Roman in the gloamin'

We have two small ponds in the garden; the orginal plan was that water would be pumped from the bottom one to the top then trickle aesthetically down a little pebbly rill back to the bottom one. Thus the water would be constantly aerated for the happy survival of ornamental fishies in the top and froggies and newts and suchlike in the bottom one. Unfortunately it never really worked out like that because we never got around to permanently wiring in the pump which meant that it only worked when the back door was open to be plugged in, so it could only be on when we were in, and when it was off there was too much water in one pond and not enough in the other, and it was all a bit pants really. Then half the fish died, and a heron ate the other half, and the ponds started smelling manky, so I decided that this summer, before any wildlife settled in the sludge at the bottom to hibernate I'd empty them both and fill them in.

I'd get the bottom pond nearly empty (baling it out bucketful by bucketful, and taking any efts I found across the field to a real wild pond) then have to go to stop for a break because my back ached and it was usually getting late and supper needed cooking. Of course it was at this point, every time (oh yes, I've done this several times) it rained, and filled the pond again.

Ned reckons it's a Sisyphean task that will never be complete, but I reckon it's merely Herculean and will be done eventually. I wonder if the Greeks or Romans are right.

Working together they get the job done

Barack Obama
Can we fix it?
Barack Obama
Yes we can!

Let's hope so anyway!

(With apologies to Bob The Builder)

Rockabye, sweet baby James?

Ned was emailed a picture which has caused great consternation at Genie Towers. Ned studied it carefully and couldn't be certain; I studied it carefully and couldn't be certain. So we called the Boy to have a look and see what he thought. He too studied it carefully, and finally decided that no, it couldn't be him because his trousers don't have a white lining to the pocket.

I'm not sure if that was meant to reassure me or not.

I'm sorry, so sorry

For being late. I'm usually very punctual - I've been known to be up to an hour early sometimes, and not only when the clocks have just changed - and today's slip was a genuine error. I thought my appointment was at 10.40 so I was there, ready, at 10.30 (early, you see?) only to be told my appointment was really at 10.20. So I apologised profusely and asked if I should reschedule for another day. "First I'll see if the nurse can fit you in, though she's very busy today." So I waited patiently (see what I did there?) and read the only slightly out of date magazines until my name was called. Again I apologised for my mistake and thanked her being able to see me after all.

Which is why I think it was a bit unkind of her not to warm the speculum first, or to allow it to spring open unexpectedly on removal. To be fair, she apologised in her turn and I think the latter was a genuine accident, but it didn't half make my eyes water.

Baby it's cold outside

What's happening? First of all I went outside to put the wheelie bin out, glanced at the numberplate of a passing car (like you do - is it 987?) and the plate was obscured by snow! A few minutes later I wnet to get some logs and found it's snowing, quite heavily. Come on, it's still only October - and they go on about global warming? At this rate I'm going to have to put the heating on.

It's the way that you say it

A 4-pack of yoghurts costs £1.65. An 8-pack of the same yoghurts costs £2.88. A "Special Offer" ticket announces that two 4-packs is a bargain at £3.00.

I bought the 8-pack.

And the nurse shall hold a basin

We were told a few weeks ago that the practice is due for its official inspection in the next couple of months, so every spare moment has been spent cleaning even in the most inaccessible and unlikely places, and not just with the usual cleaning products but extra special ones. Even the inside of the safe is sparkling - the waiting room chairs have been sterilised before being polished, and even the clients were commenting that we seemed to have gone overboard with the bleach. And the most annoying bit about it is that nothing looks any different. But at least we were as sure as we can be that everything would be up to scratch. Then today a client brought in his dog who'd had a minor disagreement with a fence and had cut his ear. Now, ears have a very good blood supply and this, being no exception, was bleeding profusely. The owner was doing a very good job at mopping up and then .... the dog shook his head.

Several times.

It took the vet and I three-quarters of an hour after surgery closed to remove what we hope was the last of the blood from the premises; it had even sprayed inside the drawers. Only the strip light needs cleaning - it was too hot to do tonight, and we didn't want to risk it exploding.

The answer is blowin' in the wind

Days can always be divided into Good and Bad. Today was no exception.

