Quiet day

It's one of those strange days. It's almost eerily silent. I suppose the quiet is all the more noticeable because yesterday an icy wind was blowing everything around. Gates & fences rattled. It was bin day, so bins & rubbish were being blown along the road. Now the wind has died down, but the icy chill remains.

It's strange, too, because I've nothing much to do. I peeled some spuds for dinner yesterday . Then in the afternoon we went to see Helen to see how she was doing after her op just before Christmas. By the time we were back we didn't feel like cooking so we went down to our village pub & ate out. The Fox is cooking today. He'll use up yesterday's potatoes, so there's nothing more for me to do now.

I'm glad to say Helen is doing well. She's trying to remember to be careful as she goes, but I'm confident she'll be back to her usual busy self by the end of the month, once more out and about, baking for all the family, at the Pub from time to time, going to play her badminton etc. She seems, too, to have coped well with her first Christmas without MK. That can't have been easy.

And so we go into the new year tonight. I wish you all a HAPPY NEW YEAR. May it bring you great joy and not too many headaches.

Van Gogh

I've just been listening to the "Book of the Week: Vincent van Gogh - the Letters" on BBC Radio 4. It's the second episode I've heard. I missed yesterday's somehow.I also listened to "Van Gogh: Seeing Red" which was on Radio 4 yesterday. Both I'm really enjoying & would recommend catching up with through the BBC iPlayer if you can.

When I think of Van Gogh, I naturally think of his paintings. My knowledge of his life is limited. I knew about, & can feel his mental health disturbance looking at his paintings. I knew he died in poverty. He had been financially & emotionally supported by his brother Theo throughout his life, as his paintings rarely sold. I knew a little about his background in Holland. And, of course, I knew about his relationship with Gauguin & his cutting his ear off. I've seen Kirk Douglas play him in the film "Lust for Life" after all!

However, I didn't realise he was so well educated, that he lived for several years in England, that he spoke English fluently. I didn't know he loved the arts in all media, that he adored the works of Shakespeare & Dostoyevsky. I didn't realise he only painted for less than 10 years &, when he started, he could barely draw. Above all, I didn't realise how articulate he was in writing. He uses words every bit as colourfully as he used paints.

Today he moved to Arles, in the south of France for some sun & warmth to find it covered in snow. In one of his letters to Theo he describes a starlit night sky he is endeavouring to capture in paint. He concludes it isn't sufficient to paint white dots for stars as the stars come in all sorts of colours, in pinks & yellows as well.

I find myself turning away from the radio & seeing the world in so many more colours. Well worth a listen.

The big freeze

I'm in the midst of making a pie for dinner. The turkey & mushroom filling is just cooling a bit before I add the pastry top. We're off to the supermarket today.

I'm half-dreading it. One bit of me suspects it will be heaving with people, restocking for the New Year festivities; the other half fears the shelves will be empty, not regarded worth properly refilling until after the end of all the holiday season. But we do need some milk & a few other odds & ends so we will have to go.

There is a bit of me that feels relieved at the idea of doing food shopping. At the best of times supermarket shopping is not a favourite task to do - a necessary evil, that's all. But it is part of everyday normal life & I'm definitely ready to get back to that!

Yesterday we ventured to the Pub. They were very busy, getting ready for one party of over 50 diners, not to mention the usual passing trade. We dropped PD home afterwards.

Even in the couple of hours we'd been in the Pub the car had begun to once more freeze up. The doors were definitely stiff & clunky to open. The main roads were fine but the side roads were very slippery. You could see a fine layer of frost glittering under the street lights. We were glad to get back home.

Throughout the night we kept looking out. The car got ever whiter as the temperatures plummeted. It had never got over freezing all day. I hate to think what it must have got to in the middle of the night. The Fox noticed -10 when he ventured out to the garage at one point. Needless to say today is whiter than ever. I once more put a few extras out for the birds. They're going to need it in this weather.

Stereotypes

It's a white world again this morning. The difference is that today it's white due to frost. Everything sparkles in the bright winter sunshine.

I've just been listening to the start of "Woman's Hour" on BBC Radio 4 as I've peeled the spuds for today's dinner. They're talking to various male celebrities who also happen to be listeners to this programme. The host seems surprised so many men listen to a "woman's" programme.

I'm left wondering whether there is, or ever has been, items of interest purely to one sex & not the other. Maybe I speak as a girl who loved her dumper truck as a child, envied boys for their train sets & meccano sets, all generally regarded as of interest only to boys. As for my brother, I think he was relieved when Action Men came in & he could legitimately show an interest in dolls.

As for reading matter, for generations the ladies' page of papers have been littered with articles on fashion & cooking, as though women can't be interested in science & politics.

Another part of my deprived childhood was being told that "Treasure Island" & "Kidnapped", those classics by Robert Louis Stevenson, were for boys only. I did enjoy the girls' allotted diet of "Little Women" etc, but I yearned for other things too. I made up for it later. Even now, I'm dubious about many romances & would much prefer a romping adventure story or a detective mystery.

As far as I can remember of the subjects covered in "Woman's Hour" this year, the only one of probably little interest to men was how to buy a well fitted bra. Even that I can believe may be of interest to some. After all, some men are lone parents who have to sort out the first bras for their growing daughters. The programme did cover testicular cancer, something I'm unlikely to suffer, but it was nonetheless of interest in case symptoms might arise in the Fox. I suspect men react in a similar way to topics such as hysterectomies.

No. I do not believe any topic is purely of interest to one sex. I do accept, though, not all subjects are of interest to all people. I accept I do fall into the stereotype of women not interested in engines & cars. As long as equipment works & cars get me from A to B, that is the end of my interest. But don't deprive me of the right to possibly have a greater interest in those or any other subjects just because I'm female. I'm equally sure men have the right to have an interest in some traditionally female areas of interest.

The calm before the storm

The snow has all but disappeared. The rain has well and truly arrived, washing away any last remnants of dirty slush.

I'm relieved to be getting back to normal for a day or two. We're celebrating by opening a tin of tuna for dinner. The Fox is going to make a pilaf for a welcome change. After all the rich food the last couple of days, it should be just what we need. And during the afternoon, we will do our usual Sunday afternoon chores - the cleaning & bed changing.

Now we just have the disruption of the New Year celebrations to face. But that never has the same sense of anticipation & anticlimax as Christmas. We usually try to have something special to eat. I usually try to stay up to see the new year in with a bottle of champagne. PD has invited us round to his, to share a Chinese banquet takeaway from our, & their, favourite Chinese restaurant. I doubt we'll go. As I've already said, I'm reluctant to commit to going anywhere these days where I will have to walk late at night. And they have some big doorsteps. Instead we'll stay at home & toast our friends, both local ones & those who live further away.

Survival

We've survived! It felt a little touch & go in the early evening when we got back from our meal at the pub yesterday. The weight of food was incredible, the feeling of bloatedness uncomfortable. We're not used to eating in the middle of the day & a whopping three course meal, generous portions at that, followed by tea & coffee & mince pies is a bit much. The mince pies defeated us all & remained untouched.

The evening did pick up later with "Beauty & the Beast", followed by champers & jazz.

It is with some relief that I turn to more normal routines today. I've prepared a few less spuds today. After yesterday I think it will be a relief. The venison puddings are out of the freezer, thawing out ready to be cooked & eaten with our chef friend in mind.

The snow is disappearing. Yesterday it was freezing. You could hear the approach of people by the crunch on the frozen snow. Even a bicycle crunched along. Then last night it turned to rain. We had a vision that if it froze again as the night went on, it would be one great skating rink out there. Now, as I was filling up the seed holders for the birds, the rain began again.

Snow is one of those things I marvel out when it first arrives. It transforms the world & look so pretty when it is still pristine & untrod. However, the novelty soon wears off, as the snow turns slushy & reveals its true nature ie each flake is centred on a grit of dirt, and the inconveniences of sliding everywhere or being housebound settle in. I'm glad to see it go.

And for life to get a bit more back to normal. I know it won't truly do so until next year but at least we can eat more normally, less gargantuan portions at a more reasonable hour. Roll on 2010!

