I still don't know what I was waiting for

I've jumped on the apparent bandwagon of work-related upheaval that seems to have recently affected so many people. For several months my vet-boss has been trying to sell the practice, and after many hold-ups and set-backs and tears and tantrums (and that was only the solicitor) the sale was finally completed and yesterday lunchtime I ceased to be employed by XYZ Veterinary Surgeons and became an integral part of ABC Veterinary Practice Ltd.

Now the fun starts. Because nobody knew when – or even if - the sale would happen we’ve been pottering along, business as usual, and we weren't allowed to mention the possibility of the sale to the clients. But now when clients ring up to book an appointment with the Old Boss we have to explain that he no longer works in the practice; unfortunately because it’s (apparently) so sudden they think he’s been struck off or something, so we go into the spiel about the sale and how the practice is merely under new ownership.

Some clients will no doubt leave because they liked Old Boss (there’s one with an appointment on what would have been Old Boss’s rostered day this week, who’s going to be stunned) and others who didn’t like him (he’s best described as an ‘acquired taste!’) might well return. The wife of the new owner, who’ll be doing the actual vet stuff, has yet to make an appearance!

The computer system seems not to have been changed overnight, although the credit-card machine has (New Boss explained to m’colleague that “it’s like the ones restaurants use.” To which she replied in a bewildered tone “I have a father and a husband. I don’t pay in restaurants.”), and we have to remember to answer the phone differently. That could take a while to get into the swing of, and I confidently predict that I’ll use my home number in answer before I remember the new name.

And we’ll need new uniforms, and all the printers will need the letterheads and label details changed, and new business cards, and all the notices will need redoing, and … and … and …

Chaos and confusion will be the order of the day for some while yet!

Goodbye, piccalilli

There is only one variety of piccalilli that we like, but it’s not easy to obtain. At first we could get it from farm shops locally, but one by one they stopped selling it until it seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. Every time we visited a different area of the country we’d stop at local delis and see if they had any, but although they all stocked other products from the same company, they never had piccalilli. We searched from Cornwall to Kent to the Lake District, and many points in between. Then a shop in Banbury thrillingly managed to get some and we carried home the jars in triumph, and ate them.

Then the shop couldn’t get any more.

After several more months had passed the company lowered its minimum order price from £200 to £20, so we ordered some for ourselves, and we’re eagerly awaiting our delivery. This morning a parcel was delivered – from a new deli in Battle (no, not New Delhi in India) containing six jars of this prize. My mother hadn’t realised we’ve ordered some and kindly arranged a surprise for us.

Piccalilli sandwich, anyone?

Dem bones, dem bones

Hurrah for Ned! This week's weigh-in confirmed that he's reached his target weight; a loss of 42lb since Christmas! I'm very proud of him and will now allow him a scraping of butter on his cardboard.

Where the sun shines brightly?

Well, we're back, and rather sooner than planned. The journey down was as expected and we got the tent put up in fine weather, which was lovely. So we took a little evening stroll down to the beach local to the campsite so Beattie could stretch her legs. The beaches down there are wonderfully dog-friendly, which makes a pleasant change.

Next day we got a couple of caches under our belt to break ourselves in for what we planned would be a mighty effort. The first required a fair amount of pushing and shoving and squeezing to retrieve ... but only minimal DNA was left behind on the thorns, so that was all right.

The Cornish have a different idea of what 'hedge' means - an awful lot of stone is involved.
Then it was back to the tent for a rest. Honestly, you'd have thought that for two people and a dog that two chairs, a double airbed and a dogbed would be fine, wouldn't you? Well that's wrong. You need spaces for three, because obviously Beattie isn't a dog, but she kindly allowed me to sit on her chair sometimes
and was willing to let me share the bed. Ned and I both fell off several times each night when she turned over or stretched.
Next day was fine and not too blowy, so we went caching in Boscastle. Guess where the cache is in this picture?
Some of the houses there are obviously only suitable for thin people with flat-pack furniture. This doorway is regular-sized, but the doors most definitely aren't!
Boscastle is still having reconstruction work done after the flood of 2004 but it's very much a thriving village again, which is good to see. We first went there in 2003 and I fell in love with this 14th-century building
which was totally washed away in the disaster. In the picture you can see the end of the building behind. The owner managed to salvage much of the stone when they cleared the harbour of cars, trees and assorted rubble and has rebuilt it. Sadly it's lost a lot of its charm.
A short drive down the narrowest lanes imaginable, where the car was scraping the undergrowth on both sides at once, and the grass growing in the middle of the road needed mowing, got us another couple of caches. Then the weather closed in.

