Sod 'em All

Yesterday we went along to the Farmers' Market. It's the first time we've done any real food shopping this year. So far it's just been the odd top-up, some spuds, some mushrooms, sprouts etc. This is the first lot of meat. Instead we've been having a great use-up of things in the freezer.

Of late we've been stuck in using up left over gammon. As a result we seem to have a week of baked beans by way of accompaniment. So you can understand the sheer joy of sprouts with Lancastrian sausages yesterday. And then tomorrow we've got braised wood pigeon to look forward to. (I admit we're back to the freezer for today's Cheese Pasta Medley.) Next week, when we do the supermarket shop we'll have a proper shop & get all the veg & odds & ends we need to go with the meat we bought yesterday.

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I've been interrupted mid-blog yet again by the doorbell. This time it's parcels for a different neighbour.

The lady who handed the parcels over, commented that they were for Sod 'em All. I looked puzzled.

"Oh didn't you know the house is called "Llamedos"? I thought it was an unusual name so I asked the owner the origin of the name. She'd just come through an acrimonious divorce so she called the house "Llamedos" which is "Sod 'em All" in reverse."

You live & learn

A neighbour pops by

I'm just sitting down to write this blog when the doorbell goes. It's Dave, a neighbour come to collect a parcel that arrived addressed to him while he was out. He stops for a bit of a chat. He's thinking of getting some work done on his house. He's just had the boiler sorted & is now getting prices for a conservatory.

I sympathise with him, remembering our shock on realising how much such an extension would have cost us. He's been pleasantly surprised. He's had two quotes so far.

"The first man came. He was with us for ages, telling us what was involved. He told us how deep the footings would have to be and so on. The second man was only here for a quarter of an hour. His quote was a lot cheaper. The only thing was he's got all the measurements wrong. By his measurements the wall of the conservatory would be right in the middle of a window!"

Guess which man Dave is thinking of accepting? You've got it. The first one. At least he feels he stands a chance of getting what they want if the man can at least get the measurements right. But first he's going to get a few more quotes to maybe have as leverage to get the price reduced a bit.

Our ideas of a conservatory are definitely on hold. It certainly won't be happening very immediately, if ever.

The annual bloodlet

I'm up early. I have an appointment for my annual bloodletting at the surgery at 8.10 this morning. As I can only drink water for 8 or so hours before, I'm relieved it's so early. As I've mentioned before, starting the day without the caffeine kick of some tea I find hard going.

We get there a little early. We don't have to wait long before I'm called in.

First she decides to check my blood pressure. Between readings she decides to check my pulse. She can't find it.

"Perhaps it under your watch," she suggests.

I take my watch off. Still no pulse.

She tries my other wrist. No pulse. She's beginning to panic now.

I assure her I am still alive. She's not the first nurse not to be able to find my pulse. I'm more amazed if they can find it. The nurse reassures herself that the machine will have to take it. She generally has more confidence in her own counting but not on this occasion.

She then turns to the blood taking.

"I suppose now you're going to tell me it's difficult to take blood out of you," she comments. I agree.

The first time I had to give blood, after numerous efforts at the surgery they eventually decided I had to go to the hospital. There, after several attempts & advising me that I had nervous veins that take flight the moment a needle comes their direction, they managed to gather a few drops, a fraction of the amount they usually take for the tests. Ever since I've made it a policy of warning people they may have difficulty. Forewarned they usually do better.

Still on this occasion, after a lot of prodding around, the nurse did manage to find a vein & did manage to extract a reasonable quantity. She clearly felt quite chuffed with herself, having achieved what many can't.

I then go through some lifestyle questions, a check of height (I'm shrinking due to the osteoporosis), weight (I've lost some for once), waist measurements, smoking & alcohol consumption (I'm never sure how many units of alcohol there is in a bottle of wine so your guess is as good as mine!) & exercise (minimal. I feel I'm doing a lot just with the odd pottering I do around the house & hauling myself off a chair but I don't think that's what they consider as exercise).

Finally I ask her when the results will be through.

"Oh, you'll get a letter in a few days like the one you had to make this appointment," she blithely tells me.

"What letter?" I ask. "I just made the appointment this time every year as the doctor told me to. I didn't get a letter."

"Oh," she says, "you should have had a letter to remind you."

