Shared frustration

Well, we bumped into Al, our gardener, in the Pub. I duly ask what he had against my feverfew. He replies me what feverfew. He had removed a notifiable weed that is poisonous to horses. I couldn't help pointing out it was feverfew, that I had bought as a plant from Barton Grange garden centre. There was even a label, with a picture of the plant, in the soil at the base of the plant. He hadn't had his glasses on & anyhow the bed is so full of plants burgeoning all over the place he hadn't even seen the card.

PD, sitting with us, couldn't help asking how many horses Al had seen along our suburban street that might try eating the plant & be poisoned. It has to be admitted in the twelve years we've lived here I've not seen one.

I suspect Al will take more care in future.

I can't help remembering my mum's frustration with my dad. She would sow seeds, rear little seedlings, transplant them in the garden, then my father would feel the urge to help out in the garden. His attitude was if he didn't recognise a plant it must be weed. And that was the end of the plants my mother had so carefully nurtured. In the end she banned him from doing anything in the garden except look after the lawns. He was allowed to help pick the apples & pears from the fruit trees in the autumn but that was it. She did everything else.

Cause of a fever, rather than a cure

WE set off for dinner. As we go out I become aware of something not there. The feverfew has disappeared from the garden!

I guess what's hapened. When we were ready to go to the Farmers' Market earlier in the day, Al, our gardener turned up. We left him to get on with it. When we'd returned from our shop, I hadn't noticed the disappearance of the plant. Clearly Al had decided it was a weed & had pulled it out. 

Sure enough, this morning I looked in the green dustbin. There, at the bottom, was the feverfew. I managed to hook it out. Al had pulled it up, roots and all. He'd bent the stem in two. I brought the plant inside. I've cut it neatly at the bend, where the stem was snapped. The top I've put in a vase, the root I've replanted. Heaven alone knows if it will survive this treatment. 

Only the day before I'd been thrilled to see the white daisy flowers opening up, revealling their sunny yellow centres. I'd expected to have weeks of pleasure looking at them. As they're perennials I had anticipated years of an ever growing plant, bushing ot with time. They're supposed to help cure a fever, not be the cause of a fever as I grow red with anger at their massacre. Al's in trouble when I see him next.

Al is in many ways a good gardener. He's done various courses at the local college. However, his main interest in fruit & veg, and you can tell. He will competently mow a lawn, trim a hedge, lob off branches that are getting too big. His plantmanship when it comes to things he doesn't regard as useful can be dubious. Clearly feverfew is one of his blank spots.

Off out again

We're off out for a meal again tonight. It's strange how it goes. We don't eat out much, then in one week we eat out twice.

This time we're off to a Gourmet meal at the Pub. It happens to be PD & Lin's ruby wedding anniversary (40th) at the weekend. This meal is a bit of a pre-anniversary celebration. Mr P, the retired music teacher, & his wife may be coming too, depending upon how her ME is doing.

We're also off out earlier. It's Farmers' Market week & we've ordered some meat to collect. These days we rarely buy our meat from the supermarket. The quality is just so much better & most of the time the price is similar. I can't quite get over pork that tastes of pig & bacon that sizzles, a gammon joint that you can bake in foil without opening the foil to find it full of liquid. This market is also good for game. I just wish someone would come along wth a good selection of quality fruit & veg. I also wish the cheese stall would return.

We're thinking after the market we might go to our village pub for a drink & maybe a snack. That way, with a bit of luck, I will manage an afternoon nap which will help me to keep going through to a later evening meal. We've managed to persuade the Pub we wanted our meal at earlier than most people - everyone else will be eating at the set time of 8pm - but even so I'm a little anxious about eating so late. I have a tendency to drop off to sleep mid-meal, just too tired to have any appetite. It takes all my effort to stop my head landing in my plate & letting the snores take over. That would be a pity for a gourmet meal which sounds like it should be something special. We'll just have to see how it goes.

