After Richard

Still discussing the previous night’s performance of Richard III on Saturday we drove across country via Ipstones and Longnor to Buxton. We parked easily up on the park, near the war memorial and wandered down into town. After a meander round the shops and a coffee we went into the Pavilion to look at the Family History Fair. I was hoping that the Birmingham and Midlands lot would be there but no joy so my Hodgetts from 1841 backwards still remain a mystery. I’ve done all I can on Ancestry so have now to look at parish records which in turn means braving New Street Station to get to the archives and I’m not a great fan of New Street Station. We spoke to quite a few people on the many stalls on offer and generally enjoyed ourselves.

On Sunday we took a break from tiling the hallway floor to pop up into Hanley to watch the aircraft of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight fly over the Potteries Museum where a new statue of local hero Reginald Mitchell designer of the Spitfire had been unveiled. We stood opposite the museum in what used to be the burial ground of the Bethesda Chapel, now a lovely landscaped garden. There were loads of people milling around and it was great to see representatives of all generations eagerly anticipating the aircraft. A huge ‘whoop’ went up from the crowd as the planes flew proudly and sedately overhead and then a huge wave of applause as they disappeared over the rooftops into the sky beyond.

This morning we got up early and decided to walk around the lake at Trentham before all the crowds got there later today. We saw herons nesting, and the geese and swans were proudly displaying their little ones for our delight. After steaming hot coffee at the lakeside café we drove back home past the queue of cars struggling to find parking spaces in the pouring rain.

'Weer it, enjoy it, and mek mooch of it'

So saith Lord Stanley to Richmond as he handed over the crown plucked from the brow of the dead King Richard on the Battlefield of Bosworth. This can only mean one thing and, yes, indeed, Northern Broadsides are back in town.

As we took our seats* the actors wandered on to the stage and began playing jazz, I’m always amazed by the many talents of the actors who make up this company and was to be even more amazed later on by an additional talent I’d not yet seen. Just before the lights went down I spotted the gangling, ungainly figure in black at the top of the stairs – here was Richard. Played wonderfully well by Conrad Nelson this Richard weaved and cajoled and simpered and struggled his evil way to the throne.** A throne he soon lost on Bosworth Field where White Surrey was replaced by a barrow and the battle was won accompanied by the wild clashing of drums, the swirling of banners and clog dancing. I did wonder why all the soldiers were carrying a spare pair of shoes over their shoulders and at the start of the fight instead of armour they donned clogs and danced their way onto the battlefield, the noise of their feet getting louder and louder as the bitter struggle drew to its inevitable conclusion. After the battle there followed a wonderful choral display as The Earl of Richmond accepted his challenge. I love Northern Broadsides.

*my seat was against the main entrance and exit for the company and right by the ‘butt of malmsey’ so I heard the gurgles and saw the struggles in great detail.

** Of course, as much as I love Shakespeare, as a Yorkist I don’t believe Richard was either as evil or as deformed as Will portrayed him, but if I had lived in Tudor England I think I would have done the same.

A feeling of Disquiet

What a strange week. Well I was right about the rain, I really shouldn’t have taken the garden furniture out of its winter storage. No lawn cutting for a while as the garden is squelching in water again, no drought here then, just a spoilt garden.

When I visited the out patients to get my eye checked out I think that, apart from a couple of young mums with children, I was the youngest there. I was glad to finally get my appointment but I came away feeling quite low in spirits, I should, of course, be happy that I’ve not got any serious problems and that there are so many people far worse off than me, but seeing so many elderly people struggling to see and walk made me fear for the future.

I’ve been saddened also by a strange thing happening to one of my favourite web sites. I’ve been a member on this site since October 2003, not a very active member admittedly but I’ve visited it almost daily and enjoyed its ups and downs, but this week a temporary forum attached to the main site has gone absolutely berserk with people really being nasty to each other. I guess people are upset because things seem to be in limbo at the moment but it really has gone too far with only one person speaking any sense. I think once I know what is happening, and get the answer to one outstanding question I won’t bother again.

Off to Wales next week for our annual reunion staying at Maesyfed as usual. Hope to shake off some of the troubles and disquiet I feel from all the above and enjoy being with friends who care about each other.

