Foiled

I decide to set off in the Mean Machine for some fish for dinner today - crayfish tails. It's a bit overcast, though muggy as ever. As I near the end of the road, I feel a prickle on my skin, as though its starting to rain. No sign of any drops on the shiny red of my scooter. Must be my imagination. Then I smell that earthy smell that comes with rain. At that point the heavens open. I look for shelter. All the trees & overhanging branches have been lobbed. I turn back for home.

So it is I'm now sitting, wet skirt spread out around me. A damp bum - the scooter seat got wet when I had to get off to unlock the garage door &, by the time I was able to sit again, the seat was running with water. My top is decidedly damp.

Still I'm telling myself my clothes will soon dry out in this heat. My skin is waterproof. I'm unlikely to catch a cold at this time of year. I'll soon dry out. In fact, after the last few days, it's actually rather pleasing to feel the coolness of the rain.

The fish will wait. I'm not prepared to try going again, even though the rain seems to have stopped once more. We'll go in the car this afternoon, probably on the way to the Pub. There we'll find out if Little B enjoyed his meal last night as much as he seemed to.

Fingers crossed

It always seems strange to me when there is no food preparation to do in a morning.

Today is the day for our end of the month meal. We're going Italian this time. I'm really rather surprised about this.

When I first agreed to once again organise the meals, I suggested we could maybe go Italian some time. There's a popular Italian restaurant in Lancaster, Even gives free bottles of wine to early diners on Mondays - we usually start about 6pm. We've never tried it ourselves.

"But I don't like pasta or cooked cheese," wailed Fran.

I assured her there will be other things on the menu. Al, our gardener had gone there earlier in the year to celebrate his 60th birthday. I know his wife had sea bass. I have difficulty imagining serving that with cheese or pasta.

You can imagine my surprise a week or so later when Fran turned up with a menu from another Italian restaurant. They'd stopped for a lunchtime snack there & it was really nice. What's more there are meals with potatoes & veg, but no cheese. So we're off to try tonight.

We're just keeping our fingers crossed all goes well. No excess afternoon alcohol. No animosity between Little B and Fran & Den. Mrs B, the retired headmistress & mediator between the two parties, can't come this time. She's off to Manchester Eye Hospital to have her tear ducts cleared today so won't be up to venturing out this evening. I also hope Linda fits in well & enjoys herself. She needs a bit of support through this time of grieving.

As I say, fingers crossed.

Sitting on the fence

It's first thing in the morning. I stagger out into the kitchen, still bleary-eyed. My eyes are drawn to the window & the garden. On the trellis he stands. His great yellow webbed feet holding precariously onto the inch of wood. He sees me & instantly starts reprimanding me.

Who is this? Our friendly, or not so friendly, lesser black-backed gull.

Since we got the new bird table, we've been putting our food scraps on it rather than the stoop. Unfortunately for him, there isn't sufficient space for him to get on the table without hitting his head on its roof. There remains on the table a little of the venison & redcurrants we had yesterday for dinner. He's now feeling frustrated at not being able to reach it. Whenever he sees me these days, he tells me off. Occasionally I yield & put something on the stoop especially for him but not today.

Wet thoughts

The skies are rapidly clouding over. I suspect it will soon be raining. Mind you we need the rain, partly for the gardens & wildlife, & partly to just freshen up the air. The last couple of days it's been too cold to eat out. We've had a strong wind with a decided edge to it. Nonetheless no coolness seems to have been getting into the house. Maybe now some freshness might arrive.

Around here the dryness of the land tends to be superficial. As Al, our gardener says, the one lawn in the area he will guarantee to be green & lush without regular watering by humans in a long hot dry spell, is our lawn. Sure enough it is green & lush, while all around are looking dry & thirsty.

I had a trip out in the Mean Machine, my electric scooter, yesterday. On the way back, I stopped for a chat with some neighbours further up the road. They were saying that they'd had to dig a deep hole, about 3 feet down one time. When they'd dug it out, they went in for a cup of tea to regather their energy for the next task. When they came out again, the hole was full to the top with water. And it hadn't even rained. We're further down the hill so you can imagine what ours is like.