An eastern taste to the day

The Fox has got his new ears, ie a pair of hearing aids. He's now trying to adjust to wearing them. He has been warned it may take a little while to adjust to them. If he finds them too uncomfortable just take them out - most people find about 3 hours at a time is enough for a start - then try to build up to wearing them all day. Yesterday he managed 6 hours, so hopefully it will get longer. 

As we were in Lancaster, we decided to pop along to the shops & buy some yellow bean sauce at the oriental supermarket. The Fox is intending to go Chinese with his cook this week.

Then we went along to Caton to a place specialising in cruises. I'd seen a cruise on-line that sounded wonderful. It tours in the Far East, going from Bali to Singapore, via, among other places Brunei, the land of my birth.

I've always wanted to visit Brunei. I left there to come to England when I was about 2 so have no first hand memories. Or do I? Some things I seem to know without knowing why. Is it just that my parents used to talk so much about life in Borneo? I'm not sure. There were books, photos & other memorabilia around the house. Most of the visitors who came to stay or dine with us were people my parents had known in Brunei, so inevitably talk tended to turn to memories of life in Brunei. I would like to see & make some of my own memories of the country, its people & wildlife. This cruise seemed to the answer.

So off we go to Caton to find out a bit more. What we soon discovered is that cruise is not until Feb 2014, not '13 as I'd thought. Booking now seems rather early especially when our health is variable & the £500+ deposit would be non-returnable. The actual cost of the trip is tremendous mainly because the only wheelchair accessible cabins are penthouse ones with a veranda, among the most expensive on the ship. The assistant did find some other cruises stopping at Brunei but the rest of their itineraries did not excite us as much or the only accessible cabins were inside ones & we want some window at least. Instead of booking a fabulous holiday we came back with brochures, prices & itineraries to mull over, feeling generally confused.

By this time, it was after 5pm so we stopped at Ricky's, our favourite Cantonese restaurant. Ricky warmly welcomed us. We had a delightful meal. Ricky was astounded that I seem to have lost so much weight - since they discovered I was hypothyroidal & have been on appropriate tablets a few years ago I've lost nearly a stone in weight. Even so I can't help thinking this is a bit of Ricky's flattery. We came home weary & exhausted.

The Aftermath

The storms continued all day. Even this morning, the rain may have stopped but the wind continues to blow at what I would think is gale force. 

Our garden is looking a wreck. The first thing you notice is that the Fox's veg raised beds have been ruined. The lightweight aluminium framework is twisted. The netting supporting the beans & peas lies strewn across the patio. The lining, full of soil & plants, is halfway out of the frame of the bed. The tomato bed also looks severely battered, rods & canes everywhere. Whether anything will survive is debatable. Once the storm finally stops we will have a look see if anything can be salvaged.

The potatoes, at least, don't look too bad. The same can be said for the sugar snap peas - a couple of these edible pods have formed - & the few beans that he tried to grow in a compost bag as he'd run out of space in the raised beds. 

It's the tomatoes we are particularly annoyed about. A couple of years ago the Fox first tried growing tomatoes. The result was wonderful. We had a good crop of really tasty tomatoes. We were hoping for the same again. Going back to the usual tasteless supermarket tomatoes has been very uninspiring. Still maybe something can be salvaged.

Further up the garden I see something that looks like a bough from one of the trees on the lawn. It will just have to stay there until the lawn has dried up a bit. I couldn't be bothered to squelch my over at the moment.

PD & his grandson got to see the Olympic torch. In the 20 minutes they were out they were soaked right through to the skin. Little Adam, still of pre-school age, was full of it. The torch swapped runners just where they were so they had ample opportunities for photos. And Adam was given a flag to wave, as he excitedly told me over the phone later.

By the evening the wind had made it really cold. We had to resort to putting the fire on just to keep warm. I don't think I've ever had to do that so late in June. All in all, it felt more like November than high summer.