Nearly Christmas

We did our last bit of shopping before Christmas yesterday. We had hoped to buy some sprouts to have with our venison puddings on Boxing Day but the supermarket shelf was bare. We had first tried to do the shopping mid-afternoon but the car park was so full, &, looking through the windows, the queues at the tills so long, that we had decided to go to the Pub & try later. By 5ish it was quieter, but there were distinct bare patches on the shelves. Staff was hastily trying to refill the shelves after the descent of the locusts. Nonetheless, there was no fresh fish, no sprouts, no cheese crackers. But there was the milk which was the essential part of our shopping. We got some other bits as well. We'll just have to have a different veg on Saturday. We've got plenty of others - carrots, green beans, broccoli, peas, mushrooms, sweetcorn etc - to chose from.

It never ceases to amaze me how mad people go over shopping at this time of year. Easter is the other bad time. At the end of the day you can only eat so much food. Even allowing for extra visitors & so mouths to feed, surely those numbers should be balanced by the numbers who are away doing that visiting & feeding out. A sort of panic seems to set into some people just because the shops are going to be closed for a couple of days.

I suppose it was worse yesterday because of the snow the previous day. I suspect we weren't the only ones who put off going out on Tuesday to avoid the icy roads & pavements.

Last night it snowed once more. There's not as much this time. Mr Blackbird was sitting by the back door waiting for some food to be thrown out. Needless to say, my heart melted & some bread was duly found him. One thing we did yesterday was to stock up on bird food. As the snow melts a bit, I'll be out, making sure the bird feeders & table are well stocked up. They desperately need feeding in this cold.

There remains just the one thing to say:

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MY READERS

A touch of magic

Today is all a-drip. That's all you hear as you step outside. The birds seem happier now they can find their food more easily. By lunchtime yesterday it had thawed sufficiently for me to get to our bird food store. The bird table & feeders were still too far for me to safely to go, so I scattered a good handful of seeds across the patio. Soon there was a myriad of small footprints from our avian visitors.

As I made my way back inside my eye was caught by a wondrous vision. There were blue skies at the time. The sun was shining on the snow-laden evergreen trees. Then suddenly a shaft of sunlight hit the snow at the right angle. The light was refracted through the melting snow. All the colours of the rainbow burst from the branch tips. Our trees had their very own fairy lights. Beautiful.

Unexpected pleasures

In the evening we decide to open a bottle of wine. We listen to some Louis Armstrong - I'd heard on the radio that he was banned from broadcasting on the BBC by Lord Reith as his form of jazz was just "jungle music" performed by a load of monkeys so we just had to show our support for Satchmo. Afterwards the Fox got up to make some tea. He soon came running in. I had to get up & look. Through the glass in the front door, a winter wonderland had appeared. A couple of inches of snow had fallen & more was still coming down. It looked so beautiful, so pristine.

This morning I woke to find how much lighter & brighter the bedroom looked. I was reminded what Mr P has often said. He regularly visits Finland. They've had mild winters of late, just as we have tended to have. It has really got the Finns down. Being so far north, their daylight hours in winter are short, indeed it rarely gets beyond murky. They apparently have been finding it worse than usual. It has been too mild for their usual thick layer of snow which has made it even darker. Usually the snow reflects and intensifies every bit of light. And that is what is happening here this morning.

Now that I am up, I'm rather perturbed by the weird sky. At times it's dark grey, looking full of yet more snow. Other times it brightens with a sickly yellow colour, almost bilious in tone. Neither skies fill me with much optimism for the day to come. I hastily throw some slices of bread & some nuts out of the back door into the yard for the birds. They are desperately scrambling around looking for some food that isn't hidden under a blanket of white. From the footprints I see now in the snow they've obviously found my offerings. It's too dangerous for me to venture out to our bird food store or the table & feeders to put it out for them.

Talking of food reminds me of a lovely incident yesterday. We went to the Pub as so often, when one of the chefs arrived with a blue plastic box under his arms.

"Those are for you," he says proffering the box to us. "I made them specially for you last night." He went on to give us the cooking instructions & how long they would keep. Inside the box were two venison puddings. Last time we'd seen him we'd told him how much we'd enjoyed the ones we'd had at the Geriatrics' Corner Xmas dinner the other week.

We can't get over the thoughtfulness & kindness. I know he's sometimes come over to chat to us. Sometimes he's let off some steam & we've provided listening ears. We've also provided the Pub with our excess apples & pears at no charge. But we had never expected this. It's nice to be appreciated. The puddings are in the freezer now & will be got out as something special to have on Boxing Day or New Year's Day. And as we eat them we will think of the unexpected bit of generosity from our friend.

A trip to France

The last couple of days I've woken up to a white world. We've had a scattering of snow. Yesterday it disappeared during the day as the snow returned to rain. It looks as though it will do the same today, though there are a few flakes around..

Yesterday, though, I was away in a far milder & wetter place - Saumur in France. I was listening to the "Food Programme" on BBC Radio 4. The programme discussed the proliferation of small distilleries in parts of Europe producing fruit-based liqueurs & eau de vies, and how such spirit-making in this country is largely obsolete. One, at least, has recently started up down in cider country, but, for many years in this country, ownership of a still has been illegal.

In France the programme concentrated on Alsace, a region we've never visited. I, however, was transported off to Saumur, where, one day, we visited the Combier distillery along with our young French friend, Bastien.There they make a whole range of liqueurs, mainly fruit-based. They explained how they make all the different drinks, & showed off their beautiful copper pot-bellied stills. At the end of the tour we were allowed a tasting of several of the drinks. We bought a bottle of their famous "Royal Combier". That never got back to England. It evaporated very quickly before our return home. It's a wonderful cold cure, though that's more of an excuse than a reason for buying a bottle. It was delicious. I personally preferred some of the more obviously fruity ones, where the intensity of the cherry etc was incredible without being as sweet as most fruit liqueurs are in this country. If you're ever in that part of France, keep an eye out for this regional speciality.

The divided world continues

I woke early this morning, feeling cold. The central heating hadn't been on long & had not had time to penetrate the night-time freeze.I put the radio on to be greeted by the news.Needless to say the first item was the results of the climate change agreement. I heard a comment from one of the African delegations, saying that they were being coerced into signing their own suicide document. It set me thinking.

I'm not entirely convinced that there is global warming on the scale predicted. Undeniably we are going through a phase of global warming, but how much of it is the natural pattern of nature & how much is man-made I'm not sure. (Certainly at the moment it seems cold enough outside!)

But the one thing I was feeling a bit more optimistic about is that for once I felt that the nations of the world were coming together to work towards a better world for all. Such world co-operation to my mind is the only solution to war, to any problem with worldwide consequences. I hoped for a world in which every state would have as much value as every other country, every person wherever he comes from, would be regarded as valuable as every other person. Seemingly not. Once again the few richer countries are to go ahead doing what they want, & for the poorer countries to pay the price & suffer the consequences. That was the gist of this African's comment.

The divided world seems set to continue.

First signs of festive spirit?

We set off to the Pub. The Fox had been up to the doctor's not long before. He mentions he'd seen what looked like a pile of snow up there. There was no sign of any at home I assure him. The sky is bright blue with the odd heavy cloud. Then we notice what at first seems like rain but turns into snow. An amount that if you blinked you'd miss it, but nonetheless snow. I find myself humming, "dreaming of a white Christmas". Am I finally beginning to get into the festive spirit?

Snow flurries occasionally occur throughout the night. Never enough to cause any problems or to settle. This morning is another glorious bright blue sky. No sign of snow. I go round to the compost bin. The lake, now just a pond, is frozen solid. It certainly is cold.

I put a bit of fat out for the birds while the flour cooks a bit for dinner. Once inside I slowly add the milk for a cheesy oniony sauce. Before I put the heat back on, I think I'll open the door for a bit of fresh air. Mr Blackbird is already pouncing on the fat. When the meal is all put together, I go out & fill up the seed containers & put some warm water in the bird bath. At least for a little while there should be some liquid for the birds to drink, before it too freezes up.

Old favourites

There's something comforting about old favourites, be they films, clothes, food, whatever. What has set me off on this line of thought is today's dinner - ham & egg flan. It's one of the few Mrs Beeton recipes we really love. I discovered it early in our married life. In those days we had it often, partially because my culinary repertoire was very limited, partially because it is so easy & cheap to make & partially because we enjoyed it so much.

