Smoke gets in your eyes

Typical. As soon as we get some lovely weather - and it has been glorious today - some twunt fires up a barbecue and fills the garden with smoke and stink, driving us indoors again with the doors and windows closed. I wouldn't mind on a campsite but I know for a fact that all the houses around here have kitchens. By all means eat outside, but at least cook indoors and keep the smells to yourself.

Today's other rant; I hate cars when they won't start.

Don't stand so close to me

It came as a shock to Beattie to learn that not all dogs are as placid as she is.

Poor girl. That's gotta smart.

Now the feeling's gone

It's always the same. Scenario 1: Your car develops an annoying, expensive sounding rattle so you take it to the garage and they can't find anything wrong and you can't make the rattle happen - until you drive away having paid your bill.

Scenario 2: Your dog starts limping so you make an appointment with the vet, only to have him walk into the surgery (thus qualifying for a consultation charge) as sound as a bell.

Scenario 3: A tooth starts jumping every time you bite something hardish, so you make a dentist's appointment, but when you get there you can't remember which tooth it was and they all need prodding to find out and then they all hurt. Another bill.

The latest is Scenario 4. For months and months I was having the occasional funny wibbly turn when my blood pressure would drop through the floor, my chest felt as though my heart wanted to burst out of it and I'd feel faint for a couple of minutes till it all got back to normal. Gradually it started happening more and more frequently until it was several times a day. So I made a doctor's appointment and was referred to a cardiologist. Since the hospital appointment came through I've felt fine.

There's the dilemma. If I keep the appointment then I'll feel like a fraud and a time-waster. If I cancel it the wibbliness might come back and I'd have to be referred again. Decisions, decisions.

He'll never let you down

Once in a while I get called upon to help out Dalmatian Welfare. Sometimes I get asked to visit and assess dogs that people want to give up for rehoming, sometimes to help transport them from their old home to their new one (old owners and adopters are never allowed to meet or have direct contact with one another), and sometimes do a home-check on potential adopters. Today was a home-check day, so to make sure they knew what they might be letting themselves in for I loaded Harry (as being big and bouncy) into the car and set off to meet the family. I 'd been told they already have a labrador (just out of season - phew! That could have been tricky!) so at least I knew they were used to dogs of that size.

They were a lovely family. We went in and the lab said hello to Harry, showed him her favourite toy then went outside. I chatted to the parents and the children (polite, friendly, not nervous of a strange dog) and waited for Harry to do his worst; better to put them off at the outset.

Always expect the unexpected. He said hello to them then stood quietly at my side, for all the world as if he never chased anything or knocked anything over or made a nuisance of himself. He didn't make any movement to suggest he might cock his leg on anything. Even his hair stayed firmly attached when I tried to demonstrate how much they shed.

Next time I'll take Piglet as well. That should do the trick.

On Wednesdays he goes shopping

As you may or may not know, The Boy's halfway through his Arboriculture course, with plans to be a tree surgeon after qualifying. He's being taught how to handle a chainsaw properly, with minimal risk of careless self-mutilation, and is learning a lot about the different species of trees and their ideal environments. His holiday placement has involved a lot of clearance with felling and logging, so when he had to fell a particular tree that had grown in a certain shape, he decided to keep part of it as a curiosity. He turned the section upside down and carefully trimmed it so it balanced. A friend (so he assures me) whittled the final detail, and now this charming sculpture graces our patio.

Like little sugars and spice

Another highlight from the weekend was the wonderful conversation we, as a group, had with two delightful little girls who were with the family group sitting in front of us. They must have been about nine and seven years old, and had been extremely well brought up. They were confident but not cocky, and extremely good conversationalists. The elder approached us first, and asked us in a very polite adult manner whether we were having a good time, and whether it was our first festival. We chatted with them about this and that, and they showed us the strange alien-in-an-egg toys they were playing with. At some point, and I'm not sure how it happened, the matter of Omally's identity arose, and somehow the words 'King of Sweden' were uttered. The younger girl's eyes opened very wide, and she sidled over to Ned and asked him if this was true. When it was confirmed (we'd have looked silly to have denied it!) she asked how Ned knew that. Manfully resisting the opportunity of using the obvious Monty Python quote as being unsuitable, Ned said that he knew this because he was his cook, and received a very hard stare. She went over to Mallers and asked him, if he was a King, why wasn't he wearing his crown? The temptation to say it was at the dry-cleaners was almost irresistible, but the reply was that he was in disguise because he was on his holidays. There followed a very earnest conversation about how differently things are done "in our country" as we all struggled to keep straight faces.

I wonder if that little girl will go through life thinking she met the King of Sweden at Cropredy Festival.