And stayed closed in. The gales blew, the rain lashed down across, the tent rocked madly in the powerful gusts. And the forecast was for more to come. After a wakeful night waiting for the sound of ripping fabric as the tent was buffetted from side to side and groaned like a ship foundering on the rocks we decided discretion was the better part of valour and disappointedly packed up and came home. It was a shame because we'd been so looking forward to the break but we'd have been too afraid to leave the tent to visit anywhere in case the tent left as well!

Maybe we'll go back to finish the holiday in September - hopefully not coinciding with the equinoctial gales!

PS. It appears from the TV news that Boscastle has today been hit by a similar, though thankfully smaller, inundation. Perhaps we'd better not go back there ever ever again.

No more working for a week or two

We're off on wallaby in the morning. Be good while I'm away.

And it will be my last

Watching 'House' alerted us to a fab band. We hadn't heard of zero 7 before. Off to the record shop!

Dipping in the pocket of her raincoat

An eventful day at work. The morning shift included a woman who turned up randomly with her dog to see the vet a full 20 minutes after the vet should have left, but luckily we'd been having a cuppa and a gossip so there wasn't a problem. Within 10 minutes the dog had been referred to the nearest eye specialist (an hour's drive away) with the owner in utter shock. Two days ago the young (3½ years) terrier cross was fine - today it's blind in one eye and the other is affected. Tomorrow it has to have the blind eye removed and is on medication to try to save the other. Primary Lens Luxation is hereditary - don't believe those who tell you that crossbreeds don't suffer from hereditary conditions. That's total tosh.

In the afternoon another woman burst into the waiting room in a panic, asking for a vet to come out to a dog she'd run over in xxxxx Road. I live in xxxxx Road - my automatic response was "What sort of dog?" - not the question she was expecting. On being told "A spaniel" I could cope (phew, not mine!) and all went smoothly from there. (Not a great prognosis, apparently.)

I'm emotionally drained.

Fools rush in

In the field this afternoon Harry and Piglet were systematically hunting along the hedge as usual where all the rabbit holes are when they both suddenly stopped and concentrated; stepped back in puzzlement then went in again. The next thing was that Piglet tore along to the end of the hedge, through the gap and sprinted back along the other side to where Harry was still engrossed. Assuming one had flushed a bunny and the other was going after it I was surprised when a buzzard slowly flapped up from the other side of the hedge from Harry. I blew the whistle and was very pleased to see Piglet reappear unscathed - but was slightly taken aback to see that he was carrying a freshly-dead woodpigeon. It seems he'd mugged the buzzard for its kill and won! Even more pleasing was his triumphant return to give me the trophy.

Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

It seems that you don't hang around long after you die in America. My dear aunt died on Friday and it's her funeral today. Is that short time usual Over There? It doesn't give much time for more distant relatives to attend.

Art for art's sake

What to do on a wet weekend? We'd planned to paint the fascia around the extension, but the weather put paid to that. So I took this photo, tinkered on the computer then got out my oil paints ...

... and turned it into this.

It still needs some work, but it's not too bad.

Don't leave me hanging on the telephone

Why is it impossible, with a landline phone, to hang up and get a clear line when someone's called you with a mobile? Boy didn't believe me, but I showed him that, if the caller with the mobile doesn't cancel the call, the landline phone can't get a clear line again, no matter how many times you hang up the receiver. It's infuriating when it happens to your home phone (when your Beloved has the mobile in his pocket and all you can hear is the sound of his rhythmic stride), but it happened at work and I had to spend a full 20 minutes shouting and whistling and desperately trying to attract the attention of the mobile owner. Silly twit had accidentally speed-dialled the vet's number without realising. I hope nobody wanted to contact the vet urgently.

He's got the key of the door

Twenty-one candles on a cake generate a lot of heat ...

... and need a lot of breath to blow out!

Happy birthday, Boy! Where did all the years go?

Some sunny day

We had a lovely time at the Jane mini-meet. Newcastle-under-Lyme is a long long way from the coast, so we were certain that only a TOG would have named their terraced house there 'Sea View'. Lots of things happened, like Marshy getting a fit of the giggles at some innocent throw-away line and nearly pebble-dashing the table with Space Dust; The Monster (who was A Star: grown-ups sitting chatting for hours are incredibly boring and she didn't once kick up a fuss) managed to spill glitter onto the carpet in her corner which will no doubt be there for ever and ever (I even found a bit on my eyelid this morning); several people played pass-the-parcel with MMLS, who was almost as much of a star as her Big Sister; a couple of
local caches just happened to be nabbed, and then it was time to go home.