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm doing a bit of freezer emptying & today's item to use up is a couple of ounces of sliced ham. I instantly thought of this recipe. I have since wondered if I should try doing something new & different but I've decided to stick with this idea. Once ham & egg flan occurred to me I've felt a warm glow of eager anticipation. I mentioned the thought to the Fox & he too beamed. We haven't had one for a while so I hope we still enjoy it. The very thought of it is reassuring & comforting.

But it seems to me that that is the reaction whatever old favourite you think of. They wrap you around in a warm eiderdown of comfort & reassurance. At Christmas time we often dig out our copy of "Calamity Jane", "Beauty & the Beast" or "High Society", all enjoyable romps & I've just realised musicals. All guaranteed to put us in good mood. It's time we had something reassuringly comforting once again.

Going fishy

I seemed to have spent all morning gutting, de-scaling & boning fish . We're having fresh (frozen) sardines for a change. I can't understand why they freeze these tasty fish with their guts still in, but they do. I'm back to going down the freezer for a bit, hence the sardines.

Yesterday I spent the morning out on my Mean Machine (electric scooter). I went along to the fish shop via Fran & Den's. Yesterday it was fresh tuna - no guts, bones, scales etc thank goodness! The journey home was magical. The sea was like a mill pond. So still. At times gently lapping onto the shore. The only sound interrupting the silence being the piping sound of the oystercatchers waiting the turn of the tide & feeding time, & the occasional, more raucous, sound of the gulls overhead. Delightful.

In the evening the Fox cooked. He coated the edges of the tuna steaks in crushed mixed peppercorns & then quickly fried them, topped them with a spicy tomatoey salsa. Delicious. He managed to cook it just right - when the fish is cooked through, with just a hint of the raw colour in the middle, still moist & delicious. Tuna is very much a fish to be particular on the timings. Too long & it becomes dry & tough; too short & it is still raw & we're not into sushi. But the Fox got it just right last night. Perfect with some sweetcorn & sauteed new potatoes.

To church

The rain is back again. It has been great to finally have been able to reach the compost heap with my veg peelings without having to find some wellies. It was the first time in weeks. However, I've just peeled the spuds for today's dinner & found the lake is once more blocking the path.

In the dry, if freezing, weather, I also managed a trip to church yesterday, the first time since our return from Italy in October. It came as quite a shock to see how few people were there. St John's is a big Victorian church, easily holding a couple of hundred people. Yesterday I found myself counting the communicants as they went up to the altar - 20!

I supposed I shouldn't be too surprised. As with so many churches, most of our parishioners are retired folk. While I was waiting for someone to unlock the doors to let me in, I noticed Gloria, who lives very near, nervously making her way along the obviously slippery white frozen pavement to church. It was noticeable the average age group of those who did make it was younger than usual. We even had 3 children, including one toddler who was forever running up & down the aisles, bringing a smile to all our faces.

I hope that the weather was the cause of the small congregation. Our church is at present undergoing an interregnum. I know some members of the Parochial Church Council fear that during this time the congregation will evaporate, maybe joining to other local churches, never to return. This week there is going to be a public meeting to discuss the fate of the parish. There is some suggestion we might end up sharing a priest with a neighbouring church. We'll see. It would be a pity, but it may be a necessity.

During the passing of the peace, one elderly parishioner came over to shake my hand. She stopped for a quick chat & asked if I was ready for Christmas. I couldn't help saying no, thinking of all our recent problems, be they deaths or illnesses. She couldn't help commenting that yes Christmas was a lot of work. I agreed, relieved that this year we will be eating out so there's no turkey to cook on the day.

I sometimes think the whole celebration is one great chore. It is a pity. I feel it should be a joyous party to celebrate an important event, & to share that joy with those you love & care about. Instead it becomes one great chore from present shopping (which we've largely abandoned) to card writing to decorating the home like some fairy cake to cooking a traditional meal (rather than just something you enjoy), a time when you feel you are intruding on friends who are busy with their families, when there's no possibility of going out to a pub with others as they are closed so you are forced to stay in (especially when the weather is usually so poor that even a walk is not appealing) watching some very mediocre programmes on TV which you've seen hundreds of times before (thank goodness for videos & DVDs. At least they give some respite from this nightmare). And all this loses sight of the birth of a very special baby who should be at the centre of it all.

I'm sorry. I'm being jaundiced. At least part of my problem this year is that I'm so aware of so many loved ones who've died. I'm still anxious about Den as we've not heard yet how the op's gone. Helen, MK's widow, is into hospital this week for a hysterectomy, so I'm concerned about her. And Steve, the friend who had the liver transplant, has got to go into hospital on the 21st. His appointment last week was cancelled. Until we've got through all these worries, I'm not sure I can settle to celebrate anything much, let alone Christmas.

Life's ups & downs

It's a winter wonderland outside. I've just been out in my electric scooter to the Farmers' Market. I passed neighbours scraping away at their car windscreens. Everywhere is iced over. The bright sunlight is catching on the ice crystals giving a real sparkle to everything - far better than any Christmas lights. As I go pass one house, a stream of steam lifts from the pavement. They've obviously got the same problem we had earlier this week - a blocked drain. The hot water from a washing machine was pouring out of a pipe in the wall, into the drain, to overflow & run down the steep slope of the drive down to the drain in the road. The red berries of the cotoneasters that tumble across the walls are all frosted with glitter. Quite spectacular.

By the time I got home my spirits were soaring. They soon got dampened. A few phone calls can soon do that. Den is to be operated on today. They found a lump in his throat that has to go. Then I rang PD. He sounds only marginally better than yesterday. At least I tried to reassure him he was valued by many around him.

Oh well that's life! At least, although my spirits are down, they are not unhealthily so. No more than the inevitable consequence of all the stresses of this year. For all that I questioned the value of my two years of talking to an empty chair, it does seem to have left me more able to cope with things, with life & what it throws at me. For that I am grateful.

And then there were five

The numbers keep going down. It's our Xmas dinner for Geriatrics' Corner tomorrow night. I mentioned a while back our numbers had reduced from 17-20+ to just 11 this year, due to the recent toll of deaths & increased infirmity. I've just rung the Pub to let them know the figures are now just 5.

Why this big reduction? Last night Fran rang. Den is still hoping to be home soon - & that's debatable as he might have to have an operation to remove the clot that caused the problem - but even if he is home by tomorrow he feels he'll need a quiet time, not a lively party with plenty of food & alcohol flowing. So that's two down.

Steve, the friend who had a liver transplant a while back, is once more in hospital. He had a stent put in earlier this year due to a blocked vein, the result of the transplant operation. They now want to check that. He's hoping to be out tomorrow but it depends upon what they find. They may have to replace it in which case Steve & his wife won't be able to make it. They're still hoping to come. Nothing definite has been decided but the way things are going, I suspect they won't make it.

PD meanwhile has plunged into a deep depression, such that he went to bed last night in tears. He can't face company at the moment. I'm not even convinced he wants to face life at the moment. So that's another two down.

So there remains a (hopefully merry) band of five. Though it has to be admitted that the Fox's arm has swollen up like a balloon after his swine flu jab last night. I just hope that doesn't get too much worse! Otherwise it will be down to three.

It's a bit like that Agatha Christie story where one person after another gets killed off. Or the song about the green bottles sitting on the wall. At least we've not all died yet, just dropped off the social scene for the moment.

Roll on 2010. Maybe our fortunes will change. And I'm not just talking about ours but those of all our friends.

More bad news

There's yet more bad news. I've just had a phone call from Fran. Den is in hospital. He had a stroke yesterday. It doesn't sound too bad but we're keeping our fingers crossed & saying our prayers.

In need of some cheer

At last a quiet day. I seem to have been exhausting myself of late, what with cooking the turkey & then trying to sort out the drain (see the Fox's blog). It wasn't helped by having to do the food shopping & the inevitable Christmas cards. I supposed too it hasn't helped being a bit anxious about a friend who got rushed into hospital on Wed/Thurs night with stomach pains severe enough for her to spend the weekend on morphine. However, she is now safely home, still aching but reassured that the cause is nothing too dire, nothing fatal. So now I can relax. Fortunately today is just going to be a simple pasta dish, quick & easy to do, no preparation.