"I've never had one even though I've had this check for the last few years. So when will the results arrive?"

"If you don't get a letter, you'd best give us a ring later in the week," she suggests.

I expect I'll be ringing.

Tate Liverpool

I think the time has come for a few words about our trip to Liverpool. Undoubtedly for me the highlight was our visit to the Tate. As you know that was one of primary reasons for going there in the first place.

The Seagram Murals were among Rothko's last works before he committed suicide in 1970. There is something quite dark, oppressive & reflective of despair in these works. Indeed in one the pictures the red almost seems to seep out of the picture like blood. I don't think I could spend all day in the room with them, certainly in the subdued lighting as specified by Rothko himself, without feeling pretty suicidal. That's not to say there isn't some cheer in them. There's a tremendous sense of movement in the divides between the blocks of colour. They certainly make for a powerful collection. I'm pleased we've seen them.

Afterwards we went upstairs to look at some of the "DLA Piper Series: T/his is Sculpture" exhibition. We wandered round. The first room, painted fuchsia, was full of works by artists known & unknown to us. Some did little for us. Duchamps urinal remains just that as far as I'm concerned. Equally the "Lobster Telephone" & one of Andy Warhol's Campbell soup pictures do little for me. But others were wonderful.

The first work that caught my eye was a work by a Russian sculptor whose name means nothing to me. It was of a woman's head made in metal planes. The tenderness of that face, especially the lips was remarkable.

I fought done a desperate urge to handle the smooth curves of one of Barbara Hepworth's works. It looked a bit like a cracked giant conker. The outside was burnished a deep brown. The split a wonderful curve of creamy white. The curve so sensual, so seductive. The texture inside almost cork-like, outside so smooth. Beautiful.

Undoubtedly one of the most life-affirming items was Yoyoi Kusama's "Polka Dot". This large cube in metal, mirrored inside & out, had various smaller circles, polka dots, cut out. As you looked through the holes you saw a whole world of polka dots, some revealing the fuchsia colour of the walls of the room. Move your head a bit & the polka dot moved too, almost dancing before your eyes. We looked together through different sides, seeing each other's faces in the dots. We couldn't help laughing & feeling cheered.

By this time we were feeling too emotionally drained to go much further. As each visited the loo, the other looked quickly round the yellow room & the jade room. I discovered later we were both stunned & reacted in similar ways to one painting. Neither of us had expected it. Even though we both knew it in reproduction, it had never particularly struck us with any great force. The work? Picasso's "Weeping Woman". The sheer pathos of that face brought tears to the eyes as you felt she wept with grief for all the pain of all the world.

We hastily escaped back to the cafe before exiting back to Liverpool. We thought we'd have a break & maybe return another time to see some of the rest of the Tate & that exhibition. There was still another floor to go & the jade room we hadn't looked too carefully around. As it turned out we never did. But I would recommend anyone to make a visit to see the exhibitions if you have chance.

Jackson Pollack spot

AS if I've not had enough art of late, with our recent visit to the Tate Liverpool about which I intend to write soon, I've just been listening to "What's So Great about ... Jackson Pollack?" on BBC Radio 4.

First I have to admit I've only seen one original Jackson Pollack. That was in the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art in Edinburgh when we visited that city with an old (in the sense of long standing & much loved) friend. I was interested in seeing it but it was difficult to really appreciate the work because of where it was hung, in a narrow corridor. It is a big picture & needed more space. Nonetheless, I did feel it had something but I couldn't analyse what.

In the programme I was surprised by the analogy with jazz. I can see the use of syncopation & improvisation in both art forms. It was interesting to hear a jazz pianist play what he saw when he looked at a Jackson Pollack painting.

I was also surprised to hear that some of the pattern of apparently random splotches that epitomise Jackson Pollack's work is a fairly scientifically accurate portrayal of the background "noise" of all nature done at a time when this "noise" had not been discovered or described. This, the scientists reckon, is why so many people find Jackson Pollack's artwork so restful. It is putting you in tune with nature in the same way relaxing outside does.

Interesting stuff. Though, personally, I was partly back in Edinburgh with the original I saw.

A dry return

One thing about being away is that you really appreciate your tea when you get home. So it is, as usual, one first thoughts on getting home were to put the kettle on, followed by a quick trip to the loo. Imagine my horror then when no water came from the tap. Just before we'd turned into our side road we'd been stopped by some temporary traffic lights & a man turning what I now realised was the stop tap in the street off.