Drifting

Can’t believe it’s a week since I last wrote anything for here. The last few days have gone by in a daze of lawn cutting, gardening, cooking, sorting things for the charity shop and trying and failing to get interested in anything positive and/ or doing anything positive, except, looking after my little cat who on Tuesday had to have six teeth extracted by the vet. She’s coping very well which is more than I am. Next week have my eye appointment – dreading this as I can’t cope with anything in or near my eyes, the day after I have the fasting blood tests. Then I must start to think about the annual ‘get-together’ in Penybont, week after next. This warm weather has induced that late summer laziness of body and mind usually gained from too many hours in the sun lounger but these haven’t even seen the light of day yet. I did get out the plastic table and chairs though and give then a good wash down. A sure sign that it will rain from now on.

One Reason to be Cheerful

Yeh! Thank goodness, my vote did count. I was fully expecting to wake up this morning to the devastating news that the BNP had won another seat in our ward, but joy of joys – labour held on to Longton North. I’d rather even have Conservatives than BNP and you will realize how strong a feeling that is when I tell you that I was brought up in a village not two miles from what used to be called in the grim eighties ‘the people’s republic of Bolsover’ so I was nurtured in ‘old’ style labour politics. Even though Labour lost overall power in Stoke I’m so relieved not be totally ashamed of the area I’m living in.

Dithering

We’ve been having a ‘clear out’ or ‘de-cluttering’ of junk accumulated over the years. I’ve been quite good at letting go of things* but I’m beginning to get to the real nitty-gritty now and have been dithering over a couple of things for the past week.

Bag one contained the photos, information panels and research notes from an exhibition I put together for our then local library to celebrate the Quincentenary of the Battle of Bosworth Field in August 1985. As I look at the mounted photographs of various Plantagenets and Tudors (all postcards from the National Portrait Gallery) and the ones we took ourselves of various Ricardian places, like Middleham, York and Leicester I have happy memories of putting the exhibition together and of struggling to type the information panels on my IBM ‘golf ball’ typewriter. This was a huge, noisy beast but I loved it because it had a golf ball with a script font which looked completely right with the photographs. I remember the opening of the exhibition and the wonderful case of Richard III related books the library put out to enhance the wall panels. I made the final decision – last night the bag went in the wheelie bin.

Bag two contains all Georgette Heyer’s novels in paperback. I began reading these when I was about thirteen years old. I was completely hooked and over the next three or four years I devoured everyone. They have moved with me on countless occasions but their pages have become yellow/brown with age, the paper is thin, brittle and brown spotted. I don’t think a charity shop would take them. So last night I chose my favourite two novels ‘Friday’s Child’ the first one I read and the one that got me hooked and ‘Devil’s Cub’ because as a romantic 15 year old I fell in love with Dominic Vidal. The rest – well, they are now in the wheelie bin.

*Most definitely staying are Belinda bear and Bruin bear, fluff the pink cat, my first Christmas tree (bought when I was 4 months old), all the old family photographs and papers and my copy of a Nottingham Playhouse programme of ‘Hamlet, Prince of Denmark’ signed by Ian Mckellan.

Bank Holiday

The weekend started wonderfully as we made an escape for a couple of hours at lunch on Friday, a walk around the lake at Trentham then lunch at the garden centre café to celebrate our wedding annniversay.

Saturday we headed off to Buxton to shop at Hawkshead’s (20%) off weekend. I now have a lovely soft brown self stripe blouse which fits perfectly. We drove out of Buxton towards Macclesfield to find the Dunge Valley Gardens and had lunch and lovely walk there before setting off towards Macclesfield. We stopped for a while overlooking the Goyt Valley to watch and listen to the curlews nesting in the grassy pastures just beyond the road. I love to hear the strange evocative cry of the curlew and quite a few flying and calling together make for a truly unusual and magical sound.

Sunday we got up really early and drove to the Manifold valley. We walked for a couple of hours past Thor’s cave and on towards Waterhouses. When we got back to Wetton Mill the car park was full but we really enjoyed the coffee and home made cake from the Mill café before we returned home.

Monday was a wet, gloomy day so we stayed at home pottering around. The gloomy day, therefore was a suitable backdrop to the phone call I received in the afternoon. A dear friend of over 30 years standing rang to say that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer. It is very early days and has been caught early so she has to have a lumpectomy (sp?) followed by five weeks of radio therapy and course of tamoxifen (sp?). To say that I was stunned is to put it quite mildly but she is optimistic and positive and therefore so am I that she will come through this by taking one step at a time. Please God.