It's not going to be quite such a relaxing day for the Fox. He's got the joy of going for his swine flu jab this evening to look forward to. Reports suggest he's going to feel very uncomfortable tonight.

As we're giving PD a lift back from the Pub yesterday, he suddenly comments how dark the streets seem for the time of year. It echoes with what we'd been saying on our way to the Pub. There doesn't seem to be anything like as many houses bedecked with Christmas lights & inflated Santas & snowmen.

Most years I feel it's going over the top these days. We never put lights outside & the Christmas tree doesn't go up until just before the day.

Even allowing for the fact people seem to be cutting down on exterior decoration of their homes, very few houses even seem to have their Christmas trees up. Is this a sign of the continuing recession? Certainly the council is doing far less this year. Or are we all going greener, trying not to waste electricity on such frippery? Whatever the cause, it certainly makes the place duller, less festive, less exciting. A pity in some ways in these very long hours of midwinter nights. They need brightening up somehow.

One delivery at least

I thought I was doing well with our pre-Christmas preparations. On Friday we posted our first Christmas card, complete with letter, to Australia. We've checked we've got enough cards for all our friends this year. We've even cooked our Christmas turkey - hence my absence over the past couple of days. I've give in our orders both for the Geriatrics' Corner Xmas dinner at the Pub & our Xmas day lunch meal at another hostelry. I was feeling quite pleased with myself.

Then the cards, even one hand-delivered, started to arrive. A sense of panic descends upon me. And it's only the 6th! Christmas seems to start earlier & earlier. Well, our friends are just going to have to wait until nearer the time for our cards.

More importantly on Friday, while the turkey was in the oven, we popped out to the Pub to deliver our wedding present to Den & Fran. They seemed thrilled. They laughed at the joke. Purred over the cat. Proudly showed it off to anyone who might be interested. Once Mrs B pointed out I'd sewn it, they were even more impressed by the effort made on their behalf. They rang up yesterday to thank us yet again. I think we did well there.

A change of plan

I thought I'd just ring the funeral company to find the details of Wilf's funeral. I was astounded to discover it is this morning. That decides me. We're not going. I'm not rushing to get changed in order to get to the crem in time. I don't think the Fox will appreciate the idea either, so I'm not even letting him know the details. I will simply think of Wilf & his wife, now widow, at the appropriate time.

It certainly is quick! Wilf only died on Friday. The newspaper didn't officially come out until yesterday.

It is probably as well. I always find the wait between a death & the subsequent funeral a strange period of being in limbo, a time when life is on hold. It's difficult to get on with the job of adjusting to life without the deceased. It must be all the worse for someone like Wilf's widow. They had been married over 50 years. I'm glad she hasn't had to face a long wait.

It's once more a suitably wet & dark day. I had planned to get out the Mean Machine (my electric scooter), for the first time since we got back from Italy in early October, & venture down the prom to the fish shop for something for dinner. That will have to wait until this afternoon when I can go in the dry in the car.

Changing tastes

It was with some anxiety that I started yesterday's meal on Monday. It was with even more trepidation that I sat down to eat it. What, might you ask, did she make? Butter beans. I was confident enough about the grilled Cumberland & black pudding sausages & chips they were to accompany. They were sure to be okay. The worry was the butter beans. I've never cooked them before.

There is a reason for this. I still shudder at the memory of butter beans from school lunches. The Fox had similar memories. Unlike most foods the school dinner ladies massacred, butter beans was not something my mother ever did at home. Custard, gravy, mashed potatoes, rice & tapioca puds I knew didn't have to come with lumps. They didn't at home. Equally I knew cabbage didn't have to come with purple fluff mixed in, or hard boiled eggs with a nasty tasting grey-green edge to the yolks, or even sprouts soggy. Liver didn't have to taste of leather with rubbery tubes sticking out. No. my Mum redeemed all these foods in my eyes.

But butter beans have remained an anathema. I'm not sure what put me off most, the tough papery skins or the gritty flavourless inside. But I decided the time had come to put this childhood aversion to one side & have another go. They may just be better than I feared. And just maybe, cooked in the right way they would be edible, even delicious. Little B, our recently deceased friend, used to regularly buy them, tinned, as a bit of a treat for him & Mrs B when she went to dine with him. And I shuddered every time he told us. Then this summer, PD came back from Crete enthusing about a dish of butter beans in a tomato sauce he'd had on his holiday. I'd found a Greek recipe for just such I thing so I thought I'd try it yesterday.

We were somewhat astounded by just how much water the dried beans took up. Overnight, while they soaked, we had to fill them up with yet more water several times. I nervously tasted them when I'd cooked them to check they were soft. I still wasn't very keen. Then I made the tomato & onion sauce & cooked them further. I'm surprised to say we both really rather enjoyed them. The handful of fresh mint in the mix really lifted them. They're still not a veg we would want to often but once in a while they would make a pleasant change.

This is definitely not a meal I would have had a few years ago. Even sausages I wouldn't eat. I always loved the flavour, just couldn't keep them down. Even now I would never eat them out unless I knew the source. I still have difficulty with some varieties, even from our regular source. As for butter beans - forget it.

More bad news

Last night, our day took another nose dive. I had a glance through our local paper to see that yet another friend had died, another ex-member of Geriatrics' Corner. It is not entirely surprising. Wilf was 82 when he died. He hadn't looked well for some time. Very shaky on his legs. There was some suspicion he was starting with dementia when he & his wife ceased coming along to the Pub. Whether or not this was the case he didn't look well. Whenever I went along the prom in my electric scooter I would look up towards their flat & think of them both.

We don't know whether to go to the funeral. The Fox's immediate reaction is that he just can't face yet another funeral. It would be the 6th of the year. We're beginning to think we live at the crem. It's just too many in a year.

I, on the other hand, feel we should go, to give a little support to his widow. We'll see how we're feeling nearer the time. Meanwhile we think we'll send a card. At least then, if we don't go, his widow will know that we are thinking of her & had appreciated Wilf.

Organising diners

Today we're having another surprise, & very welcome, visitor - the sun. It comes as a shock to get up to blue skies & a dry patio floor. I've hastily filled up all the bird feeders. You never know who might come along.

I'm still trying to sort out the orders for the Xmas meal. Last year there were about 17 of us. Our numbers seem greatly depleted by the demise of three of us & the worsening health of others. This year there will be only 11.

It never ceases to amaze me how difficult this sorting out precise orders can be. We set the date for the meal before we went off to Italy in September. When we came back I told everyone I would be round for menu choices at the end of November, after the wedding. Menus were available in the Pub all that time.

Some people still haven't decided, or they've told me one thing then rung up as they've changed their minds. Then there are the souls who can't find anything on the special Christmas menu they fancy - there's a choice of 5 starters, 6 main courses, 4 puds - so could they have something off the normal menu? There's special requests. Battered fish, all batter, with 6 chips & half a spoonful of peas. For another thin chips, not the thick chips on the menu. So it goes on. Still I've just the one person to give me her decision & we've arranged to meet her at the Pub this afternoon. Then the orders will go in & they'll just have to stick with whatever they've agreed on.

Mind you, I'll keep a copy of the orders for myself. Past experience has taught me that by the time of the meal, they will all have forgotten what they ordered anyway! At least that way everyone gets what they ordered, like it or not.

An unexpected visitor

Yesterday I had a surprise. I happened to look out of the kitchen window and was surprised to see an unusual, for us, avian visitor. I didn't have my glasses on. I'm rather short-sighted so everything was a bit of a blur. Nonetheless the jaunty gait of this bird searching the patio floor for food was unmistakable. A wagtail. At first I assumed it was a pied wagtail as they are fairly numerous around here. They rarely visit our garden, seeming to prefer the nearby prom. But then this bird turned round. His breast was dazzling yellow, making the grey of his back all the more striking. A grey wagtail. We had one visit us once several years ago but it never returned. I hope this one comes again.

Changed times

I'm currently reading a novel by Michael Gilbert. It's just a light thriller written in the 1960s. I probably read it in the 70s but since then Michael Gilbert as an author has disappeared into the back recesses of my mind. Anyhow, I fancied a new book after a rather turgid read, just something light, a bit of a distraction before tackling anything more serious for a bit. I scoured the bookshelves & came across this book.