I thought I'd best get the unpacking done, then I'd settled in my mind we were off to somewhere with a loo & something to drink, despite the facts of our tiredness & wish just to be home. I had one last turn of the tap before putting my coat & shoes back on, when lo and behold water came forth.

Three cheers. I hastily filled the kettle & a couple of saucepans, went off to the loo while the kettle came to the boil. Oh the wonder of that cup of tea! We spent the rest of the late afternoon/evening making copious pots of tea. The sheer luxury of having good tea, made just how we like it, in ample quantities!

It's great to be home!

We're off

I'm up early this morning. It's still dark, not helped by the greyness of the day. But I'm excited. We're off to Liverpool later today for our brief break & to see the Mark Rothko exhibition. Now I'm just hoping it isn't going to snow. We're half-wondering whether we should pack extra clothing, a couple of blankets & a shovel just in case. It seems a little over the top since most of the journey will be on the motorway.

Nor have we decided whether to take the laptop. It really could do with a visit to the shop for a repair. (I'd moisturised my hands. The laptop slipped straight through my hands with a resounding thump on the floor.) We don't even know if there is wifi facilities at the hotel so assume there will be silence for a day or two while we're off enjoying ourselves.

Last night I had a panic as I suddenly realised that next Monday is the last Monday of the month & I'd done nothing about arranging a meal for us all. I had a quick phone round. Now we're all set for a meal at the pub we had our Xmas Day lunch. Everybody seems keen to go so hopefully it will be good.

But first, it's Liverpool here we come.

Life works in mysterious ways

Yesterday I listened to Jenni Murray's description of observing a mastectomy, an operation she herself underwent not so long ago - "Ruthless and Brilliant" on BBC Radio 4. I couldn't help thinking of my own experiences of having cancer & an op to solve the problem, in my case a hysterectomy.

At one point she talked about the difficulty of telling family about the diagnosis. Her particular worry was telling her mother. Fortunately for Jenni, her mother died before the necessity had become unavoidable. I couldn't help thinking how my brother had died as I waited for the final tests before confirmation of the diagnosis & the need for the op. Jenni went on to talk about the strain of both coping with her own ill-health as well as a grieving father. I felt this was very much my situation. My father was broken by the death of my brother. I don't think he ever fully recovered from it. It certainly didn't help when he feared he would lose his daughter too.

I couldn't help thinking over this coincidence. It never ceases to amaze me how troubles never seem to come singly. There seems to a whole rash of problems. Sometimes I think it is a reflection of your own mental state & inability to cope. If you weren't so stressed, other problems would pass unnoticed, possibly never even acknowledged as being problems, just taken in your stride. Though in these instances the problems did occur at the same time, with no apparent connection or causality. They cannot be described as the result of mental outlook. I say "apparent causality" in that I know there is a suggestion that cancer flares up in the presence of stress. But certainly in my case, there was no reason to anticipate my brother's death. The evening before, I spoke to him on the phone. He was tired after going back to work a bit early after a bout of flu. He just never woke up the next morning. Just coincidence.

Life works in mysterious ways.

Hidden extras

I do hate hidden extras, don't you? As you know, we've been sorting out our holiday arrangements.

Originally we thought we would sort out the flights direct with the airlines. Great the flight to Nice was just £7.99. You can't complain about that. We progressed on with the booking. As it went on, the price went up & up. So much for airport taxes. So much for bags. So much for a seat etc etc. The price soared to nearer £200. In the end we abandoned the effort & went to the travel agent. There we got a better price as well as less hassle.

Then yesterday I thought I'd book the hotel in Liverpool for the night before the flight. On-line the price was £85.50. I had to phone as there was no place to request a disabled room. Suddenly, because we will be parking for more than 14 nights, that price goes up. I complain. I should look in the small print. Sure enough it says there be may be an extra charge, not will be. So we can't even get the reduced charge for prepaying as we may not even up having to pay.

Why can't people be up front about charges? At the end of the day you know you'll have to pay whatever it is or not take up the service. It certainly makes it a lot easier to compare prices. And it doesn't leave you feeling cheated, disappointed by the deal as it ends up being so much more expensive than you thought.