Still when I got up this morning & put on the radio news, I gather we were very lucky compared to some parts of Lancashire. At least we are still dry inside - unlike PD whose roof has sprung a leak resulting in water in the lounge - & can put a fire on to keep warm. I tried putting the TV on to see the extent of the flooding, but got a message stating "No service. Bad signal". I presume that means wherever the signal comes from is also hit by the storms. The transmitter mast is maybe damaged.

I'm now just hoping the brighter skies of today mean the rain is over & the winds will soon abate, so we can see what, if anything can be rescued in the garden this afternoon. It's not worth trying to do anything until that wind dies down.

A wet day for the run

It's dark this morning, very dark. And that is a sign of just how wet it is. There has been a non-stop downpour all morning. There are Met warnings of flash floods & gale force winds. And this is the morning that the Olympic torch comes to Morecambe.

Local schools are supposed to be going to line the streets to watch it pass. For weeks PD has been feeling mounting excitement at the prospect. He's intending to go to watch, taking his youngest grandson with him. He insists we all must go to see it. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

We'd decided from the moment we heard it was coming nearby, that we were not going. Our only interest lies in knowing which roads should be avoided. We were particularly concerned as it is passing the Pub which we usually visit on a Friday afternoon. We have since discovered the torch should have moved on to Lancaster in time for the runner to lunch there. Since we don't set off until mid-afternoon the roads should have cleared by the time we want to go.

Looking at today my heart goes out for the drowned rats who will be waiting. And for the sodden torch bearer. I hope the schools have plenty of towels & hot drinks for the returning pupils when they return to school.

Personally I can't even understand what the Olympic Torch business is even about. I don't remember such runs in my childhood, at Mexico or Munich for example. Indeed the first time I was aware of such a run was at the Bejing Olympics & that was largely due to the controversy over Tibet. I just don't see the point. I'm not a great enthusiast for the Games themselves though I can see, for a sports enthusiast, such as PD, it must be exciting. And if it in any way encourages understanding between nations that can only be for the good. Battle on the sportsfield must be an improvement to fighting on the battleground of war.

Meanwhile my only exit into the rain has been a quick dash to the laundry room & the freezer for some prawns for dinner tonight - spicy stir-fried prawns & cashew nuts. Later on I will hazard another dash to the garage, our wine cellar, for a bottle of reisling to chill ready for the meal this evening.

That is, unless we're flooded out or blown away by then!

The Julienne mystery

While we were in the Dordogne, France earlier this year, I picked up some recipes & also a free sheet of translations of the names from French to English of various types of fish. The time has now come to try cooking some of the fish recipes I picked up. I'm stumped by one, Filets de julienne aux amandes. I get that it uses the fillets of the fish & that it is served with almonds, but what is "julienne"?

My immediate reaction is that julienne is essentially matchstick-shaped pieces. But that clearly can't be the translation in this case.

We hunt the house from top to bottom a couple times but can we find that, what we noted as a potentially very useful, sheet of paper with all those translations? No. 

I'm sure I packed it to bring it home. I'm equally fairly confident I unpacked it, along with the other various leaflets & recipes we'd picked up on our holiday. But I cannot find it anywhere.

I remember thinking it would be a good idea to put it somewhere safe, somewhere we would be sure to take it with us when we next visit France. We've tried our dictionaries & phrase book we usually take with us. Inside the cookbook I usually take with us. Inside the Tintin book I bought the Fox for his birthday present while we were in France. Between the pages of the more brochure style guidebooks of places we'd visited in the Dordogne. No sign. (While I was at the dictionary, a thick monster of a dictionary, I checked "julienne" & only got confirmation of the matchstick translation.) The only place we haven't looked is in our suitcases, mainly because they are so awkward to get out it doesn't seem worth the effort when I don't really think it's there. We've now given up looking, on the theory that lost things often turn up when you stop looking.

