above a certain point the hill will be blown to save the Dam and the hydroelectric station. I asked the technician if there was any plan to warn people downstream if they had to blow up the hill. He said "No, there would be no time and we have no way to do it anyway".
If they do blow it, it will release a wall of water, who knows how high, perhaps 50 feet, at tremendous velocity down the river gorge. Chandraghona, located on the river bank at the end of the gorge where the Karnaphuli river reaches the plain, will receive the full impact of this water and wipe us all out - town, hospital and paper mill.
The river has already burst its banks and flooded the compound; staff having to use boats to get from their homes to the hospital entrance to go on duty. I've now returned to Chandraghona and have much to think on, but one thing is certain - I will not forget this day.
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Mary Statinoff emailed iPM.
Saturday August 9th was a red-letter day! A belated Mother's Day treat from my two daughters - afternoon tea at Manchester's "Holiday Inn" was planned....with two grandaughters as well.
As petrol and parking fees are expensive we drove half-way and bussed the rest, three generations trudging in the rain!
The afternoon was magical, simple in it's execution but grand in its connotation as it is to be continued as an annual family event......my heart sang!!
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Saturday 9 August 2008 - tried (from our house in France) to explain to Alistair (our son) (on a train from High Wycombe to Waterloo) how to get to the Passport Office in Petty France - then he sent a text to say he'd found the confirmation letter with a map on the back. Typical! Dave and I went to the market in Beaumont and bought a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables, tempted to buy a platter of peaches but didn't - maybe next week. Did buy beautiful local melons from Gramont. Then to the baker for cakes and nut bread and Casino for the ordinary groceries. Cleaned the pool, again - the left over leaves from the big storm at the start of the week. Weather forecast for tomorrow is good so looking forward to a swim. Helped Dave with a boring job, going through stuff that came from the UK and trying to find a new home for it all. We have too much stuff, too much junk. The Olympics were on - Dave's ears are still blocked and he's feelng rotten so that's his therapy.
Had dinner sitting on the deck, aching the sunset, with a few glasses of wine, as usual. Treated Dave's ears, put the cats out, went to bed.
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9th August:
Went to see Mary The Box about Cath's wedding tea. All ok, but she asked would there be any geese to pluck & dress on the day. Said NO, just the Welsh Cakes and sarnies to make for the refreshments.
Into Abergavenny next, to see Ceri about the flowers and to order 10 jam jars for the posies on the tables. Dropped a birthday card into Vi's on the way home; young Billy as crazy as ever, what with his Ritalin and all.
Telephoned John to find out whether the poem we'd chosen would fit in after the 1 Corinthians 13 passage.
In the evening Myf rang wondering if I'd organise a taxi for Granny, and what was the seating like. We'll have to put cushions on the pews, and perhaps bring in a few extra chairs too.
Can hardly wait!!!
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To MizzLaurenB
I believe you may be suffering from severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It can be treated successfully, with therapies such as EMDR and psychotherapy. You can find info on these through google and wikipedia. Please please go to your Doctor or a counsellor and discuss this.
To the moderators - if you choose not to post this comment, please make sure it gets to the blogger concerned, who blogged about abuse and its consequences.
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