When we got home yesterday, we discovered the fence panels had been delivered. Once they're in place, we can get on with the task of planting up the bog garden. At the moment I'm thinking of a combination of hosta & lilies of various types. Maybe a hydrangea at the dryer end. We'll see. Above all I'm aiming at a variety of textures & colours. Some plants that will survive having their feet in water a large portion of the time. Al reckons he was told about a shrub that grows in the American Bayou which has fantastic autumnal colours. He's always fancied growing it but not had the right terrain. This should be the perfect spot. Hopefully he'll remember its name in time for me to find & get one when I'm planting up.

Too hot

The heat is getting to people. I think that's the only explanation for it. Yesterday we get to the Pub.

"Glad you've come. We can't do the crossword today" is the greeting from Mr P, the music teacher. This is unusual from him. He's usually put out because I've completed it before he's even arrived. But as the afternoon goes on, it's clear he's mentally in a daze today, unable to concentrate on anything much. Too hot.

Little B comes in. He was out having his cigarette when we arrived. His greeting was not dissimilar. "I can't do the polygon either," he adds. This, too, is unusual. He usually greets us with " The polygon's a doddle today."

For once I'd got it straightaway & give him a clue. "It's to do with fats & begins with E." He immediately gets it - emulsify.

Next stop the crossword. It seems harder today but eventually we get the final answers - adduce & chime in. Everyone sighs with relief. Now the mental workout is done & we can relax.

Memory lapse

We did the food shop yesterday. Afterwards we stopped for a cooling, refreshing drink at our village pub. Once home, we emptied all the bags & prepared to get on with dinner. The Fox was in charge. First requirement - some marge to fry some onion & I realise we're nearly out & I ought to have bought another tub. Meanwhile the Fox looked in the cupboard for the tin of tomatoes. Not a tin in sight. In the end the Fox ended up rushing off to the local shop, while I got the table set & grated some cheese.

I'm relieved to say the dinner, turkey muffin pizzas, were delicious. The muffins gave the base a lightness, the tomato sauce a pleasing freshness, especially with the bit of mint, oregano, basil & chives from the garden in it. All washed down with a delicious bottle of sangiovese.

So what caused this blip of memory? Well, I'd spent a couple of hours in the morning trying to clear the bog garden, ready to plant with all sorts of goodies yet to be bought. The result I was exhausted, feeling more like a lie down than a shop. We'd also stopped on the way to buy some fence panels. The fence panels behind the bog garden are rotting away & it seems easier to replace them now before rather than after we plant up the bed. As a result our thoughts were more on the garden than on food. Or maybe it was just too darn hot.

Our little bit of paradise

Once more the sun shines. Once more we sit out to eat our meal. It is at times like this we really appreciate our garden, its sense of privacy & tranquility. We have so many trees & shrubs around that, in summer, we can eat outside in it not seeing anyone or being overlooked by anybody. That's not to say there aren't many eyes in the garden. The birds are queueing up on the trellis for their chance to get some dinner.

After dinner, we go for a stroll in the garden, down to the far end. The Fox has noticed a spot of yellow he'd not seen before this year & wants to investigate. It turns out to be our second bed of yellow irises, which self-seeded in this spot a few years ago. My eyes, though, are caught by the escalonia, in full flower & smelling so sweetly. When this shrub dies down, the mock orange from the other side of the fence, takes over & perfumes the garden.

We turn to make our way back to the house. We are startled by some movement. Out pops a frog, a very black one at that. He makes his way across the lawn to the central bed & to once more disappears into the undergrowth.

We continue down the garden. The white astilbe is coming into flower. It always seems to precede the pink one more or less next to it. The hosta in between the astilbes is also coming into flower.

Our garden may not be the tidiest of gardens. It may be rather overwhelmed by the number of weeds, but it gives us so much pleasure & joy as we see it develop & discover all its inmates, visitors & residents alike. Maybe not all its inmates. A few less slugs & snails wouldn't come in amiss, but even they have their role, encouraging the number of birds & frogs that feed on them.