Looking forward

The Fox is having another go at making soup today. His last effort was so successful he's keen to have another try. This time it's going to be a spicy soup with spring onion, mushroom & Chinese leaves. Meanwhile I'll cook some chicken breasts in some left over condensed chicken & wine soup. I'm still using up from the freezer. I've still got a little filo left but that can wait until Monday. You can have too much filo.

I'm counting the days to our trip to Liverpool. I know this little break will probably be exhausting. Quite apart from the travelling I expect the Rothko to be emotionally draining. I may be mistaken. But sometimes such draining is ultimately rewarding & refreshing. And I certainly feel the need for refreshing.

Last year took its toll on our energies. Italy didn't do much to recharge our batteries. Hopefully France in the spring will do. Meanwhile a trip to Liverpool may just give us that extra boost to keep us going.

A bit of a change

It seems strange today not preparing dinner. Someone's coming around this afternoon to discuss matters. By the time he's gone, we suspect we will just want to adjourn to the pub & talk over what's been said. With this in mind we've decided to eat out at said pub for a change. We both seem to have been tired lately so a break is what we need.

Talking of breaks we've finally booked a room in Liverpool for our trip to see the Mark Rothko exhibition. We're really looking forward to it. Now we're keeping our fingers crossed that we won't have to cancel it due to snow.

It's a long time since either of us last visited Liverpool. I'm sure it will have changed much in the last nearly forty years. I'm sure there will be much to explore, not just the Tate Liverpool. It should be good.

We've also booked our flight to France for the spring. That will involve another trip to Liverpool. As the flight is at 7.10am, we're thinking of booking an overnight stop at an airport hotel, in the way we did when we went to Italy last year. The hotel will be a bit more expensive than last year, at £85.50, but that's still cheaper than over £100 for a return taxi or for a couple of weeks' parking at an airport car park. But that I'm hoping to sort out tomorrow.

Filo

The thaw didn't last long. We are once more in a world covered with a thin dusting of white. As the morning goes on, it seems to be rapidly disappearing, thank goodness.

Meanwhile I'm continuing emptying the freezer. Today I'm tackling one of my pet hate ingredients - filo pastry. I find it just so difficult to manipulate. The only good thing is that you usually end up layering it up when you use it so hopefully the cracks will get covered up. My usual solution is scrunching.

I'm not sure quite why I keep buying it. I'm not even quite sure how much I enjoy eating it. I tend to find it rather cardboardy, dry & flavourless. I can well believe it is healthier than other forms of pastry, being as low fat as it. But it does look pretty. And what else can you use for spring rolls, for example? Or shape into crackers, batons, flowers etc?

I'm just relieved the packet is just about over. For that matter, I'm relieved filo pastry seems to be going out of fashion once more. No longer do magazines seem stuffed with recipes demanding it.

Fishy

We did some food shopping yesterday. After all his recent reading of Elizabeth David, mixed with the oh so cold weather & some friends' enthusing, the Fox has developed an urge to make some soup. So we bought a few ingredients & today he's having a go at making a watercress & salmon soup.

I've never been a great soup-maker. My mother never made any of her own. Throughout my childhood, the only soup I was prepared to eat was Heinz tomato soup. Anything else I turned my nose up. I might try a mouthful but that was it.

I have grown out of that attitude these days & am prepared to be more adventurous. I've even made some soup I've enjoyed.

The Fox, on the other hand, has fond memories of his mother's pea & ham soup. And it was good. I had some too. I gather she made other soups but that is the only home-made one of hers I remember tasting.

It will certainly be a fishy meal as I'm intending to grill some trout for the main course. In our opinion, you can never have too much fish, especially if it's oily fish.

The thaw

The thaw began on Saturday. But by nightfall it had only revealed little bits of bare ground.

It continued throughout Sunday. It was till fairly white as nightfall arrived.

I got up this morning. There was hardly a sign of white. Instead the patio area had an alarming sheen. Sure enough as I venture out later in the morning, that sheen is ice. There is a thin layer of water on top. It is drizzling a bit. But underneath it is definitely ice & very treacherous.

In some ways, I'm sad to see the snow go. It certainly made the world look different, brought out new things in the landscape around. But I'm forced to admit I am relieved at the thought of getting back to normal life, even if it isn't as colourful & exciting but is instead something rather prosaic.