I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying. It's written in a style that is rather old-fashioned these days. There's an articulacy & lyricism in the use of language that is enchanting. There are sections of description that fill your mind with pictures & yet don't distract from the pace of the action. A real tonic. I can see I'll be looking out once more for his books.

Some of the descriptions are still valid today. This novel is set in Italy. At one point an Englishman comments about the difference in attitude to driving between the English & the Italian."As a nation we are law-abiding, intolerant, and insistent on priorities. One of the results of this is our morbid passion for queueing. We become bad-tempered if another driver interferes with those priorities by, say, cutting in, or jumping the lights, or pulling out into the wrong lane, even is - get out of my way you cross-eyed cow. Europeans, on the other hand, and more particularly the Italians, regard driving as a sport. Provided the referee isn't looking, you can cheat and bluff to the limit. See that taxi? He thinks I'm going to give way, but I'm not. But you must be cheerful about it, and good tempered when your bluff's called. Molte grazie, signore." Our recent trip to Italy proved to us that this is still very much the Italian attitude to driving, only accompanied a constant sounding of the horn.

We've not found it nearly as bad in other European countries. In France there is a certain macho element, always wanting to be first to move off when the lights turn to green. But they do wait for the lights to turn to green & they happily accept it if you don't want to join in the game. They will give way & show lane discipline like any civilised nation. And rarely do they honk their horns. A flash of lights maybe to warn you there's a police speed trap round the corner, but that's it.

Back to the Pub

We're off to the Pub today. We haven't been since Monday. It seems strange not to have been for a while. It's actually been a pleasure to do a few different things for a change.

The reasons for going are twofold, apart from the pleasure of seeing friends again. The first is we're off to the butchers for one of his flavoursome chickens for tomorrow. We pass the Pub on the way back from there.

Secondly I'm hoping to get the orders for our Christmas dinner. We have one every year for members of Geriatrics' Corner. This year our numbers seem rather depleted with the demise of Little B, MK & Dave C. I'm sure they will all be remembered with love & missed. I'm not sure how I ended up getting roped into organised the meal but I seem to have landed the job for the last few years. I've already got some of the orders. Friday is usually the day of the best turn-out so I'm hoping to get most of the rest today. Any I don't get, I'll phone round over the weekend.

At least today we seem to be having some bright sunny spells between the heavy downpours. I just hope the rain stops soon. I feel this must have been not just one of the, but, the wettest November ever. Let's hope December is better.

Mini fish balls

For the jazz night, you'll have to read the Fox's blog. Suffice to say we stayed until around 10, longer than anticipated by us. By then my knees were beginning to complain. We came home, a quick cup of tea & I was in bed before 11pm. The group were okay, the singer nondescript, but the harmonica player was brilliant. Now that was a man who sure had rhythm.

All this has meant I've had the energy to prepare an old favourite for today's dinner - mini fish balls. This is a recipe I adapted from an Australian Home Journal c1950. (My mother had obviously brought several issues of the magazine with her when we finally moved back to England to stay in the mid-50s. She kept them, along with just about every copy of "Woman" magazine from then until the day she died in 1978.) The joy of this recipe is that it uses so little fish. So it is that the 3oz of haddock I had left over in the freezer, has now made 22 little fish balls, ample for the two of us, for frying up this evening. And what is more I'll guarantee they'll taste more fishy than many meals using two or three times as much fish.

All this is just as well. It's Farmers' Market day in Morecambe so we'll be off there later this morning. What is more the milk is low, so we'll have to do a supermarket shop as well. It will be reassuring to know dinner this evening will take minimal effort to complete now.

Another evening out

At least the morning is brighter today. Instead we have the wind howling. It's bin day, so there's rubbish being blown everywhere. Wheelie bins keep drifting along the road. Lids & empty boxes fly through the air.

I'm trying for a quiet day today. We're off out to a jazz night tonight.

It's the result of a bit of a misunderstanding. At the stag night, Den mentioned there was going to be a jazz night at the golf club soon. The Fox expressed interest (as you know, he loves his jazz) & asked for details of the event. When we were at the wedding reception the Fox noticed a poster about the event, realised it was on far too late for us especially after my painful experience at the hen night, & dismissed the idea as just not feasible. So you can imagine our surprise when Den rang up on Monday to say he'd bought the tickets for us & the event was on this Wednesday, ie tonight. We feel obliged to go. However, we're quite expecting to stay just a short while, not the whole evening.

So I'm resting up. I'm hoping if I just sit around this morning, perhaps have a lie down in the afternoon, I'll cope. It didn't work on the night of the hen night, but maybe it will do tonight. There's no harm in hoping.

Busy mornings

It seems strange. For some unaccountable reason the Fox is getting up early in the morning at the moment. I would say bright & early in the morning but it's so dark, wet & grey that we're still needing the lights on on this particularly gloomy day & it's already after 9am! I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that all this extra rain isn't causing yet more damage further north in the Lake District.

Yesterday we made the most of the Fox being around & of a spell of dryness, to make a trip into Lancaster. For shopping, Lancaster tends to be a better place than Morecambe. For some time I've needed some new sandals so we've finally got that sorted. We also popped into Sainsbury's to buy some okra & some champagne for Christmas (a Which best buy this year).

At the moment the Fox is busy preparing a lamb stew for this evening. The okra will be added later. We've never seen, let alone bought, ladies' fingers before, so this is quite an experimental meal. In fact, I think, the only time I've ever had okra is pickled as a side dish at an Indian restaurant. It will be interesting to find out how we like it.

Okra is the sort of thing that is impossible to buy in Morecambe. Lancaster has a far bigger ethnic community, especially with there being so many foreign students at the university, so it justifies stocking more ethnic foods even in more mainstream shops.

I just wish the weather was that bit better. It would have been nice, while the Fox is up so early to have had a few trips out - a walk along the prom together, explore Happy Mount Park (it's supposed to be well worth it but we've just never found the time), see other examples of the Tern Project (the artworks based on the theme of birds that are scattered throughout Morecambe, some in places only accessible on foot rather than visible when passing in the car), or a day into the Lakes (preferably not under water) or the Trough of Bowland. Instead it's just too wet do anything much. At least I've had the time to complete the sewing of our wedding present for Den & Fran. Now I just need to press it before we're off to the framer's shop.

The real stuff

I'm looking forward to today's dinner. The Fox is making us a salmon kedgeree. We haven't had a salmon one for ages. As you know, we usually have a kipper & egg one. Occasionally we'll go mad & have a smoked salmon or even a more traditional smoked haddock one. But today it's salmon, made with the real stuff ie out of tin.

Like most people of my generation & older salmon comes out of a tin. Before the days of fish farming, salmon was prohibitively expensive so unless you were very rich or caught your own, fresh salmon never appeared on the table. I still find it very strange to think these days fresh salmon is cheaper than cod or haddock, the cheaper fish of my youth. Even now, the real taste of salmon, as with tuna, is from a tin, though the fresh stuff does now appear on our table from time to time. Indeed on Friday we had poached salmon in an egg & lemon sauce. Delicious it was too, but it just wasn't "real" salmon.

The floods

I watch the flooding in Cockermouth with a certain sense of relief. At one point we did seriously consider moving there. It's a pleasant town with a real sense of community. Not too touristy as so many Lakeland towns are. It was tempting, but ultimately we decided too far from the motorway. At the time we were still having to do regular trips down to Manchester to see family, so the motorway was a definite consideration.

But knowing the town has made these floods all the more real. Our hearts go out to those poor people who have been forced out of their homes probably for months while they are cleaned, repaired & redecorated. As for those whose houses & contents were uninsured it must be a nightmare. Not to mention those whose livelihoods are at risk as their businesses have to close for months for repair & renovation.

The floods have encouraged an anxious phone call or two. My cousins are aware we don't live far from the Lake District & that our garden floods regularly at the best of times. We are fine. Indeed our garden lakes, although persistent (not surprising with all the rain we've had the last month or so), are if anything lower than usual. However, you don't have to go far to see fields under water. The River Lune in Lancaster has burst its banks, no doubt flooding the quayside. Roads in various directions are closed due to flooding.