Too grumpy by far

I seem to be in ‘grumpy old woman’ mode today. Don’t know why because it is lovely outside. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the newts are basking and the tadpoles wriggling around in the pond, the washing is drying on the line, the lawn is freshly cut and the cats are snoozing in various parts of the garden (one on the seat, one under the heather and one under the gooseberry bushes). Therefore my unease must stem from my walk down into town, not just that but from my visit to the supermarket. Yes, that is where the answer lies. So in my best ‘grumpy’ voice, here we go:- Why do people crowd you at the checkouts? It is very rude. It is usually a couple working a pincer movement on you. She unloads pushing you forward all the time with the trolley in your back, he barges past you and lurks in the window area. When the person being served in front of you, to whom you are giving enough space to carry out their monetary transactions, moves away from the till, you move down to start packing your bags, after about four items have entered your bag the man moves forward and starts to collect and open carrier bags and then stands there watching every item you place in your bag and if you hesitate for a split second over where to place items in your bag, he sort of tuts. You then move back to punch in your pin number but the woman is in the way with the trolley and really resents having to move back an inch or two so you can complete your transaction so she pushes through behind you glowering at you until you move your trolley away. Grr and double Grr – I felt like saying ‘Would you jump in my grave as quick?’ but it seemed rather churlish to do so. Outnumbered you see.

As I walked back home I passed a piece of graffiti on a wall ‘School is crop’ now is this:

a) A new corruption of a word by the young and does it mean something completely different?
b) A mis-spelling of ‘crap’?
c) An inability to form letters correctly?

As I passed the nearby school the little ones were out in the playground cycling around on their bikes. One child said to another ‘Get out of my way, you fool*.’ This saddened me – a very small child with a teenage attitude. I really worry for the future when these kids are not taught to consider other people’s feelings and the fact that some people may not move as quickly or as efficiently as others. This awareness used to come with age but I find increasingly that it doesn’t anymore. Hey, ho, back to the garden.

*The child did use the word 'fool' , a teenager would use something rather more explicit, I think.

And Trim came too

We had an old friend to stay with us over the Easter weekend and yesterday we drove her back to Spalding. On the way we stopped off at the small town of Donington to look at the new statue of one of my heroes, Captain Matthew Flinders. When I worked in the local Museum we had a gallery dedicated to Matthew Flinders and I was privileged to be able to do research at the archives in Lincoln and read quite a few of Flinders’ letters home to his family and fiancée Ann Chapelle. The bronze statue is very attractive but much smaller than I expected and stands at the road side in the market place where his family home stood for many years. Poor Matthew, who is considered a hero in Australia, is little known in his homeland. He died at the age of 40 in 1814 just after publishing his book ‘A Voyage to Terra Australis.’ His cat Trim who sailed with him and also stayed with him during his captivity on the island of Mauritius is depicted at his feet. His grandson was the noted Egyptologist Sir William Matthew Flinders Petrie.

A Corner of the Artist's Room

I was interested to learn that there is a new book available whose plot revolves around one of my all time favourite paintings by my very favourite artist.

I first saw ‘A Corner of the Artist’s Room in Paris’ many years ago at the Graves Art Gallery in Sheffield. I fell in love with its simplicity and its tranquility. It is has a stark masculinity and yet, at the same time, is very feminine. I love the glow of light from the fine netted window which gives the viewer a fleeting glimpse of the outside world. I saw the painting again in 1985 at the Barbican in London as part of the exhibition of Gwen John’s work called ‘Gwen John- An Interior Life’ I still treasure the catalogue I bought then and look through it often.

The room in question is 87 Rue du Chereche-Midi, where Gwen John lived on the top floor from 1907 until 1909. It was during these years she became the model and later the lover of the sculptor Auguste Rodin.

Although the new book doesn’t get a particularly good review, I will still read it. I can’t not, can I?

Hope to Castleton

We set out early today and drove across country through Ipstones, Longnor and Tideswell to Hope. The air was clear as we traveled through the patchwork quilt of fields all lightly touched by a soft sprinkling of snow, the hills in the distance sparkling white in the sun. We arrived in Hope and after parking we crossed the road to have coffee at Woodbine Cottage where we mingled with other sturdy booted, wooly hatted walkers sitting around the warm log fire the air redolent with the smell of coffee and wood smoke. Suitably refreshed we wondered down past the church, over the river and took the public footpath to Castleton. The path was quite muddy in places and the wind almost took our breath away as we gazed at the ruins of Peveril Castle in the distance on the hillside above the town. Each field was dotted with sheep and suckling lambs who gazed nervously at us as we struggled to climb the stiles without slipping and landing in the quagmires below.