It all comes round again

This year's Cropredy Festival was just the most brilliant few days I've had in a long time. Wall-to-wall sunshine (apart from at night, of course. That would be silly). The whole thing was just fantastic. The weather, the company, the food, the beer and of course, the music.
Waiting for the kick-off.

An imitation of that well-known Belgian statue, the Mally'king Pis.
Stu did some very impressive juggling with various artefacts of different sizes and weights, but for some reason declined my offer to throw an axe at him to incorporate into the flow. No idea why - he was wearing his boots after all. Be careful with that axe, Eugene mallet, Stu.

After a busy session of signing CDs, Richard Digence seemed rather pleased to be able to use bigger writing on an LP sleeve.
Some of the line-up I've heard before - some I liked and wanted to see again, and some who kindly gave me an opportunity to catch up on sleep! Then there were some that were new to me; Mad Agnes stood out as having a wide range of styles and seemed more than competent. Hummingbird were well worth listening to (Maris, Edwina announced she was trying to keep her voice deep because last time she was told she sounded like Minnie Mouse!). Jools Holland was great and Lulu can still do 'Shout'.

After being voted the Most Influential Folk Album Ever by Mike Harding's Radio 2 audience, the surviving Fairports of that line-up reformed and performed the album live, with Chris While standing in for Sandy Denny - a real treat. The final day was opened, as usual, by Richard Digance who never fails to get the crowd 'warmed-up'.

The high point of the whole festival (incidentally all tickets were sold out a fortnight ago - the first time that's ever happened) was of course Fairport Convention's own closing slot. They came on stage shortly after 8pm and kept up the most amazing energetic enormously professional performance for four hours. This year was the first time they've had a back-screen showing the performers themselves, which meant that everyone got close-up views of just how stunning the musicianship was. They also had the lyric for their famous (!) hit "Si tu dois partir" so that everyone could sing along;

and the film produced for the enhancement of "Matty Groves" was a sheer delight! The weekend was brought to a close by the traditional finale of "Meet on the Ledge".

Other memories: much Thinging was done on Friday night, with several new Favourite Things thought of but forgotten by the morning; the burger-stall's music system, which thankfully couldn't take the pace and died on Saturday morning; Cropredy Virgins' amazement at the standard of the 'facilities'; watching what must have been the space shuttle (a bright orange light that traversed the sky from horizon to horizon every 20 minutes or so) with Mallers; Beattie being an absolute star - I'm not sure she really enjoyed it (she had to stay up well past her usual bedtime) but it was better than not being with us, and there were loads of trodden-on chips to hoover up when we relaxed our guard; Stu's paddling pool that he kindly shared; Mally's super-soaker that he not-so-kindly shared (!) ... it just goes on.

It was the best time!

Whatever happened to the heroes?

Well, one of them lives at Genie Towers. A bit of background; several years ago we noticed that the paint on the fascia of the gable at the front of the house was starting to flake and, because it's very high and we don't like going very high we started contacting decorators and asking them for quotes to do the job. How many do you think responded? That's right, none at all. Year after year we searched for a tradesman wanting work but obviously they've all won the lottery and don't need customers. It's not even as if it was a very big job - just very high. No way on this earth would you get either Ned or me up a ladder that high even though the painting would be a POP.

So the job was left and left, with the paint getting shabbier and shabbier, until a friend bought a scaffolding tower which he offered to lend us. We borrowed it, hoping to do the work over the May bank holiday, but it rained, and whenever we were free to do it the weather wasn't co-operative. But this week the sun shone, so we got the elements of the tower out of the garage and started.

If there was a flat, solid surface in front of the house the job would have been much quicker, but there's lawn and flowerbeds, so first we had to find bits of timber and blocks for the legs to stand on securely. A second problem was that the platform was too narrow to do the whole lot at once, and, when fully constructed, the tower was too heavy to move. So each complete coat meant the tower had to be constucted, the work done on as much as could be reached, deconstructed, moved a couple of feet, reconstructed and the work done, deconstructed, moved again, reconstructed, the last bit of work done, then deconstructed for the last time that day because the paint had to dry before the next coat could be applied.

Occasionally we had the base fractionally too close to the house when we built the tower, only to find we couldn't put the topmost sections on because of the eaves and had to take it down and start again. Those were not happy times.

But at last it's finished! Those of you who went GoAping with us know exactly how pathetic I am with heights, but few realised that Ned's only marginally better. So for him to go that high, even with a reasonably steady platform to stand on, took a huge amount of courage. He's my hero.


Of course, the problem is that now the guttering looks shabby, and could really benefit from being taken down, sand-blasted and repainted before being replaced. I'd better not mention that yet.

If you leaf me now

Oh dear.