We're hoping the newly-weds are okay. They're honeymooning in Kendal which has also flooded. We're telling ourselves their hotel is high up on the hill so should be okay. And if nothing else, they will have a warm fire, good food & a bar even if it's too wet to get out much. If the roads are blocked off, then other visitors can't reach the hotel so no doubt they can keep their room an extra day or two until they can leave. So far the Kendal by-pass & the motorway are still open, so with a bit of luck they'll make it home on time.

Meanwhile it continues to rain.....

Another ambulance

The rabbit is plopping away. Each time I venture into the kitchen the sweet spicy smell of cinnamon assaults my nose. It's not often we have rabbit but occasionally I do find it a bit of a treat. I discovered rabbit when we were first married. In Lancaster market then, I did much of my weekly shop. And there was a rabbit stall there. I soon discovered what delicious casseroles they made, with oh so tender meat that just dropped off the fine bones. So it's rabbit today.

I was a bit late starting today. As usual I sat for a little over my breakfast mug of tea & was alarmed to see an ambulance turn the corner, lights flashing. Which neighbour was it now? Ill-health seems to dog our bit of road. Out of the ten houses around us we've got, or had, 5 people with heart problems (resulting in death in two cases), kidney problems twice (resulting in one death) , two disabled people (luckily so far we've not had to get the ambulance out), another suffering the adverse effect of depression, and all that in just 9 years.

I had to stop & check our neighbours were okay. It was with some relief that it turned out not to be anything wrong with our neighbours. Instead they loaded into the ambulance a young woman who was visiting next door. By the look of the way she was nervously holding her arm across her stomach I suspect she had fallen & broken an arm, It would seem next door there will be five children until the young mother is able to drive home with her child.

I'm just getting jittery. After all the deaths we've had this year I feared we would have yet another funeral to go to.

The reception

We're having pork for dinner today. I'm just hoping it isn't going to be the elastic band fed pork our friends recently had. I'm telling myself after three hours of cooking in a slow oven nothing can be that tough & chewy.

I'm relieved to say that the Fox is once more himself. We set off for the wedding reception with him still very monosyllabic & withdrawn. But somewhere during the course of the reception, he refound himself & came back considerably more himself.

The reception was held at the golf club, our first visit there. The food was excellent. It was just a buffet. But what a buffet! The hot sliced beef was so succulent & moist. The vol-au-vents light & tasty, moist without being soggy. Beautiful ham. Chicken that just fell off the bone. Tuna sandwiches. Lightly spiced potato wedges. Light fluffy flan. Cheese & biscuits.

The bride wore a beautiful duck egg suit with a bit of white embroidery around the hems. On top of her head a teal fascinator. Fran had pushed the boat out. She may be 75 but, she whispered, she'd put on stockings & a garter for Den's delectation that night. They were both looking radiantly happy. Den proudly put his arm around her possessively & she gently rested her head on his shoulder. Long may it continue.

An anxious evening

The day of the wedding has arrived. We're due to go to the reception this afternoon. We gather the cut glass crystal rose bowl has arrived at PD's ready to be given to the happy couple. My embroidery is going well. I've still not quite finished it but the end is in sight. I think I can confidently say it will be completed by the end of the week. Then there's only the delay for its framing. I hope they like it after all that effort.

My main anxiety is the Fox at the moment. We went out shopping yesterday, stopping at the Pub on the way back. He seemed fine going but seemed in a very weird mood coming back. All evening, over dinner, he remained withdrawn. He assured me I'd said & done nothing to upset him. Despite my efforts he wouldn't talk about it last night. Later on he said he felt he was going down with something, flu perhaps, & went off to bed at 9pm - very unlike him. Certainly he felt very cold despite the central heating being on as usual.

I wondered whether it was the arrival of yet another funeral party at the Pub - not for anyone we knew, but it's one of the risks with the Pub being one of the nearest pubs to the crematorium - that upset him My thoughts inevitably went to friends & family lost, especially to those who have died this year. I suspect his will have done too. This particular party was a catering nightmare. The Pub was told to prepare for 25 - 100 guests. A bit of a difference in numbers!

Or did PD say something to upset him? I was talking to my neighbour on the other side when his mood changed. With so many people coming in for the funeral it was impossible to hear what they were talking about as well.

I'm just hoping the Fox is back to his normal self today & it was just a blip evening as sometimes happens.

Sober thoughts

It's been a busy few days, what with food shopping, a trip to Kendal to buy our new hi-fi system, the Farmers' Market & the hen night.

The latter went well. Conversation & laughter kept going. It was after 9 before Mrs B resorted to the Mr & Mrs quiz she'd prepared earlier to ask Fran her answers - she'd already got the groom's earlier on. I'm glad to say Den did amazingly well - about 20 out of 27 & most of them questions Fran herself dithered on. Eventually, nearer 10pm we set off back home.

I found myself thinking over the party the next day. Certain things struck me.

First, I had left the party in absolute agony. My knees had burst into flames & were throbbing away. I ended up having a restless night despite taking a sleeping pill - the only way I would have got off in such pain - & several painkillers. Late night partying is beyond me these days. Just occasionally I can stay up later, but it has to be spontaneous & if I feel up to it on the day. We have been invited out for a New Year's Eve dinner & to see the new year in. Now I'm absolutely convinced this is not on. I will try to see the new year in as usual & open a celebratory bottle of champers if I can make it, but it will be at home, where I can loll about, nightwear on & knee braces off. That way I can fall into bed when I want to without any further hassle required.

Another thing that struck me was how unfair my ill-health was on the Fox. He didn't drink much at the stag party. He reckoned because of the driving home. I don't think that's the only reason. We could have got a taxi back if necessary. But once home, he would still have had to be sober enough to help me get changed & into bed. And there's certainly no way I could help him if he was legless. Admittedly that's been a very rare event in our thirty plus years of marriage. He is always on duty as carer, 24 hours a day, even when we're out enjoying ourselves. He rarely complains & I try to make sure he knows how much I appreciate all his efforts, but it still seems unfair to me.

But all this agony & angst will have been worthwhile if Fran & Den feel embraced by the warmth, love & goodwill of their friends. I do hope all goes well on Tuesday & they have a happy marriage.

(I wonder if I'll survive a second party, the wedding reception, so soon after the hen night. We'll see....)

Sewing away

I should warn you I may be absent from my blog site for a few days. As you know we're going to a wedding next week. As soon as we knew about the wedding (the news was waiting for us when we came back from Italy early last month), we put in an order for their wedding present. We've decided to give them a counted cross stitch picture that we hope will amuse them. We thought I should just about have time to get it sewn before the wedding. However, with the postal strikes, the kit didn't arrive until Saturday. Since then, whenever the light is reasonable, I've been desperately trying to get it done. I'm hoping, come next week, we'll at least be able to tell them, it's with the framer & will soon be theirs. But first I must get it sewn. So don't worry if you don't hear from me. I'm just sewing away.

It's difficult thinking of presents for older friends when they decide to get married. When you first set up home as young people, you need just about everything. We've all be scratching our heads when it comes to a couple in their mid-seventies who've already got plenty of clutter collected over the years without adding extra.

We keep hearing about what others are thinking of getting. Ours won't be the only late arrival. A month's notice doesn't give you much time to sort much. Still it sounds as though they're getting a specially made, cut-glass rose bowl (PD's brother-in-law makes them professionally), meal vouchers for the local restaurants & hostelries, our picture, food for the hen/stag night, to name but a few. Meanwhile the number of guests keeps growing. Invites keep coming out every day. At last hearing there were 86 guests & still growing. The golf club, where the reception is to be held, will be heaving. The feelings of warmth & goodwill to the bride & groom should be palpable.

It's good to have something joyous to think about.

Getting back to normal

Life is slowly getting back to normal. The rain has returned.

Little B's funeral went well.

I confess I was anxious about the idea of a funeral with no music, no readings, no religion as stipulated by Little B. It was a relief to discover Anthony, his executor, had decided to ignore this instruction and some gentle music played as we entered the chapel of the crem. It was a simple Christian service. Just a couple of hymns & prayers, one reading. Above all the service centred on Little B, our friend, & our need to support one another through our loss. The Christian message wasn't rammed down everyone's throat as so often happens at religious services.