Castleton was quiet – quieter than at Christmas – when the town buzzes with folks viewing the lights. We looked in one or two shops and the new heritage centre which was very interesting. We were wondering about the walk up to the castle but just as we stepped outside again the sun disappeared and the rain began to come down. We decided then to go back another time to visit the castle. As we came out of the bookshop the sun came out again so we walked back to Hope and drove home calling into the large bookshop at Brierlow Bar where I couldn’t resist buying a couple of books – ‘Letters from the Fens’ by Edward Storey and ‘The Waves’ by Virginia Woolf – the cost for both just £4.98. I love days like today.

Cork Cutters and Ferrule Makers

I was searching through a box of old photographs and family papers when I found a very old card signed by my great-grandmother. Now this was one line of my family tree that I hadn’t researched as much as the others. It being my father’s mother’s side of the family on her mother’s side – try to work that one out after a glass of sherry. I knew that Sarah Ann or Sally, as she was known, had, according to the 1881 census, come from Birmingham with her brother Robert into Derbyshire, presumably for work, and from the parish records that they had both married and stayed there. I knew their father’s name was also Robert (deceased at the time of their marriages in 1875.) My sister who has a subscription to Ancestry was able to find the family for me on the 1851, 1861 and 1871 census returns and how fascinating and moving it turned out to be.

In 1861 the family was living in a courtyard in the St Martin’s District of Birmingham. That is, of course the Bull Ring area, as the church there is St Martin’s. They lived in Court No 10 in house No 2 and Robert (senior) worked as a Gun Implement Maker, his wife Mary Ann worked as a Brace Stitcher (whatever that is) son John, age 12, as a Cork Cutter and son Robert, age 10, as an Umbrella Ferrule Maker. Sarah was five and there was a younger brother Joseph aged 4. By 1871 Robert (senior) and Mary Ann had died (only in their forties) and John and Robert (junior) are lodging together in St Martin’s. Sarah Ann is in domestic service with an architect in the Lady Wood area of Birmingham. Within 4 years they are living in Derbyshire and settling down there - I'd love to know how this came about. At the end of 2004 we visited the Back to Backs in Birmingham, little knowing then that I was looking at the type of houses in the very same area where my ancestors would have lived and worked. A very salutary lesson, indeed.

Spring at Last

Looks like spring has arrived at last. The daffodils are in flower, the collard doves are billing and cooing and we have frog spawn in the pond. As I was walking back from replenishing the bird feeders in the plum tree I noticed the frog spawn and went to take a closer look; at this point the whole of the surface of the pond seemed to move - it was the newts basking in the watery sunshine and looking forward, no doubt, to feasting on tiny tadpoles when they eventually emerge from their little bubbles.

Ginger-ish

Overheard earlier today as I walked to the local shop. Two small boys chatting on the pavement whilst playing football

1st Boy - she isn’t ginger

2nd Boy - she is, well ginger-ish

1st boy - she’s strawberry blond

2nd boy - she isn’t blond, she’s ginger-ish

1st boy - she isn’t ginger

2nd boy - not ginger, I said ginger-ish

The pretty tabby kitten sitting on the wall watching them play gave me a knowing look.

One Year On

Well, I started this Blog a year ago today and it seems I wrote about Dab Chicks at Cromford Canal. Perhaps we should go back and look at them again but given that the weather is much colder this year than last they probably aren’t up to their courting rituals and amusing antics yet; is everything later this year? I think the blackbirds are nesting in our front hedge and today, when we walked around the lake at Trentham the heronry was buzzing; with the birds landing and taking off like planes at Manchester airport. The deer were clustered together as well; all the hinds around one protectively dominant, antlered stag. I’ve just downloaded the Springwatch details from the BBC web site. I haven’t seen any frog spawn in our pond yet this year; just one poor dead frog on the lawn, its back legs sheared off. P said it looked like it had been dropped from a heron’s beak because if one of the cats had taken it its injuries wouldn’t have been so clean cut. Funnily enough I saw a heron land near our pond the other day, peer rather dismissively into it – why do I always see herons wearing a pince-nez? – register that there were no fish and then take off, rather awkwardly, legs dangling, up and away over the shed and the trees behind, wings flapping like mad – hope it had an easier landing at its next port of call..

