Come fly with me ...

Is it only this village (at least I know it's not just Genie Towers, thankfully!), or is the current plague of houseflies national? I hate using flysprays, especially in the kitchen, and prefer judiciously placed (so that nobody gets their hair stuck) flypapers. Two years ago a single flypaper lasted a couple of months. Last year I didn't need to use one at all. This year they last two weeks tops. The last one I hung up had three flies stuck to it before I'd put away the kitchen chair I'd been standing (oh god, my vertigo!) to hang the damn thing. The bloody things are everywhere.

We're all going on a summer holiday

Anyway to continue, while Mother's house moving was going through, Ned and I managed to grab part of our previously booked holiday in Cornwall. The first time we went down there the weather was fantastic and we had the most marvellous time. Every year since then the weather has been ... 'unreliable' is probably the best description. Last year was the worst when we had to come back early because the rain and gales were getting worse and worse and threatening to destroy the tent. This year wasn't quite so bad, but the overall impression was one of grey dampness rather than summer sunshine. But it was at least good enough to visit some of our favourite places, like Port Isaac, which is the setting for the fictional Port Wenn in the TV series Doc Martin. It's very picturesque

with very narrow streets in the old part of the village. We'd meant to park at the handy car park at the top of the town and walk down, but we took a different route which led us down a worrying ("Please don't let there be anything coming the other way") lane right into the centre
so we ended up parking in the harbour. Our car is one of those down there on the shingle.


We couldn't do our usual long walks, a, because the weather wasn't conducive to admiring the views and b, because Beattie's arthritis would mean she'd be in a lot of pain. So we contented ourselves with shorter strolls on the beach.



As we'd never been to St Ives before (and the Chysauster Iron Age village was shut because of the lashing rain) we thought we'd have a browse around. A word of warning to others who think about going there - when you see a sign suggesting that vehicles don't go right into the heart of the town, take heed, or you'll find yourself testing your handbrake to the limit whilst simultaneously shortening the life of your clutch by several years!

It wasn't the best place to go strolling in the rain (with a very reluctant and resentful dog in tow!) but had a better selection of art galleries than some of the other places we've been. One very nice little shop even allowed Beattie in as I was admiring the work of Stewart Middlemas. One day I'll buy something of his.

Move it and a-groove it

Apologies for the recent lack of anything more than idle random thoughts - it's been a very strange and hectic few weeks, and I'm only slowly getting my mind back onto its usual course. So randomness will probably continue for some time to come!

As you know, my mother's been in the throes of moving house, which is traumatic at any time but when you're 85 (today! Happy birthday, Mum!) is even more unsettling. She and my dad bought the house
back in 1983, and was the first home they'd ever owned (due to being in the Forces we were always in rented quarters). Unfortunately Dad didn't live for many years afterwards and since his death in 1987 she lived there alone, apart from the dog she got a couple of years later. So she was very much settled there, and it's only because of her increasing frailty and the isolation of the house that she realised she would have to leave. The sale has been reasonably straightforward, but there are always hitches and snags (usually of a financial nature and never in Mother's favour), and trying to work out a timescale to suit everyone involved has been a challenge. My brothers have done sterling work - the one Oop North where Mother will be moving to has done all the paperwork, and the other one Down South has (with as much help from me as I could) done a lot of the practical stuff, such as organise removers and order skips for rubbish and getting things out of lofts and dismantling the disability aids and all the million and one things that crop up. But at last on Thursday the money was transferred and the keys handed over and that stage of the move is done. It's very odd to think I'll never be going back there again.

Here's another picture of the Boy beside 'my' mulberry tree which I grew from a seed. I hope the new owners leave it alone.
Of course her new bungalow (somewhat smaller! Hopefully she won't find it too cramped and will be able to get her wheely-zimmer around it without crashing into things!) is nowhere near ready for her to move into yet - it needs rewiring and a new bathroom that she'll be able to use and all that sort of thing done, so she's started her 'Royal Progress' (in the manner of Elizabeth I, travelling around her realm) and is currently staying with my Southern Brother before sometime (I hope after Cropredy and not before) moving in with us for a while, and then continuing Northwards. Slow stages to help her adjust have been decided on as being least stressful for her.