Good (in no particular order):
1. The weather was lovely.
2. We had a good lunch with good friends.
3. They had an interesting amount of mobile furry cushions.
4. We didn't take a dog so I didn't have to empty my bank balance to pay for the damage.
5. We were the first to receive a certain invitation, and it didn't explode when we opened it. (Accepted.)
6. I learned that there are cats that fold without trying to disembowel your arm.
7. When we got home Beattie was so happy she attempted a scamper and prance. We'd thought her fried brain had given up on emotion and were delighted to be proved wrong.
8. The fire lit first go.
9. My experimental supper was a resounding success.
10. When I had my bath there was still plenty of hot water.

Bad:
1. I had cats for many years, but I never knew they farted.

Things ain't cooking in my kitchen

Does anyone know if there's a difference between risotto rice and pudding rice, or can I put them both in the same storage jar and have a useful space in my cupboard?

Living by numbers

Today I spotted, in order, 979, 981, 982, 983 and 984.

Guess which car number I was actually hoping to see?

The first cut is the deepest

Complacency is a Bad Thing. The Credit Crunch is starting to bite and I'm now down to just one job, which is a bit of a bugger. Not much point in remaining self-employed if my self-employment has gone. Poo.

It's not a public inquiry

Wow, I got it right!

One of my employers (sounds good, huh?) has recently relocated so the admin work I do for them has been somewhat chaotic ("Okay, who's hidden the stationary cupboard?") and I've been catching up with the backlog of invoices. When I'd paid the outstanding backlog of unpaid urgent bills I started going through the rest of the paperwork, and was alarmed to find a letter advising me of a change of bank account for one of the companies I'd just paid. Oh bugger, I thought. Where have I sent the money? I searched the bank's website to try to find out how to cancel a payment but failed; and there was nobody else in the office to ask. So I worried and fretted. The next time I was in the office I explained it all to a director who was very understanding, which was nice.

Then I came across a bill for the new account we'd opened (with the same company) with the original bank details listed, and not the account number to which the letter had advised payments should be sent. This seemed a little odd, and I heard distant alarm bells ringing. I went back to the director, armed with all the paperwork as evidence. He rang the company queryline; no, they knew nothing about a change of bank account; no the signatory on the letter wasn't employed by them.

It seems I'd uncovered a con! I'm so very very glad that I didn't send any money to the 'new' account number, only to the usual one; I hope BT (for that is the company I was paying) appreciate my suspicious nature, and that they're grateful for the information that someone's trying to divert legitimate payments to a fraudulent account.

You put your left leg(s) out

Not a great deal of improvement re Beetle's health. She wants to come out for walks, but it takes a long time to get her moving once she's out; then after about five minutes she perks up and trots along faster than I can go. But when we get home again the curtain drops and the clouds come over her brain. She walks staggers into corners and can't get out. She gets stuck underneath dining chairs. She stands still, drops her head and wobbles violently until she's either grabbed and reassured (tail wags appreciatively) or, if you can't reach her in time, she falls over. I've put a carpet square down by her food bowl because when she puts her head down to eat (her appetite hasn't failed her!) her legs slide out from under her. However she manages to sleep very well by taking up three-quarters of the bed, leaving Ned and I clinging to our respective edges by our fingernails.

Good days, bad days

Beattie must have had a funny turn the other night - she was restless and fidgety, but not really more than usual. But in the morning she really wasn't herself; if she was human you'd think she'd had a mild stroke, but dogs don't get strokes in the same way as people do. She was very wobbly on her legs, with a definite list to port; she slithered down the stairs (me going backwards in front of her acting as a safety-net), bumped into the lefthand wall in the hall, bumped into the lefthand doorpost into the kitchen, and when on the tiled floor by the back door her left legs shot out sideways. She wanted to come for a walk, and being on the lead I could keep her going in the right (d'you see what I did there?) direction, and we went widdershins around the field because that was easier for her.