Back at the Pub afterwards, it was good to see faces not so often seen. And the meal afterwards with Helen was excellent as it always is at this restaurant.

When we got home, we sat & watched "University Challenge" on BBC2. Then we opened a bottle of wine & put on a CD of music from the Moulin Rouge. (One of the questions had been playing the famous music of the cancan. Who wrote the music? Offenbach.) After the first few bars of music, as the image of stockinged legs kicking high amidst the swirl of frilly petticoats dancing the cancan began to form in our minds, all abruptly went silent. It seems our radio/CDplayer/tape player had given up the ghost. It has been threatening to do so for some time. We hastily put the CD on the tv. It is amazing how distracting the light of the screen is, even though there's no picture. We concluded we're going have to get onto buying a replacement soon. Today if possible. You can imagine my surprise this morning when I tried putting on the radio. And, sure enough, there it was. Still I think we still need to look for something more reliable soon.

Now it's time to turn our thoughts to the wedding next week. But first we have the hen & stag party. It's been decided to start with a meal at the Pub all together for a select few. Then others will join in, the men going to another bar up a few steps, while the ladies stay below. We're hoping to slip off fairly soon after the parties have separated & yet not cause offence. We wish both Fran & Den well & wouldn't want to spoil anything for them.

A beautiful morning

It's a beautiful morning for once. After all that rain, yesterday was dry & bright. But today is simply stunning.

There must have been a heavy frost last night. The shed roof is sparkling white. The wooden fences are steaming in the sun. The sunshine is streaming through the few remaining golden leaves on the trees. There's a clarity to the light that is dazzling. I would put my washing out but I suspect it would freeze on the line rather than dry. All together it's one of those mornings that make you feel glad to be alive.

There's just the one shadow on the day - Little B's funeral. I've finally decided on my attire, smart navy. I don't want to cause offence to anyone but I just cannot go in a pink tracksuit. Not to a funeral. And this is a blouse Little B liked.

It will be relief when it's all over & we can get back to normal. I always hate this period between a death & the subsequent funeral. I find it a strange, very settling, limbo time. On this occasion it has been particularly long because of the need for a post mortem & inquest. I'm just glad it will soon be over.

A quiet bonfire night

It seems to have been a remarkably quiet 5th November this year. Usually we hear & see fireworks going off weeks in advance & for some time after. Not so this year. When it was quiet on Thursday I assumed it was so uneventful because it was mid-week & so many children had to get up for school next day. I thought yesterday would be noisier.

Yesterday, Saturday, was the day of the big display in Lancaster. They do it in the fields near the castle & the fireworks can be seen for miles around. One year we had a French friend staying at the time, so we had a meal at a pub this side of the River Lune. There was a hiatus in the meal for everyone to go outside to watch the fireworks, see them reflected in the water & ooh & aah. He was really wowed.

At the castle itself they usually have a huge bonfire, plenty of food of all sorts, fire eaters & jugglers. All very festive.

I can't quite decide whether the quietness was due to the rain - and it certainly was wet - or yet another sign of the recession. There seemed to be a fair queue at the fireworks stall at Morrisons when we were there on Thursday. We certainly weren't about to venture out on such foul nights. I suspect many others felt the same.

I wonder whether in the next few weeks we'll have unexpected bangs & flashes as people set off fireworks they never used this week due to the sheer amount of rain we've experienced of late.

Rain, rain, rain

And still it rains. I'm beginning to wonder if it will ever stop. We watched "Autumnwatch" on BBC2 last night. Part of it was filmed in the Lake District. I cannot believe that many of the shots were taken this week. You couldn't have canoed in the sunshine. Even the few minutes when it hasn't been raining, it has been dark & brooding, not much sign of any brightness anywhere.

The bog garden is certainly more of a lake than a bog. I suspect the hydrangea has already given up the ghost. I'm just hoping, come to spring, it will pick up again. Everything else still seems to be surviving.

We're already holding onto the idea of the sunny south of France in spring to get us through the winter months. It seems set to be a long one this year. It already feels more like December than November. It was great to see a real fire blazing in our village pub yesterday.

Potatoes again

We're celebrating having potatoes once more with a rosti tonight. We're also looking forward to having some roast spuds with our roast beef tomorrow. These little things can bring great joy.

As you will have gathered we did indeed get to Morrisons. We set off in the early afternoon to find the car park heaving. We looked inside through the windows to see long queues at the tills.

So off we went to the Pub instead. It was a lively afternoon as it turned out. Tony, the power station worker was in, along with Mr P who had just returned from taking his school choir & orchestra to Kiel for the week. He regaled us with stories & pictures of what had happened. Soon PD strolled in to join the party.

Finally, 5ish, we decided it was time to depart. The shopping had to be done. We dropped PD off home on the way.

We were just choosing the spuds, when I heard a gentle voice greeting me from behind. It was Paul & Judith, a couple who frequently join us at the Pub. They hadn't heard the news about Little B. It came as quite a shock to Paul as he'd been having a drink with Little B on the Sunday afternoon, the night of which Little B had died. By the time we'd told them as well as catching up on the news about their sons, time was pressing on. We hastily grabbed the food.

Fortunately we were having a quick meal. The Fox got out his trusty wok & made us a salmon stir fry. Even so, by the time we had eaten it was after 8pm. So much for our quick shop!

Now I realise I had rushed round the shop so much I forgot to look for, let alone buy, the prunes I wanted for a lamb tagine later in the week. It will just have to wait till next time. The lamb is safely tucked away in the freezer so won't spoil.

Late post arriving

At last it's arrived. We re-insured our car at the end of October. Finally the documents have arrived. The accompanying letter is dated Oct 21. Presumably the letter has been lost in the post ever since, due to the strikes. I had decided I would have to give them a ring this weekend, especially as the premium worked on the basis of you pay one figure immediately but you receive a £30 cheque back provided you put the claim in within 30 days. If nothing else I wanted to make sure they knew we hadn't received that form, so if we were a little late putting in the claim we would still receive the money back. (Silly system to my mind. Why not just make the premium £30 less in the first place?) I'm also relieved that we will have some valid insurance documents to show if we ever stopped by the police.

I'm off to France next. We ordered the Michelin Green Guide for the Cote d'Azur. That finally came through the post yesterday. I've been itching to start reading about the area we're visiting next spring. All yesterday evening I kept flicking through the pages. It looks as though there's plenty of exciting things to do & places to visit. I'd never realised there was a strong Russian community in Nice. The Orthodox cathedral looks fabulous. As for art galleries, there's Picasso, Chagal, Matisse for starters. Oh it should be good. And at the end of the day, we'll probably so relaxed we barely venture from the pool at the villa. Still that would be a good reason to go back another time or two.

When will it end?

When will it end?

Rain came slashing down in heavy showers throughout most of yesterday. Today seems to be the same.

As I write, a meatball curry is plopping away. We're still potatoless. The idea of getting drenched going to the shops has little appeal. It looks as though tomorrow we'll have to shop whatever the weather. We're just running out of too many things. And when those things include basics like tea, bread, milk, as well as the potatoes, something has to be done. We're expecting the electrician on Friday so we won't be able to shop then.

The absence of Little B is still very tangible in the Pub. Yesterday, there were near fisticuffs over what to wear to his funeral. Little B requested not only no black but also to come casual. To some, this means tracksuits or T-shirts & jeans. Others don't feel that is appropriate wear for a funeral & they just wouldn't feel comfortable in such attire. The general consensus is that he meant in clothes such as you would wear for an afternoon at the pub. And for some of us that means sometimes smart casual. Proper shirts & trousers for men, skirts & dresses for the ladies. Certainly that is what I intend to do. It's amazing what a controversy such an apparently simple request can cause. We all want to say our farewells showing respect for our deceased friend, but we just can't agree about how best to show that respect.

Visit of the gremlins

I'm beginning to think the gremlins are visiting.

It starts when I get on the main computer. No problem with what I want to do on Word, but when I turn to the Internet, that's a different case. For some reason it just wouldn't load.