I eagerly look to see what the forecast is for the northwest for the next few days. We want to arrange that trip down to Liverpool & the Rothko exhibition. Sadly I see more snow is expected later this week. I think we'll wait a little longer. At least this afternoon we're hoping to get off & book our flights to Nice for the spring & maybe a couple of nights accommodation in Nice itself. That will be something to look forward to.

Food fights

The battle began.

I suppose I ought to start at the beginning. Over the last freezing days, the food on the bird table has gone down. It is too far across ice for me to venture safely at the moment. Mr Blackbird has been coming to sit on the nearby low wall, peering in with a pleading and enquiring eye if I pass a window. My heart has given way. Some bread or other food has gone on the wall and he has duly eaten.

Today a pair of starlings discovered his trick. They waited until I'd put out the food. Then they pounced. Poor Mr Blackbird chased one bird off as the other fed. He turned his attention to the second bird & the first went in to feed. He had to expend an enormous amount of energy chivvying the starlings away before he was left the few crumbs remaining to eat in peace.

At least he was left those to repay his efforts.

Over the bay

The temperatures still go down. At 9am today it was -15. Brr!

Yesterday we went over to the Pub again. On the way the scene was beautiful. The white snow reflected the bright blue sky turning the sands & pavements a luminous blue. Across the bay the Lakeland fells shine in their thick white coats. A few stalks of grass peep out in the hedgerows. Just above the land mass the sky is almost yellow. The scene is so quiet. The traffic is much reduced. Over us two swans flap leisurely across the road, necks outstretched. Idyllic.

By the time we come home, an hour later the scene has changed. It remains quiet. The temperature is dropping fast. But now, the limpid water is almost green, a dark bluey green. The sky is suffused with pinks & yellows as the sun sets. The fells on the other side are just grey shapes. But the clouds are purple billows, rounded & curvaceous as they climb one above another. Stunning.

For all that all this snow is getting to me, it has to be admitted at times it just takes your breath away.

Thawing after freezing

My hands are tingling with warmth. I'm not long in from the cold. I ventured across to the garage for some wine for today's dinner. We want some red so it needs to come in early if it's ever to reach a nice room temperature in time to drink with this evening's dinner.

I then popped to the laundry room & the freezer. The room itself isn't unduly cold as the central heating boiler is in there &, needless to say, we've got the heating on all day at the moment. However, the purpose of the trip is a rummage in the freezer for some minced beef. I'm looking for a very small packet, just 3oz. It has disappeared beneath everything else. I end up taking just about everything out, checking the vintages of any minced beef as I go as I want to use the oldest first. Eventually I find it. By this time my fingers are frozen. Everything else is thrown back into the the chest freezer as rapidly as I can. I hastily get back inside. First job in is to put the kettle on, so I'm now sat with a hot mug of tea at hand, thawing once more.

PS If you're curious what I'm doing with 3oz minced beef, I'm making beef popovers, a sort of minced beef in Yorkshire pudding batter. A treat that even impressed a French friend & chef who stayed with us once.

Down they come

And so the time has come. Epiphany has arrived & the decorations come down. Christmas is over for another year. Still the decoration goes on outside as the world is covered in its white mantle of snow. As I prepare the potatoes for dinner I look outside & notice a cobweb just under the eaves, delicately bejewelled with silvery beads. Yet another flurry of snow descends.

We're lucky really. For all that it snowed all yesterday morning & another bit today, it isn't even an inch thick. Yesterday we hastily ventured down to the shops. We were aware we were low on milk & spuds & thought we'd best get out while we could. At least it wasn't freezing then.

Afterwards we went on to the Pub. It was good to see friends again. Many for the first time this year. It was dark by the time we left, 5ish as usual. And as usual we took PD home. He lives midway on a slope. That was the mistake. We got up the hill & stopped to let him out. As he watched at the end of his drive, the Fox tried to go forward, on up the hill. The wheels span & we didn't move. After a few attempts in which we had just slipped further back down the hill, the Fox tried to turn into the road. We gracefully slid across with our back wheels firmly pressed against the kerb. Once horizontal across the road we were able to advance, & after a three point turn went down the hill. Fortunately there is an easy way on to the main gritted road from there. Home we came.