Anyhow first thing I did as I came on-line was to have a look at an on-line dictionary. The best I could come up with is "burbot", a member of the cod/ling family that lives in fresh water rather like a salmon. I can't imagine finding burbot in any of the shops around here. So now I have another dilemma. Should I try using cod or coley (ling), both sea fish, or try using salmon for this recipe? I'm not sure.

Or should I just give up on the whole idea of trying to make this meal? ...

Down the Lune

We were just settling down, ready to start the crossword, on Monday in the Pub when a vision in pink came over & asked if she could join us. We're a hospitable trio - PD was there too - & don't like to see a lady sitting on her own in a pub. We would have included her in the conversation as we would any stranger, especially if they were on their own (unless that it is they clearly wanted to be on their own). She joined us.

After a short while PD commented she looked familiar but neither could place the other. Further down the conversation she mentioned that she was originally from Kirkby Lonsdale, PD grew up near there. The penny dropped. Suddenly friends from thirty years ago were reunited. 

Unfortunately for the Fox & I the common factor was sport. In his youth PD played a lot of rugby, with or against, among others Jane's husband. Jane herself played for the women's team. The reminiscences went on. The Fox & I listened politely but as we have no interest in rugby it meant little to us.

Jane is apparently doing a sponsored swim from one end of the River Lune to the other. She started at Newbiggin on Lune, had passed through the vale of Tebay & had now reached the Crook of Lune, near Halton. She hopes to reach Sunderland Point & the sea by tomorrow, Thursday. Since Monday, the Fox saw her on Morning TV promoting her swim which is in aid of the local Air Ambulance service.

She went on to tell us of some of the adventures she was having on her swim. One day she was gently swimming along, turned a corner, & was startled to find herself face to face with an otter. She wasn't sure which was more startled.

At another point she ended up swimming parallel to a pair of swans. this made her a bit nervous as they are big birds close up & can be vicious. She was relieved to see there was no sign of young. Eventually she decided to call it a day. The swans took off, passing just a few inches from her nose.

She's intending to write a book about her journey. 

One thing she is stressing is the danger involved in such a venture. She is an experienced swimmer, even taught it for many years. It doesn't alter the fact there are some very dangerous currents in parts that must be avoided. Shooting the rapids higher up resulted in extensive bruising from hitting unseen underwater rocks.


The great danger is hypothermia. She may be wearing a wet suit, a bit like David Walliams when he swam the length of the Thames, but it doesn't alter the fact that after she's swum a mile or so, she is so cold she can hardly move her fingers, her speech has become incoherent. It is a case of a quick change into lots of warm dry clothes & a hot mug of something to drink down  to warm her up from the inside, if she isn't to suffer long-term consequences from her exploits.

We wish her well. She's already raised several thousands of pounds for the cause & is hoping for yet more to come in. I wonder if we will ever see her again. We just may as she lives not so far away & has now renewed acquaintance with a friend of her youth & of her husband who died several years ago.

Fishy thoughts

I've been busy this morning preparing a Finnan Pie for this evening.

In some ways I'm bemused to find myself doing this.

When I was very young, my Gran lived with us - she died when I was 7. She loved smoked haddock. Every week, or so it seemed, she would get some smoked haddock to poach for tea. Every week, or so it seemed, the house was filled with the, to me, awful smell of this poaching haddock. The smell pervaded every room, even upstairs. There was no getting away from it. I hated it. The smell was sufficient to put me off tasting it. I could think of nothing more abhorrent.

As I grew older, my tastes changed. I grew more adventurous. Even so, I still resisted smoked haddock. I just shuddered at the very thought.

Then I met the Fox. He had very different associations with smoked haddock - a holiday high tea treat for him, something never had at home. One day, when we were engaged, I decided to cook a meal for him, something that would be a bit of a treat. We'd already bought our first joint cookery book by then. He fancied trying a Kedgeree, made traditionally with smoked haddock. Nervously I had a go. I knew by then it was a long time since I'd last eaten smoked haddock & I also knew my tastes had changed. I'd also discovered ingredients can taste quite differently depending upon how they are cooked. The kedgeree was made & I dug in. I couldn't believe it. I enjoyed it. I've never looked back since.