Eventually I move to the laptop. I first go to the website for the villa we've booked near Cannes. I've been trying to persuade Lin that she & PD would like to join us on the trip as the villa is for 6 so there's plenty of room. PD's already convinced. I thought I'd just check up on some of the details that are on the web, but not in the brochure. I'm just looking when the phone goes. The link within the net disappears. Try as I might when I press on the hyperlink nothing happens. I've abandoned the endeavour. I'll maybe try again later.

There are times I wish I was more computer literate. I know it's more a case of application. But, basically, as long as a tool works & I can do what I want to do, whether it's a computer or a car, that's all I care about. The mechanics just bore me. In this instance I leave it to the Fox to solve.

Changed times

I gather today is the 50th anniversary of the M1. On the BBC website this morning is a photo of the motorway in those days. The road is virtually deserted. A man is sweeping the road with a broom. He's not wearing any safety gear, nor is he surrounded by cones.

How things have changed. Last time we ventured along the M1 cars were in easy sight of each other. At times it was just one long snarl up, cars bumper to bumper, barely moving. We've tried travelling in the early hours of the morning. Even then there's a fair amount of traffic. No man would venture on foot on to that motorway without considerable protection & lane closures.

But I am left to wonder how they manage to keep the motorway so uncluttered with life's debris. Leaves & litter must blow on. Not to mention scraps of blown tyres & exhaust pipes falling on it. And then there's the squashed hedgehogs & birds that venture across the road. Yet it has to be said there tends not to be that much litter compared to so many urban & rural streets. Well done to the men who keep them so tidy.

Fashion dilemma

It's a dark morning today. The world is wet. The rain falls steadily.

At last we know when the funeral will be - a week on Monday. I always hate this limbo time, a time of waiting, unable to let go, haunted by memories. It is only after the funeral you can get on with the business of re-building & getting on with your life.

I find myself wondering what to wear. The last time I'd seen Little B he had complimented me on what I was wearing. He hadn't often done this, so I thought it was an appropriate outfit to wear to his funeral in memory of him. Now we hear that in his will, he stipulates no black & to dress casually. The outfit has a black background, even though there is scarlet & twinkle to cheer it. I suppose now I had better decide on something else, out of respect to his wishes. But what?

Much as I can understand a stipulation against black ties, this dress code bugs me. I often wear black as I feel smart in it. One of the most chic outfits ever designed was Chanel's classic, the little black dress.

And surely your attire tends to reflect something of yourself, your personality & mood on a particular day, not the personality of the deceased. If black feels right, then black you should be entitled to wear.

I hope when my time comes, mourners will come in whatever they feel comfortable in. They're welcome in black or a whole kaleidoscope of colours, in jeans or a smart suit, just don't feel obliged to wear black. And I hope, whatever they wear, they will celebrate my life in their hearts & remember me with love.

Spudless

We're out of potatoes. Disaster! The Fox's instant reaction is that we must go hot-pace down to the shops to get some more.

Personally I hate tackling food shops at the weekend - too many people. Curiously this isn't quite so bad in France or Italy. In those countries the wheelchair lane is prioritised for disabled people. Although others can use that till, if a disabled person arrives they have to let the disabled person through, clearing the conveyor belt especially. I wish it happened in this country.

However, that gripe aside, we're leaving it until next week. I assure the Fox we'll manage until then. We've got rice & pasta in so what's the problem. We've even got some tinned new potatoes & frozen chips in. Time we used some of these things up.

He's still not sure. I come up with some suggested meals. They may not be the meals planned, but they should be tasty & would even use up some of the foods that are just hanging around. Necessity is the mother invention & all that. We can get the potatoes next time we're at the shops.

So it is today we're going to use up some asparagus we've got left over from a risotto we had earlier this week. (It was one of those offers - buy two bundles for the price of one.) I'm thinking of a stir fry with some ham & other veg. In the freezer we've got a half tin of hoisin & plum sauce, so we can add that for a bit of extra flavour. A few egg noddles & all should be good.

Tomorrow I've suggested the Fox can make one of his fabulous spicy spag bols. Or we could have a chili con carne if he prefers. Monday will be a cheese pasta medley. By Tuesday I suspect we'll be needing some milk & so will be going to the shops anyhow. Then we can buy some spuds & get back to the planned meals.

Simple. Problem solved.

History

While listening to the "Today" on BBC Radio 4, a question was raised that set me thinking. When does something become history as opposed to current affairs?

It sounds simple enough until you try to put a precise date, or even circumstance, on it. It's something that happened in the past, that's easy enough.

It could be said to be when something is complete. But then is anything ever complete? Don't the crusades, for example, have an influence on the geographical, religious, political position of the Middle East today?

Is the present war in Iraq & Afghanistan history yet? It's certainly not over yet. But even when the fighting is over, will it be over & therefore history? How do you know it isn't going to be the cause of what follows, be it good or evil?

Is what happened yesterday history or current? Where is the transition point? Time is so fluid. The past merges seamlessly into the present into the future.

Is Little B's life & death now history or current? Will that answer change after the funeral? Certainly at the moment he haunts the Pub & the minds of all his friends. Conversations, no matter what subject they start about, all come back to him. His life is now complete. He will never have new adventures, at least not in this world. Does that make him part of history? He certainly had his role in history. He did his military service like all men of his generation. His name will no doubt be recorded in censuses, in the annals of the Building Society he once worked in, on the ownership documents of houses & cars he once owned, & a million other places beside. Or does the very paper trail to be sought somehow make this history?

Questions, questions. The more I seek, the further the answers retreat.

A big hole

It's amazing what a big hole a small man can leave. Little B was physically a small man - he used to be a cox for rowing & was the ideal shape for a jockey. He was tight-fisted, ready to argue over a penny. He made his half pint last well over an hour. He rarely made any outward show of his feelings. He always signed his cards "With regards". With time it progressed to "With warmest regards" but you knew the depth of the warmth of those regards in a way so often absent from many people's "With love from". He could be incredibly cantakerous & pernicketty. Yet for all he irritated, we loved him & miss him greatly. He could be found at the Pub every day of the week, always pleased to see you. He was one of those few people you could be companionably silent with without feeling embarassed by the lack of words. He just couldn't see the point of speaking unless he had something worthy of saying.

So now we wait once more. Another funeral to go to, our fifth this year. Hopefully our last for a while. Now we just hope it isn't on the same day as Fran & Den's wedding. Nor that he puts too much of a dampener on that event. He wouldn't have wanted that.

Anxious morning

We're rather anxious at the moment. Little B wasn't at the Pub yesterday. He usually tells people if he's not going to be there, but nobody knows any reason for his absence. It was a bit of a dampener on the afternoon as we worried in case something should be wrong. Little B is a stickler to routine as this is not like him.

So this morning I ring him. No answer. I try both land line & mobile. No answer.

I try ringing the Pub as they had intended to ring in the evening if he hadn't turned up. No. They hadn't been able to locate him. And he hadn't appeared in the evening.

The full scale hunt is on now. We're all telling ourselves he's probably fine. Just forgot to tell someone.

Meanwhile we've rung the hospital. He's not in A&E. Nan, Big B's wife, is popping around. Little B's car is outside his flat. She can see that much from their house. Lin, PD's wife, is also on her way to the flat. I just hope all is well. It's worrying when someone is in their 70s, a bit frail & lives on his own.

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Bad news. They found him dead in his bed.

Art break

We're contemplating a trip to Liverpool to see the Rothko exhibition at the Tate Modern. We've long appreciated his art in reproduction but never seen the originals. We're very curious to see what difference of effect will be created by the sheer size of the pieces.

I remember once going to the Modern Art gallery in Edinburgh & seeing my first Jackson Pollack. I confess before then I had been telling myself his work was not just a matter of paint splattered on canvas & had merit. I had no doubt that it wasn't just "child play" as some have suggested. But it wasn't until I saw an original hanging there, & the size of it, that I was convinced.

I suspect this exhibition will have a similar effect on me.

Now things are settling a bit more, it's time to turn my attention to finding accommodation for such a trip. Liverpool doesn't take that long to get to from here. However, I'm certain by the time I've made the trip I will not have the stamina to also go round such a demanding exhibition.

The idea of a couple of days away, possibly in the long cold dark days of January/February appeals greatly. Especially when it will hopefully include such a cultural highlight.