Which is why I'm trying to sort out all the rubbish we've got in the back room to make room to put a bed up for her. The amount of accumulated 'essentials' - many of which are going straight to the tip - is astonishing, so it's a valuable exercise anyway.

You must remember this

Often people ring up to cancel appointments for one reason or another; often they can't find the cat, sometimes they've realised they can't make it and want to reschedule, sometimes they just change their mind. Sometimes they forget and just don't turn up.

Today was the first time we had a client turn up for the appointment but had forgotten to bring the dog ...

Where did you get that tile?

It's bugging us - what sort of hat are these chaps wearing? We thought at first that they must be trilbys or homburgs, but they're neither. Any ideas?

Hold your hand out, you naughty boy

Oh, doesn't it add to one's general joie de vivre, when one's beloved child who works with a chainsaw for a living comes home with a bandaged hand saying "Mum, I've just spent the afternoon in Casualty".

It turns out to be a minor flesh wound, but my life expectancy is noticeably shortened.

I know that I'm a prisoner

I got a bit more of Mother's pre-move house-sorting done this weekend. The most awkward loft is now completely empty (I lost count of the number of times I whacked my elbow on the hatch-frame) as is one wardrobe and my Dad's chest of drawers which I'd hoped to fit into the car to bring back for The Boy, but the wheel-arches thwarted that plan and I had to limit myself to a lawnmower, logs, coal, kindling, a small rug and a picture.

Because it was possibly the last time I'll be going down there I went to visit my Dad's grave to keep him up to speed with proceedings. It's 21 years since he died and you'd have thought I'd have got used to the idea, but no. Every time I go there I only have to say hello before I have to sit on his grass and sob like a baby. Quite pathetic.

Oh, and you remember I told you about the mulberry tree that I grew from seed in 1981 that has flourished but never fruited? Guess what it's done? Yep, the first fruits are developing. The alternative reasons are a) that it hated us and is rejoicing or b) it needed a dead dog buried at its foot.

I want to break free

'Free' is one of the many words that's used in different ways to give very different meanings. For example, as well as meaning 'unoccupied' ("I'm free, Captain Peacock") or 'vacant' (the bathroom's free now) it can also mean 'for no money at all'. All of which can make translation into a foreign language fraught with danger and has to be approached with caution in case it's used in the wrong sense.

While we had the bananana machine out of mothballs I siezed seized (why do I always spell that word wrong first time?) the opportunity to print myself (and make an extra couple on spare red shirts) a political protest teeshirt on a topic very dear to my heart, ever since I first read Tintin in Tibet at the age of 6.

I'm assured, by a well-trusted native speaker and writer of a Chinese language, that the script on this shirt

reads "Liberate Tibet".

I do hope so, and that my chest isn't actually recommending the chef's special menu for two.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily

It's been all go here at Genie Towers. Somebody at Ned's Jelly factory thought it would be a jolly fine idea to enter the annual charity Raft Race ("Think of the advertising potential, Adam!") and in a brief rush of enthusiasm a volunteer crew was duly signed up. The rules are that everything has to be homemade from the rafts themselves to the method of propulsion - no manufactured paddles. The various tasks were delegated to those most likely to be able to achieve them; the welding of the barrels was assigned to someone who knows how to weld, etc (which was a top move, when you saw some of the other rafts!). Ned & I dusted off the bananana machine and produced the crew's teeshirts proudly emblazoned with (the company's name. They nearly didn't happen. Two weekends before the race we decided to clean off old screens to reuse them, then coat the clean ones, expose them and wash them off which would mean we could empty the garage to print them at our leisure. The best-laid plans, and all that ...

First of all the old coating decided that it loved the screens so much that it wasn't going to come off, and despite double-strength solvent, hot water and a lot of scrubbing, after two days it was still determinedly clinging to several parts of the screens. Bugger. When we eventually managed to get a large enough clean area for what we needed we coated them and left them to dry in a warm dark place for a couple of days. On a free evening the design was duly exposed onto them and they were taken for rinsing ... whereupon all the coating (all right, so it's been a long time since it had been used and chemicals deteriorate) promptly flowed away, leaving us back at square 1. Bugger again. Despite the attempts of a garage mouse to thwart us by eating through a bottle of essential chemical there was just enough left to make some fresh emulsion, and the screens were coated again and left to dry. On the day before the race the design was once more exposed onto them and with bated breath we rinsed them off ... hurrah! It only washed off where we wanted it to! Victory was in sight!