I even have a fond memory of a delicious smoked haddock meal in a pub on the Royal Mile we dined out in one year when holidaying in Edinburgh with a friend. These days smoked haddock is something I'm always tempted by if I see it on a menu. So it I'm looking forward to having again this Finnan Pie. Admittedly the smoked haddock I'm used was from our local smokehouse, not Loch Fyne but I'm confident it will be good.

What I still can't understand is how my childhood home had ended up reeking of fish. I only poach smoked haddock for about 5 minutes &  I'm not particularly aware of the smell, even in the kitchen. When my Gran cooked it, it seemed to take much longer. But then those were the days when everything was cooked almost to extinction & maybe that's why the smell was so bad. Whatever the reason, these days I love my smoked haddock & I'm very grateful to the Fox for re-introducing me to it.

Getting sorted

I've just been writing an e-mail. The world suddenly went dark. Next thing there was a great noise as something came slamming against the window. I look out. It is the sheer volume of rain, mixed with a little hail. Clearly today we're making up for the rain we've avoided all week. 

I had been thinking I might write about the patio area of our garden that was covered with white dots this morning. On closer examination, I saw they were tiny flowers. I realise they were from the elder bush in a neighbour's garden. The great frothy umbels have separated into individual flowers, hence the dots. All this has now been washed away under the sudden downpour.

I have finally managed to sort out the Fox's nurse's appointment. I rang on Tuesday - I said I would have to - to discover the nurse had allocated an appointment for him next week. When, I wondered, were they going to let us know? If I hadn't rung, would he had have been one of those missed appointments they complain so much about, just because nobody had deigned to let us know the time? I discover the answer. They finally rang yesterday to let us know.

I've also managed to make an appointment for my ears to be syringed. I did it at our nearest surgery in person - they tend to be more on the ball there & we had to go to collect our repeat prescriptions. The earliest appointment they could make was in August. They did apologised it was so late & wondered if I still wanted to make the appointment. I couldn't help pointing out if I didn't take it now, it would probably be September at the earliest before I had another chance. 

Meanwhile I shall continue with the drops. If it clears up I can always cancel that appointment. As it hasn't cleared up yet, I suspect I will be needing it. Meanwhile I have to go around half-deaf with a vague feeling of having my head underwater.

Back in harness

It seems strange today. I'm actually thinking about the cooking. The Fox has been cooking all weekend, not me.

So what delights did he make? On Friday he made a mushroom risotto. My contribution was to grill some sausages to accompany it. We tend to find ourselves getting bored with risottos - no matter how enthused we are at first - long before the end, especially if there isn't some other item, an alternative taste, on the plate. We tend to do sausages or bacon if it's a veggie risotto, tomatoes or mushrooms if it's a meat- or fish-based risotto.

Saturday was chicken curry day. My contribution was to get the meat diced up ready for the Fox to cook. I remain the butcher in the household, the one who bones & dices meat or, for that matter, fish (when I put my fishmonger hat on).

Yesterday was Kipper & Egg Kedgeree day. Just a couple of eggs to hard boil, just to speed things up come the evening.

So what delight am I making today? Veggie Egg Pittas. I've peeled some potatoes ready for chips. The pitta breads are going to be filled with a scrambled egg, spring onion & cherry tomato mixture. Light but tasty.

We're once more on the using up from the freezer time again. Today's item is pitta bread. I would go to the fish shop to buy some fresh fish but Angie, our home help, is due this morning. I'm hoping to get some monkfish as well as some salmon. Unfortunately the monkfish usually ends up being frozen which means buying it in the afternoon doesn't really give it the chance to thaw out before cooking. I know it should be okay to cook from frozen but it does seem impractical when I'm intending to marinade the fish first. I can't imagine the flavours would soak into a monkfish ice lolly.