Watching NCIS that night we heard the most joyously well-written exchange between two of the cast. "What did Ducky look like when he was young?" asked the young woman. There was a pause, then "Ilya Kuryakin" came the reply. Magic!

You put your right leg in

Just as we left the house to go shopping I noticed a scrumpled-up piece of paper on the hall floor, and rather than sensibly picking it up at the time I left it where it was to deal with it on our return. As the return involved carrying in armfuls of shopping I walked past the piece of paper and opened the kitchen door to put said shopping on the table.

"Don't let the dogs out, mum, there's a fiver on the hall floor" says Boy.

Not any more there wasn't. In the time it took Boy to say that short sentence the scrumpled piece of paper had vanished. Harry had a toy in his mouth so is probably innocent. All we can think of is that Piglet or Beattie's next poos will be expensive.

*kicks Ned for carelessness (dropping it)
*kicks self for untidiness (not picking it up when I first saw it)
*kicks Boy for stupidity (leaving it there, knowing what it was)
*kicks dogs for purposes of equality.

I don't have no time for no monkey business

When I got home from work at lunchtime there was a small cardboard box* by the front door. It was wriggling slightly and a muffled sobbing seemed to be coming from it**. I carefully carried it indoors, cut the tape that had been securing it and released a young primate, who seemed to be very relieved to breathe the fresh air. He was taken upstairs and carefully introduced to the rest of the group. He seems a little nervous.

I hope they don't fight.

* Thanks Stu! :D
** May have been my imagination

To Sir, with love

I had a letter published in the Daily Telegraph yesterday! I write to them several times a year (musings always pithy, witty and to the point of course!) but have only once before had one published. Yesterday’s offering read:

Sir - As J. P. Floru (Letters, May 5) believes that state funding through taxation for public transport is a bad idea because it means that those who choose not to use the rail system are still paying for it, I assume he believes that state funding for the National Health Service through taxation is a bad idea for the same reason. The fact is that the NHS relies on everyone's contributions, whether we use it or not, to enable it to be available when we need it. Likewise the rail system.

It’s a shame they edited out my last sentence, which basically was my whole point:

In fact if the rail network was subsidised by all of us through taxes the fares might be lowered enough for those not as wealthy as some to be able to afford to use it, thus getting more cars off the roads, reducing traffic congestion and cutting pollution.

Later that evening I had a phonecall from a bloke in the village who’d had his letter to the paper published on Friday! We shall have to start up the Kineton Telegraph Letter-writers Club.

The oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree

If you're a straw-chewing rustic you'll be well aware of ye olde country weather prediction:

"Oak before the ash, we're in for a splash,
Ash before the oak, we're in for a soak".

After the overnight drizzle cleared we went caching and came across this splendid example of the state of the two species, one to one side of us, one on the other.

Oak

Ash

It looks as though it's going to be a dry year.

Oh, and one of the caches was in the traditional ivy-covered tree.

A case of do or die

In order to write a sensible shopping list and not buy stuff we already had, and forget things we needed, I was checking through the cupboards. Lasagne - needed. Dried apricots - needed. Cereal - okay for. Rice; basmati, plenty; long grain, should be okay ... ooh what's this? A don't remember buying a box of Uncle Ben's Florentine rice, I wonder how long it's been there. Ooh look, it's got a price ticket from the shop near the old house, and we've not been there for ages. Being TOGs and proud of it we take not a jot of notice of trivia such as sell-by dates and associated nannying, but a lot of squinting located the best before date, which caused a dilemma.

The BBD was The Boy's birthday. The original one. Do we have the rice to celebrate their joint 21st anniversary on May 20th or shall we keep the packet as an heirloom?

As I was a-walking one morning in May

Most years it's been a struggle to find some hawthorn (aka 'May') in bloom for decoration on May 1st. This year there's no problem - it's been in flower for at least a fortnight.

So now that the May's out we can cast our clouts willy-nilly.

Sumer is icumen in

The May Queen by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

YOU must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;
Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

There’s many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;
There’s Margaret and Mary, there’s Kate and Caroline;
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say,
So I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,
If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break;
But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,
But I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white,
And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.
They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

They say he’s dying all for love, but that can never be;
They say his heart is breaking, mother—what is that to me?
There’s many a bolder lad ’ill woo me any summer day,
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,
And you’ll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;
For the shepherd lads on every side ’ill come from far away,
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers,
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day,
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

All the valley, mother, ’ill be fresh and green and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale ’ill merrily glance and play,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,
To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;
To-morrow ’ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

...................................................................................

The Boy just can't believe that we had to memorise poems like that at Junior School. They don't seem to have to learn anything by heart any more. It's a shame.

Happy May Day everyone!