Until Ned started setting up the machine to actually start the printing, when he realised that we'd exposed them back to front and the advertising would only work if everyone held a mirror! Aaarrrggghhh! Rinse off the coating again, recoat, and judicious use of a hairdryer speeded up the drying time. This time it all worked, but it was after ten at night by the time we finally got all the printing done, and we had to meet up at the starting point at 8.30 the next morning.

The rafts were launched one after the other, with the starting line some 100 yards downstream - as each boat passed they'd call out their number and their starting time noted. From then on it was a simple matter of getting downstream (with a couple of weirs thrown in for good measure) as fast as you could.

The launch

Setting off

Gaining ground

On windy open water

Approaching the finish - at last!

Yes, they did all change places, several times!

Unfortunately nobody had a camera handy when young James had a contretemps with a tree whilst using the punting pole, and ended up dangling by his neck in a fork in a branch - luckily for him it snapped (the branch, not his neck) and he realised the wisdom of wearing a lifejacket under his teeshirt.

Usually it takes crews about 3 hours to complete the 7½ mile course, but this year although it was warm and sunny there were very strong winds, and the moment people eased off paddling the rafts were being blown back upstream. It was just under 5 hours before Ned and the rest finally crossed the finishing line (coming in a respectable 38th out of 56 finishers); the last boat to complete the course took just over 7 hours.

Surprisingly everybody could move reasonably freely the next day at work, but during the Monday night Ned and another chap were struck down by a nasty lurgy, resulting in explosive ejection of as many bodily contents as possible. Having discounted Weil's Disease (incubation period 7 to 14 days; maybe we have that to look forward to as well) my money's now on cryptosporidium, which can last between 1 and 3 weeks. What fun!

Gin a body meet a body ...

...well, not comin' through the rye, really; more like runnin' through the wheat. Harry and Piglet love running through it and springbokking over it (they don't break it down or damage it so I don't feel bad about letting them), hunting for all the creatures that are hiding in it, like rabbits and pheasants and partridges and, on one very exciting occasion, a roe deer. As the wheat's grown taller the stalks become tougher and have a very rough, sandpapery texture. And as a dog forges his path with his head, a certain amount of grazing happens.



It doesn't seem to bother him at all though; but it's very unsightly.

Be careful with that axe, Eugene

X, Y and Z axes? WTF is the Z axis?

*stares sadly at all the cut out numbers on the floor and waits for the hoover-repair man*

Got to keep on plodding onwards

Don't worry, I'm not cheating (much - with some of the horrider ones the temptation's very powerful), nor have I suddenly become amazingly brainy. It's just that, having seen most of the PuzzleDonkey puzzles already I can remember how most of them were done, and even a lot of the answers; I open a puzzle and think "Oh yes, that's the one where there was all the hoohah on the forum about the pronunciation". However I have noticed that some of the answers have changed from the original; I notice that some of my loathed puzzles are also there, and I bet I'll be tempted to bung in the old answer and scream when it's rejected. That sausage machine one was a nightmare ... (and having succumbed to temptation and cheated, I see that's one of the one's that's changed. Curses!) Anyway, because you can abandon a puzzle and move onto another, the rate of completion is dramatically speeded up. And it's lovely to work through some of my old favourites again! Thanks Si and Rich!

*looks at some of the new puzzles* ... I think ...

See the tree, how big it's grown

The day of Mother's house move draws inexorably closer, and there's still masses to do; and it's even more difficult to do it all at a distance. Eldest bro is sorting all the legal stuff and other bro and I (because we live nearer) are getting over when we can to sort out the accumulations in lofts and cupboards. I've been reclaiming all the baby clothes that Mum and Dad stored for us when we were in our tiny house with no loft, in readiness for when Baby #2 arrived. Being realistic, that's unlikely to happen now, and if we ever have any grandchildren (looks sternly at The Boy, reminding him that I'm not getting any younger) their mother will probably want lovely new stuff for her cherubs, and not their father's hand-me-downs. It's horrid getting rid of them though, because they're still in excellent condition, even the ones that had done several cousins before Boy. I just have to keep one or two things for old time's sake, and I'll take the rest to charity shops, so that hopefully someone will appreciate them.