Meanwhile we were amazed to have a warm day yesterday. Sunshine all day long. I even sat out for a while & read a bit. Needless to say, it's disappeared again now, when I could do with some warmth & even a bit of a breeze to dry out my washing. Instead it is just grey, cool & still. Oh well, it was nice yesterday. Better than most people seem to have been doing around the country. We even missed the torrential rains suffered in Wales etc over the weekend. It can't be all bad.

Mixed morning

Yesterday started up as another one of those days. I spent another hour trying to get through to the surgery to sort out this appointment with the nurse for the Fox. The result? There's only two nurses in the practice that deal with ears & neither were working this week. They should be in on Monday & will contact us then. Grr.... Why didn't the woman tell me that when I rang on Wednesday, instead of telling me to ring back on Friday? At least that way I wouldn't have wasted another hour trying to get through on Friday. Now I must wait & have another go on Monday afternoon or Tuesday, if they don't get around to ringing us first. I'm not holding out much for the latter. 

I suggested that maybe I should make an appointment for me too, not so urgently. I've been putting drops in for 3 weeks now & my ears are still blocked. I was assured just keep putting drops in twice a day. They will clear eventually. I must wait a full 4 weeks before making any appointments for ear syringing. And presumably that appointment will be another 4-6 weeks after that. Am I never to hear properly again? 

After that it was something of a relief to do the RSPB bird count. It was a pleasure to see the goldfinch visit with its clown face & brilliant yellow wing flashes. I chuckled over the behaviour of the juvenile blackbirds. Thrilled when a family unit of sparrows flew in. Struggled to see the dunnocks rootling around in the lawn with daisies almost bigger than them. Awe struck by the sheer size of the lesser black-backed gull that landed on the shed roof. Was pleased to see the greenfinch once more visiting us. A very pleasant, relaxing, hour.

After that I ventured off to the library on my Mean Machine, electric scooter - despite the horrific storms in so much of Britain yesterday we remained predominantly dry. There I met an old friend, one of those people who first welcomed us when we moved here nearly 12 years ago. She's recently retired & finding life without work takes a lot of filling. She seems to have got involved with so many committees & yet still feels she has time on her hands. This must be the dilemma of so many people when they have to adjust from a busy fulfilling life in work to life in retirement, living on your own in her case, without the social aspects or the sense of purpose & of a job well done that the world of employment supplies.

A waste of a day

Yesterday was one of those days, the sort that you end up thinking you would have done better staying in bed until it had passed.

Tuesday night I took  a sleeping pill. I've not been sleeping well of late & was almost too tired to get off naturally. I just tossed this way & that for a while before resorting to the knock-out pill. As I result I was up late on Wednesday, around 8.45am - not too bad you may say. 

The first thing I remembered was that I had to get onto to the surgery to arrange an appointment for the Fox - always a difficult job to do if you're not on the phone promptly at 8am. When he was at the hospital last week they had wanted to do a hearing test but found it impossible as he had too much wax in one ear. He was told to go away, put in some drops, check at the surgery if the wax had cleared, if not have it syringed, before the next appointment. Just before the holidays began, we heard his next appointment is later this month. He needs, therefore, to see a nurse in the next couple of weeks, ideally next week. I dial the number & I am told there is a fault with the line. Our surgery has two numbers so I try the second one. Same result. In disgust I go off & have a shower & general scrub up. Maybe then I will be able to cope better with the day.

So I return & have another go. First I check with our mobile phone that I can ring to, & from, the house phone. No problem. Any fault must be with their end, not ours. I dial the surgery. Again the statement about a fault. Again I try the second number. It rings. Three cheers, I think. 20 minutes later I'm still holding on with no human at the other end just a recorded message telling me all about the wonderful services & hours of our surgery. I can't help thinking the wonderful service I would like at this point is someone to answer the phone. I give up & go & have some breakfast.