In all my years of gardening (I started dabbling when very small, with a little patch of the garden of my own) I've never been stricken with blight on either my potatoes or tomatoes. This year the weather conditions have been ideal for it and we've had both. The spuds had to come out a couple of weeks age, with some of the crop salvageable; yesterday I noticed the tomato plants - even the ones in the greenhouse - were looking decidedly dodgy and this morning there was no getting away from it. They were infected too and have had to come out and be destroyed. It's a rotten shame because the crop was looking promising. Of course it also means that the soil in the greenhouse is infected so we won't be able to grow toms straight into it next year, and we'll probably have to take a couple of years out from growing spuds at all. Damn damn damn. All that work and nothing to show for it.

Apparently it's the same all over the country, so watch out for huge price rises for home-grown veg this winter.

Today is only yesterday's tomorrow

The good news is that the swelling from the bites is subsiding. AA neighbourhood doctor recommended antihistamine tablets (okay, can manage that) as well as sitting with my legs raised and holding cold compresses on them. That would be quite a challenge at work, so had to go by the board. Although the information about the tablets said that they don't cause drowsiness, they certainly make me woolly-headed; so much so that yesterday I quite forgot I was meant to be doing both shifts, and it was only a slightly petulant phonecall from the vet asking if I was on my way yet that got me there at all. With Ned's co-operation at giving me a lift into the village I managed to get changed and into work within 4 minutes of the phonecall, but it meant I hardly knew which way was up, and by the time the afternoon shift was over I was totally wiped out. I'm not sure which is worse - the discomfort from the bites or the muddle-headedness.

A(-), you're Adorable

I never even saw the vicious, beastly, bloodsucking insects that on Saturday decided that a hefty serving of blood group A Neg was exactly what they needed to get themselves through the day. And why they chose the backs of my knees (delightful though they are, as I'm sure you'll agree) for their feast I don't know, but I now have swellings about the size of my fist at the back of both legs, which makes walking or sitting down very uncomfortable. They both itch and hurt, which is a curious sensation.

Oh, and one had a chomp at my foot as well.

Stay away from my back door too

I don't know if you've heard about the Ashtead Nimbys. These are the residents of an area close by the Headley Court rehabilitation centre where, for decades, injured servicemen have been sent after Selly Oak has stitched them back together to continue their recovery. They include amputees, burns sufferers, brain injuries, loss of sight or hearing, and psychological damage. Some stay for mere months, while others have to stay for years. This is the only specialist centre in the country, and because servicemen come from all over the country their families often have to travel long distances to visit them - and the visits play an important role in the healing process.

Because of the importance of family visits and the difficulties the families face, the charity SSAFA (Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Families Association) have bought a house nearby to the facility (which incidentally recently opened a new 30-bed annexe to cope with the increasing numbers of patients), with the intention of converting it into a home-from-home for the visiting families. It's in a good state of repair; a wheelchair ramp at the front door will be needed but not much else structurally. It's anticipated that about eight people would stay there, with an upper limit of 12. So SSAFA applied to the local council for planning permission for a wheelchair ramp, and change of use.

Guess what. The local council received 83 letters of objection from the local residents, claiming that the "increased traffic noise" and "additional pollution" from a 'short-term, multiple-occupancy hostel' would lower the value of their houses, and make them a "soft touch" for "those awful terrorists". If it were a halfway house for sex offenders or junkies or similar they might have more of a point (not in respect of noise or pollution, obviously, but regarding the desirability of possibly unsafe neighbours), but here we're talking not about criminals, whether or not they've served their time, but about ordinary families whose lives have been torn apart and will never be the same again. They could be you or me - anyone who has a husband or son old enough to be called up.

Shame on them. It seems nothing's changed since Kipling wrote 'Tommy' all those years ago, condemning the hypocrisy of so many civilians regarding those who're prepared to risk their lives. I don't know anyone who agrees with the wars our troops are fighting, but the people to take it out on are the politicians, not the troops themselves.

"For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country," when the guns begin to shoot;"

No Heroes In Our Backyard, eh?

However someone's got up a petition to protest at this disgusting behaviour, and it's doing quite well. Please feel free to sign it.

Time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking

You just know you're not going to get away on time when, with only a quarter of an hour of surgery time left, the boss suggests that a client should 'pop back' and get their other animal for examination, and the client lives twenty minutes away ...

If only overtime was paid at a higher rate.

Water music

With only two and a half weeks to go till Cropredy we thought we'd take a look to see if they've started the preparations yet. The short answer is 'no'. The residents of the festival field itself are still there, doing their best to get the grass short enough.
As far as the camping fields go, the good news is that there won't be a lot of effort needed to push in tent pegs. Sewn-in groundsheets will probably be a good idea, and wellies are definitely recommended.
More good news is that the waterlevel's fallen a lot and is still draining. Nobody had told a fish that we saw trying to make its way into the field!