Needless to say the snow froze overnight. This morning there is a bright watery sun. A bit of snow seems to be dissolving despite the odd downward flurry. We're hoping to at least get to the doc's this afternoon & collect our repeat prescriptions. We run out of some pills today. I suspect it will be a very quick pop out while the sun still shines. Definitely the weather to get back before night arrives with its lowering temperatures.

Scuppered

My plans have been scuppered. The Fox was doing a lot better yesterday. He sank a bit as the evening arrived, but, on the whole, he's been much more like himself. So I settled in my mind today was the day to get down to the fish shop for a nice bit of sea bass or trout for dinner.

Then, last night, for the first time in days, I watched the weather forecast - snow. Sure enough, as I went to bed, I looked out of the window. Something was coming down. I got up for a loo visit in the middle of the night. The car was turning white. By this morning a curious muffled silence greeted me. I was not surprised therefore to see the world was indeed white with snow &, what is more, the snow is still falling. For all the falling the depth of lying snow doesn't seem deep but I am anxious about what may lie beneath. After a few days of ice rink conditions, I fear that beneath this fluffy white layer is going to be a very dangerous layer of black ice. Not a day for going out, not even as far as the garden.

I'm now having a rethink about dinner. It's obviously got to be something we've got in already. The oldest thing in the freezer is some smoked haddock. I suspect it will end up as that in a creamy mustard sauce with some pasta & garlic bread. Unless that is some miracle occurs & the snow turns into rain so the roads quickly become safe. I won't need to get the smoked haddock out until lunch time so I've got a little decision time.

Meanwhile I notice a few avian footprints coming up to the back door. I look over to the feeders. I can see some fat balls there & seeds in the feeders. Reassuring. I don't feel I instantly ought to do something to help the birds. If it finally stops snowing I will maybe throw a bit of something for them but, at the moment, anything I throw out will be buried as quickly as it lands, certainly before the birds can find it.

That time of year

Everything continues on hold. Now that I feel the time has come to get back to normality, to get on with all those chores that have had to wait until the holidays were over & it's back to business as usual, the Fox has gone down with a cold. He was grumpy Saturday evening, but by Sunday he was disappearing in a grey fug. I just hope he can get rid of it before I catch it too.

Mind you, I can't see us getting that much done regardless. There is still an ice rink outside. -14 when we last looked at the thermometer.

Still, I got on with peeling spuds & preparing some sprouts for dinner. Whatever else we do, we will have to eat. In the midst of this there was a great thump, shortly followed by another, then a third. Once I had finished, I hastily went to see what all the noise was about. The post had come. 3 thick holiday brochures, all for France. Anyone would think we like France!

This seems to be the other hazard of this time of year. Great wodges of brochures, half the time for places you're not interested in. We're still getting brochures on Canada, even though we've been & come back & are not likely to return in the immediate future. Some are for escorted tours which are just not practical in a wheelchair. Or train trips where you are permanently on the move - too exhausting! I do wish companies would just wait until you asked for a brochure, not just keep on sending it. We're still getting one brochure that was asked for by the previous occupant of this house & we've been here over 9 years! I keep thinking of all those trees cut down for brochures which will just go in the bin after barely a glance.

I tell myself I shouldn't moan too much. Our holiday in the Riviera in May is the result of one such brochure. It was sent on spec. We just flipped through & noticed this very nice looking villa. And certainly the prospect of going has helped keep our morale up through this long very chilly winter.

We even got sent a DVD for a cruise holiday this year. All that did was convince us that that was not the holiday for us. After 45 minutes watching this ship go through the Panama Canal to the West Indies, we ended up concluding one canal is just like any other, & similarly a sloth in Panama looks pretty much like a sloth in Costa Rica. And we certainly don't want to be going around with a group of 30-100 other people like a gang of school kids. There didn't seem much chance to mooch around on land by yourself.

The freeze continues

I look across the patio area to the bird table & feeders. I would put some extra food out for the birds. Then I notice. I look at the intervening crazy paving. It looks as though someone has taken a big paintbrush full of clear nail varnish & painted them all. I'm sure it's ice. It's been freezing for days. The outside thermometer shows -12 this morning. The food will wait. There's still seed in the containers & I can see some fat balls around. That will have to do for the time being.