Then there was the linen to sort. Lots and lots and lots of linen. Sheets, towels, tablecloths, napkins, place mats and doilies. Mother's never used doilies - they were inherited from her aunts, put into an oak box 30 years ago and there they've stayed ever since. I found about 50. They're also destined for a charity shop.

And we also buried Mother's dog's ashes. He's been in a chestof drawers for several years, and Ma and I thought it best if he stayed in the garden he knew, so we buried him under the mulberry tree. I grew the tree from a seed in 1981, and in its saplinghood it travelled, potted, with Mum and Dad from the Scottish borders to Bexhill before reaching their first-ever owned home two years later. When it outgrew the porch it was planted in the garden where it's thrived, and is a startling reminder of the passage of time.




(Hutters, I took this picture of the mulberry tree shortly before you texted to say how heavy the rain was ...)

It's going to be a terrible wrench for Mother to leave. She knows it's the only sensible thing to do, because she simply can't manage on her own any more, even with a gardener and cleaner coming in once a week. She tells me she's had enough of being so lonely and needs company - but I'm sure she'd prefer 'company' (ie us) to move to her rather than have to face the trauma of leaving all her memories behind. It's going to be very difficult emotionally for us all.

They seek him there

After all that palaver with boob-squishing they couldn't find a darned thing.

I'll take that as a win, then. :)

Sing little birdie, up above

This morning, as I left the house to go and get the newspaper, I distinctly heard a cuckoo. Summer's definitely on the way. Hurrah!

Bend me, shape me, any way you want me

Warning: this may contain too much information for those of a sensitive disposition.

It was nice that the mobile boob-squishing unit was air-conditioned. I'm told that's for the benefit of the equipment, not the staff or patients, but that's par for the course. I was a little disconcerted to be asked when I'd signed in if I was wearing a bra; that suggested that it might have lost a lot of its upliftability. I wonder why the tray on which you have to rest your chesticle is slightly higher than is comfortable. Perhaps it's so that you don't notice the rest of the necessary contortions, or the actual squishing. Four plates they take - from the top and from the side for each accessory. I was very relieved to find that it's the machine that tilts to do the sideview and that I didn't have to lean at 45 degrees, because I don't think my back would have allowed it. And what was best was that neither of them popped once, even though I was fairly sure it was imminent. With the application of some industrial-strength underwear I'm sure they'll be back to a more usual shape in no time.

On seeing my reflection I'm looking slightly rough

Tomorrow is when I have my chesticles ironed courtesy of the NHS. try not to think about me at 4pm - it might put you off your cup of tea.

(Morning Glory)

Somewhere in the middle of a long and convoluted situation.

Found in a box removed during the clearance of one of my mother's lofts was a novel. I have a very catholic (small c) taste in reading material, but this particular book, entitled "What Did It Mean?" was very well named and is one of the most irritating and badly-written books I've ever come across. I wonder if it'll be the second book I've never finished.

She's so twentieth century

Ah, happy memories! Enjoy!

(PS - you'll score better if you turn your speakers on!)

I scored a Far Out
80% on theQuiz by SheGoddess: Quick Weight Loss

Would you have liked a present too?

This village is jolly kind, you know. Without being told they seemed to somehow know that it was Ned's birthday and they laid on a lovely weekend. Yesterday there was a beer festival at the Sports and Social Club (17 beers - we only tried 6) and then today the church tower was open for visitors.

The narrow wooden stairs from the ground to the ringing platform was fine, if steep; the banisters made it easy though. The ladder from there through the trapdoor to the clock level was unnerving, because it went over the void of the stairs - okay if you hold the rungs and don't look down. Then there was the very narrow spiral stair - very worn treads of a maximum width of 7 inches - first to the bells themselves then onwards and upwards again, finally emerging on hands and knees through a small opening onto the roof itself. Isn't it odd how it's a lot further down than it is looking up? Funny how an episode of Inspector Morse kept coming into my mind; the one where Richard Briers was a murderer and ended up jumping off a church roof ...



Looks like rush hour.


The (very) small white building on the right of the road, in the middle of the picture, is where I work.



And the village even managed to lay on some lovely weather too.