It looks as though the emergency camping fields will be used again, as they were in 04 when the conditions were similar. They're higher and drier, but not as peaceful; they adjoin the railway line. At least at midnight on Saturday the trains go onto Sunday service.

Like a bridge over troubled water

It took Ned nearly four hours to get home from Stow last night - a journey which normally takes about half an hour. He had to go via the back lanes of several counties but eventually won through. Lots of people didn't, judging by the number of cars littering the verges. Boy's car still won't start though.

Apparently we had three times July's usual rainfall just yesterday, so having made sure the roads were mainly passable again (with care) we went to have a look at the result. On a normal summer's day you could expect to see the weir on the river Leam in the middle of Leamington looking like this:

We went to stand on the far side of the bridge in the top picture to record the spectacle:

I think the caches we'd placed nearby might need replacing ...

We didn't even attempt to get to Stratford to see how they're faring. Rumour has it Wellesbourne (next village on the Stratford road) is cut off, and TV reports show that the Avon has burst its banks and the centre of Stratford is under about seven feet of water. Of course all this water is heading downriver, so the towns downstream, already inundated, have got more to come.

Ain't climate change great?

In July the sun is hot. Is it shining? No it's not

It's been a tad on the damp side today, giving rise to memories of Easter a few years ago.
Luckily this isn't our driveway; that's meant to be a stream going under a bridge, not a stream going over a bridge.
You can get a hint of the speed of the flow from the fields and ditch to the left on the drainage on the right of the road.
In fact it was so damp that instead of the really busy afternoon I'd been expecting it was deathly quiet, because the vet couldn't get to the village for aftrnoon surgery and I had to ring and cancel all the appointments - the ones that hadn't already rung me and cancelled because they couldn't get to the village either ...

Oddly, however, there was a lot more traffic than usual in the village, and I got my entertainment watching juggernauts and buses causing gridlock in the narrow main street. Apparently there were landslips onto the M40, so that was closed, and all the long-distance traffic was having to use the lanes again. Boy tried to get to a friend's house about eight miles away and only managed to get four miles away before his car died and a pal towed him home. Then they went out again in a 4x4, no doubt hoping to make a few quid by towing people out of puddles. At least they're together and shouldn't come to too much harm, surely?

Now, as soon as Ned gets back from Cheltenham (he set off at about 1.30 and it's now ... ooh let me see ... 7 o'clock) I'll be able to relax.

Tell me something I don't know

Frankly, I'd complain if they didn't.

On the road again

We drove and we drove and we drove.We drove to Coventry to collect a dalmatian for rehoming (not as emotional as I'd feared) and we drove down the M40 to hand her over to her adopters. She came away with us in the car quite confidently, although as time went by I could see she was starting to get a bit bewildered and missing her 'mum'. But as we waited for her adopters to arrive she tucked her head under my arm for a cuddle, and then kissed Ned's ear for some attention from him. She was a sweetie who, although by no means ill-treated previously, I think will have a better life in future, with more time and attention being given to her.

Once all the paperwork was completed and she was handed over we drove across country to MMM's place, via several very interestingly narrow obscure winding lanes thanks to Henrietta, to help rid her of surplus possessions in preparation for her international flit. (Omally, we have stuff for you too.)

Then home. By this time the combined effects of an early rise, emotional stress of the dog-move and the unexpected heat of the day (anyone would think it was summer) caused me to lapse into a semi-coma and it took the application of several restorative cups of tea at home before I felt almost human again. I think an early night is called for.

*looks at time*

Oops.

Auf Wiedersehen, adieu

Phew! The locum quickly proved to be totally unsuitable and was given the order of the boot before being due to come to the village surgery for 'my' shift (and after I'd been brushing up my Greek - Ouzo, retsina, "exo skilio" - too). So normal chaos is resumed.

Ocean of motion

Things seem to be lurching from bad to worse at the vets' since the practice changed hands. in the Old Days there were three vets; the practice owner and two others who shared the workload and all knew what they were doing. Now pissups and breweries spring to mind. First the new owners (both vets) were unaware that they needed to renew certain licences so no Pet Passports or farm work can be done, thus hacking off all the farm clients. Then they said that because they live miles away and don't want to disrupt their children's schooling they can't do all the hours that the boss used to do, so the others must cover. (Very popular as you can imagine.) I hear that one employee burst into the local where a chillingly polite meeting was going on (public place for safety) shrieking that she couldn't cope any more! Now they've employed a locum who not only doesn't speak English but also can't work the computer, so we untrained receptionists are going to have input everything that this vet does so that invoices are correct. This will have to be done in the consulting room at the same time as we're in the reception dealing with the clients out there. As there's only one of us on duty at a time this could be interesting.

*Goes to study the Sits Vac.