Granny dogsat her when I was at work and the at the end of the shift the vet popped in to check her over. There's nothing that you can pinpoint as being the cause, but clearly something's gone wrong somewhere - a blown fuse, maybe, making her left side weaker. So she has tablets to try to increase the blood flow to her brain and follow a watching brief. I don't think we've reached the end of the road yet, but we must be close to the final straight; I've told Beattie she's got to last out all the time Mother's here because I don't think I could handle Mother's distress as well as my own.

Flash! Saviour of the universe!

So there we were, standing in front of a large selection of beers, trying to decide which to buy, when I overheard the woman next to me discussing a similar problem with her teenage son. (She'd tried phoning her husband but he was too busy to talk then and would phone her back.) "What's that one up there?" she asked him. "That's called "Summer Lightning" he replied, then read out the blurb on the label. "That sounds all right" she said "but they've spelled it wrong - it should have an E in Lightening".

I couldn't let it pass without comment. "No, there's only an E in the word if you're talking about making something lighter - like lightening your hair. If you're talking about electrical storms, lightning without the E is correct."

Luckily she took it in good spirit - and I bet whenever they see a flash of lightning they remember the nosy eavesdropping busybody!

As sure as night is dark and day is light

A week in, and nobody's killed anyone yet! Typically, rather than be able to spend some time helping Mother settle in with us I've had to cover for people at work, so she's been left pretty much to her own devices. Still, we made up for it at the weekend, shovelling her into the car and taking her out and about, more than she's been for years! It helps her to sleep ...

The tent's dry at last. (No, that's not where she's sleeping.)

Boy's back from Reading. He and his friends had bought tickets over the net and found (along with several hundred others) that they'd been scammed, so had to queue for 23 hours (yes, 23 hours) in a very badly-managed horde to buy new tickets. That was a lovely birthday for his friend Dan. So now they have to contact Trading Standards and the credit card companies for a refund.

And never sit down with a tear and a frown

We still haven't had a chance to put up the tent after Cropredy to dry it out; the weather was ideal today but we were both at work so couldn't do it. The soonest will be next weekend, weather permitting. Otherwise it's going to get really manky. (Did I mention that during the Sunday the tent, in its bag, started ticking? I kept staring at it accusingly and it'd shut up, only to start again when I looked away. I told Ned and he gave it a kick, whereupon a very bewildered Cropredy wasp crawled out of the bag and blundered to the window. I wonder if it's got home yet?)

Anyway. We can't put up the tent tomorrow cos we're going paddling with chums, then on Sunday we're going to collect my Mother and all her belongings as it's the Midlands stage of her Royal Progress northwards. With her propensity to fall over at the drop of a hat and our active dogs, and her vegetarianism and our omniverousness, this could be interesting.

"Don't look, Ethel!"

Other Cropredy things:

On Friday Hutters took his GPS and went caching with Ned and Stu and H accompanying him for the fun of it. After passing a couple of pubs (it would have been rude not to go in and buy a drink) Hutters dutifully followed his GPS and the others helped. In fact they helped so much that all three managed to find and sign and rehide the cache before the GPS did its stuff. Much hilarity ensued from three members of the party, whose parentage was roundly disputed for the rest of the weekend.

In fact they had so much fun they thought about doing it again the next day, but for some reason (probably good manners, because it would have been rude not to go in) they never really got past the pubs, or the beer tent on the way back (well, it would have been rude not to buy a jug), by which time Ned had a religious revelation and started Speaking In Tongues ("It bezzel" "Yes dear"), so I suggested he go and have a little lie-down. H (she's lovely, and I hope we didn't scare her too much) and Stu and I sat under the gazebo (awfully civilised, doncherknow) and chatted until I saw a bare-chested man at the back of our tent. Bear in mind that it was only about 3.30 in the afternoon and broad daylight, and our tent was right by a main walkway across the campsite. I sat up a little higher and saw .... "Oh shiiiiiiit!" I leapt to my feet and dived into the tent to grab a large covering. "What's wrong?" "He's got no sodding clothes on!". Yes, Ned had decided he needed the loo, had risen from his slumbers of nekkidness and was in danger of causing a breach of the peace. I managed to get him draped when two very nice women asked if something was wrong and could they help? "Nothankyouit'sfine" I squeaked, before hissing for help from friends who I knew wouldn't call the police. We managed to get him past the maze of guyropes and back into the tent where I got some clothes onto him before making him lie down again. But his sleep had been disturbed and he made several bids for freedom (fortunately clothed now) with me now giggling hysterically (I couldn't help recalling an episode of Father Ted when Father Jack escaped and Ted and Dougal were trying to catch him) in hot pursuit. A few cups of 'special rum' (ie very very strong black coffee) helped a lot, and with the tent doors firmly pegged shut he had a proper sleep for several hours. Which is why we missed the rest of the performances.