I return & try again. This time, after a mere 10 minute wait, I get through. I tell the receptionist what I want & why. There is a long silence. At last she gets back to me, to tell me the nurses are all booked up this month. They're go to have a go at jiggling the bookings somehow. If I've not heard from them by tomorrow, I'm to ring back again. It's just as well I'm not trying for a doctor! And that it's not desperately urgent!

So I then set off on making the dinner, an old favourite, meatball curry. All goes well at first. The meatballs are made, the sauce plopping. I tidy up. Just before I leave the room I think I will just turn the meatballs over so all surfaces spend at least some time in the sauce. I notice the sauce has gone off the plop so I put up the heat while I turn the balls over. I then adjourn to the lounge for a cup of tea & a sit down. After 20 mins or so, I return to turn the meatballs over again to discover the sauce is a blackened gunk. I'd forgotten to turn the heat down again. I hastily add some extra water & try to break up the blackened mess as much as possible. I do contemplate making some more sauce & put the meatballs in that. They don't look too bad. then I remember I used the last of the curry powder as well as the last of some of the other ingredients. The black tastes bitter, acrid, but I can just keep my fingers crossed & hope for the best. I leave it to plop on, carefully turned down, this time.


So, come the afternoon we decide to go shopping. First we visit the Health Food Shop for some more curry powder, just in case the curry is still too bad. Then to Morrison's for the other curry ingredients plus a few extras. while we are there I notice some nice looking trout fillets. I decide to buy some some for today's dinner. I've got Filet de Truite au Pastis on my menu this week & while I see it I think I will buy it. I duly buy a huge fillet, 230g of it. 


When we get home, the Fox asks what I'm going to do with the trout. I dig out the recipe, one I picked up while we were staying in the Dordogne recently. Now I realise that 400-500g is what is required for 2 people, not the usual 4 people I had assumed it was for. What is  more, I need some tomatoes of which I have none. I will have to go again to the shops & just hope there is as good a choice of trout as there was on Wednesday.


We do eat the curry. It wasn't too bad despite the slightly acrid backnote. Edible at least.


This morning I'm up early, resolved to get back to Morrison's for fish & tomatoes. Maybe even go on to the library for some new jigsaws. I want to go on the Mean Machine, my electric scooter. It's damp when I first get up - the Mean Machine doesn't like wet any more than I do - so I prepare the potatoes to accompany the fish for dinner.

It's dry outside now. The ground has lost all signs of dampness. I go off to the loo, intending to get my coat on & setting off immediately. As I return to the kitchen for my coat, the first thing I see is water on the window. It's raining yet again. I abandon my trip & come here instead. 

Maybe by the time I've finished this, the world will have settled into a period of prolonged dryness. I'm not betting on it. I think we will be going in the car instead somehow.

 

The celebrations

We watched the Thames Pageant on Sunday. The Queen's barge was magnificent in gold & red. So, too, was Gloriana, the boat powered by man. The Queen herself looked radiant. The people thronged every vantage point, eager to see all that was happening. Nearby tables stood, all ready for a grand street party once the event was over.  I was moved as the Princess Elizabeth, the steam train, tooted it's salute from Battersea Bridge at the start of the proceedings. I loved the horse atop the National Theatre, from a distance remarkably lifelike as it reared in salute. All went well at first, then came the rain.

My heart went out as more & more ships & boats passed, many with sodden passengers. Musicians sang & played as the water poured down their faces. Nothing, but nothing was going to spoil the celebrations. I gather medical services were provided for all these people as they docked. Some were not far from suffering hypothermia, so cold they had become. Hot drinks & warm dry clothing were the order of the day.

I loved seeing the little boats that played such a vital role at Dunkirk at the start of the last World War. Then there were the working  boats., the colourful narrowboats from the canals. On they went. 

All went so well. It was, therefore, with a certain sadness I heard that Prince Philip had to go into hospital yesterday. It doesn't sound unduly serious  but anything can be serious for a man in his 90s. I am sure his absence must cast a shadow over the jubilee celebrations as far as the Queen is concerned. She must have missed him at both yesterday's concert & today's church service.

As far as I can tell celebrations more locally have gone well. People at the street party along the prom in Morecambe managed to eat in the dry, if not in the warmth. I gather from PD his local street party went well as did the party at the Pub yesterday.

Needless to say PD is keen for us to get to the Pub this afternoon. I'm not sure we will. We thought if it was wet we would venture out - the tourists will probably set off home early if that's the case so things will get quieter again. But if it's dry I'm not so sure. At the present it's just overcast. PD tried to point out it's not a Bank Holiday. His son is back at work today as are others he knows of. All I can say it is officially a Bank Holiday &, to us, that means crowds & neither of us like crowds.

Preparing to celebrate

It seemed strange doing the Sunday chores yesterday, but we've decided to get into Jubilee mood this afternoon & watch the Thames Pageant. Or at least some of it. 

So today we're actually having our Sunday roast on a Sunday. I'm intending to get the gammon all ready to go in the oven, the fat in the pan ready to heat up for the roast potatoes, the carrots ready by the chopping board to just get straight on with it when the time comes. I suspect we will want to eat before we get to the end of the Pageant, or rather I expect we will want to get the veg & gravy on the go as the programme ends.

Here, in Morecambe, there's going to be a massive street party along the promenade. It is to be hoped that the rain stops by then. At least the sky is brightening up so there is hope.

We're not going to any street parties. The Foxes will have a quiet stare at the TV instead.

I'm not sure I'm really in festive mood. I'm not sure how great a royalist I am. I was much more excited in 1977 & the Silver Jubilee. I suppose it is partly because that was the first occasion of national celebration I'd experienced. We missed the Golden Jubilee. We were in France holidaying. I've never been to a street party in my life. I sometimes think I've missed out on something but then I realise I'm not really a party person. If one was organised along our street I would go along, just to get to share the experience with our neighbours, but I have no urge to go along to this one on the prom where most of the people I will not know, nor will probably ever see again.

We did actually see the Queen in 1977. It was a very fleeting event.  We were staying with parents in Manchester at the time. We, along with the Fox's brother, went on a day trip to Llandudno. On the return trip to Manchester, along the north coast road, the royal car came the other way. We duly waved, as we did subsequently, to the crowds  still lining the streets of the next town we came to.

For all that I'm not sure I'm a great royalist, I am forced to admit the Queen has done a good job. It is not a role she chose, but one she had put on her due to a chance of birth. She works hard & is diligent. She gives a stability to this country & a wealth of past experience to pass on to current politicians. I wish her well. And it is lovely to see all the bunting going up as towns & villages prepare to celebrate. It's good to have something to celebrate for once, instead of the gloom of the present economic climate.

My difficulty lies in the idea that I am a servant, a vassal, rather than a citizen. I can't help feeling monarchy perpetuates the class structure in this country. I'm not convinced that's entirely healthy.

On the other hand the Queen has been on the throne all my lifetime. I find it difficult to imagine anyone else on the throne or a time without someone on the throne. Long may she live. ( That is what I would wish anyone.)

Picture reading

After writing yesterday's blog, I decided to find out a bit more about Bruegel, the artist of the subject of my last jigsaw. I don't know a tremendous lot about him or his work. I discovered that he was alive at the time when the Netherlands was a possession of Spain. It was the time the unease among the Dutch was beginning to rumble, ultimately resulting in the 17th century Dutch War of Independence. According to the book I looked at, Bruegel often made anti-Spanish comments in his art. I can't help wondering if that is the explanation of the scene at the bottom left of the painting. The lord I mentioned yesterday was Spanish, the workmen Dutch. Is this the reason why the workmen look so cowered & fearful, resentful of the work they were doing? I wonder... Maybe that too, explains why the tower is already falling down as it is being built. The workmen were deliberately sabotaging the scheme. I wonder....