The final heart-stopping moment happened when we were in the queue of vehicles trying to get off the campsites onto the tarmac track to get home. Cars were converging from three different directions and often got wheelspin on the muddy slippery grass. Which is exactly what happened to a large motorhome that revved hard and suddenly got traction, shooting across the road as we were coming out in the opposite direction, missing us by inches. We nearly died.

If you really mean it

It's far too complicated to do a proper day-by-day report of Cropredy 08 so I'll just tell you some of the highlights in dribs and drabs as I recall them. The observant among you might detect a theme running through my critiques of the bands.

The only real disappointment music-wise was Supergrass who were headlining the first day. Okay they can play well, but what band doesn't play their best-known hit ("Alright" in case it'd slipped anyone's mind)? Everyone thought they'd do it as their final encore (especially as they'd come on for an encore and said they'd do some tracks of the tracks from their 'I Should Coco' album of which it's a highlight), so when they went offstage again after three more songs the crowd kept calling them back. The MC came onstage and asked the crowd "Do you want some more?" " Yeeeeeeeesssssss!!" came the reply ... there was a pause while someone scurried onstage, whispered him a message then scurried off. "Errmmm .. sorry, they're not coming back on. That's it. Thank you and goodnight!" Poor bloke, he was as surprised as everyone else at this blatant snub to all the people there. So, oi Supergrass! Are you listening? You spoilt the day for a lot of people (judging from what I overheard as we dutifully trooped back to the campsites) and left the impression that you're a load of divas who haven't learned who it is who buys your records and pays your bills. Grow up.

Right, we'll put them out of our minds and get back to the Good Stuff! The music on Day 2 was brilliant. It was opened by the brilliant
Family Mahone who are consummate professionals and hugely entertaining to boot (ie not vanishing up their own backsides)! If you ever get a chance to see them, seize it - you won't be disappointed. Especially if you like Drinking Songs. Another great set was done by Siobhan Miler & Jeana Leslie who fully justified their winning of the Radio 2 Young Folk Award. They were amazing. Good luck to you, girls! May you go from strength to strength!

Before Friday's headline act was Joe Brown performing with Dave Edmunds. What can I say? What a treat - stunning musicianship and a real joy. They seemed to really be enjoying themselves (I suppose with Joe Brown being 67 now he's only doing it because he loves it and isn't just drawing his pension) and gave stunning performances. He's a mere whippersnapper at 64, but makes up for that by having survived a quadruple bypass.

The headline act was The Levellers (Q: why do Levellers only drink Herbal Tea? A: Because Proper Tea is theft.") who again know what an audience wants and did their hits at intervals during the set, so everyone was happy. Another band who Delivered The Goods.

The Saturday was unfortunately very wet, as opposed to the previous days which had been showery at worst. Due to circumstances outside my control (mainly the weather, Beattie, and Ned!), about which I shall blog another time, I only got to see Richard Digance in his usual graveyard slot, who did exactly what at least a small part of the audience wanted, the details of whuich will undoubtedly be told far more eloquently by the main protagonists! Always a terrific performance to get an audience warmed up. Regretfully I only heard the rest of the music from the campsite - I'd have loved to have see Midge Ure, whose music I've liked for years before the Main Event which is always the Fairport Convention finale, and always worth being at if at all possible. Still, there's always next year, which will be the 30th anniversary of their first Farewell concert held on this site ...

I will wear the green willow**

Cropredy was fun, if very wet. Lots and lots of things (and Things, both current and new) happened, about which more later. Richard Digance was great and read out a request and luckily the right response was given.
*apologises for the blurry photo and blames the rain, not the champagne

**Looks for milliners in Yellow Pages.