A Bad Decision

I visited the Elan Valley twice last year. Once with friends on our annual ‘get-together’ and the second time with P on our way further into mid-wales and the coast. It is a strange and beautiful place, even though man made, and summons up those same feelings as when, for example, you visit Ladybower in Derbyshire, or Rutland Water in Rutland because you are always aware of what lies beneath. You can imagine the anguish felt by the people whose homes were destroyed and the sheer hard labour of those who built the dams. For over 100 years the Elan Valley has supplied Birmingham with water at great cost to themselves. Lives, livelihoods and treasured family homes were lost. That is why I think it was so short sighted of Birmingham Council to say no when Community Arts Rhayader And District asked for a donation towards the cost of the £550,000 museum. There is a huge link between the two areas and when I watched the local news yesterday many of the people spoken to in the streets of Birmingham felt that the Council should have made a donation. I think that they have underestimated how their citizens feel about this. I hope they change their minds.

Favourite Book

As it is World Book Day today I thought I would mention one of my all time favourite books J L Carr’s ‘A Month in the Country’. It is set a few years after WW1 and is a bitter-sweet story of love, loss and discovery. There are multiple layers to the meaning of the book and the stories of the wonderful characters interweave throughout its pages. It makes me laugh, it makes me smile, it makes me cry. A truly glorious book that you can read again and again.

Arousing Strong Feelings

I can’t be the only person that hasn’t read any Dan Brown novels and in particular 'The Da Vinci Code', in fact, I know I’m not because I’ve spoken to several people who haven’t read him either. Of the people I’ve spoken to who have read the book they seem to be split into two very distinct camps, those that loved it; and those that hated it. In fact, not just hated it but, indeed, the very mention of either the book or the author seems to make then spit out very colourful and venomous expletives, the like of which I rarely hear except when directed towards mass murderers, child molesters or football thugs. However, the book that has been mentioned in the alleged plagiarism case, I seem to think I have read, many years ago when it was considered 'cool' and the right book to be seen with on a train - or a plane. It was passed round my place of work at the time and we all read it in turn. Well, if it wasn’t that one is was certainly one about the Knights Templar and the Holy Grail. I can't remember anything about it now though. So, I have to make the decision to read or not to read? Perhaps I'll just go and see the film.

Did you all remember to say 'white rabbits' this morning? For once I did remember.

Not too much to ask, is it?

Well, the ongoing saga with Homebase is still – well – ongoing. We have had two more attempts at getting two cream drawer covers with no success. Beech was sent again – so that’s three lots of beech and last week an entirely different kitchen unit was sent. They still can’t order just the drawer fronts (the computer system won’t allow it) so each time they have to send the whole unit. Bizarre. We have chosen the tiles though and half of them are on the walls. Looking good so far.

Handles and History

Up early, out of the house and on our way to Ikea by 8.30a.m. to buy handles for the kitchen doors and drawers. We have a choice of three stores all around an hour’s drive from us but as two of them, Warrington and Wednesbury, involve the M6, we always go to the Nottingham one which is actually near Kimberley and Awsworth.* We managed to get some super handles and inserts for the cutlery drawers all for about £28. By this evening they had been fitted and it is now – except for the two lots of missing drawers - complete. Next job is choosing and fixing the tiles. Looking forward to having a day off tomorrow and going for a long walk.

* my maternal grandfather was born in Awsworth in 1884 and his grandparents were married in the church there in 1858 so I always feel I'm on 'familiar' ground - I wonder what they would have made of Ikea?

Going round in Circles

Whilst fitting together the final unit P found that the drawer runners didn’t fit the drawers. He rang Homebase yet again and of course, you know what’s next, he’d found another error in their system. It turns out that quite a few drawer units have gone out with the wrong runners because one of the packers at the factory packed a whole load of, and I quote, “wrong runners in the right boxes” – so we have now been given a ‘fast-track’ replacement order of a ‘conversion kit’ as well as the ‘buddy’ order for a cream oven housing unit. At least now we have a working sink and hob. As the housing for both beech and cream is the same this has now been assembled and the oven wired up. We really just need two cream drawer fronts, but these cannot be ordered on their own, because the computer will not deal with this, so we have to be sent a whole new unit, the third in a week, just to get two bl***y drawer fronts.

Three steps foreward and one back

The mini-skip arrived nice and early and we completely filled it with the sorry remains of the old kitchen. The gas man came to take out the old gas pipe, the water board man came to fix the leaking stop tap and the new cooker housing was delivered – except it was beech again, not cream. So now we have two beech units and no cream unit. Back to square one. Oh deep joy.

An Oath or Two

Up bright and early to drive over to Chesterfield to pick up my sister and make our appointment at the Sheffield probate office at 11.30a.m. on time. We drove through Ashbourne and Matlock in brilliant sunshine and guess who forgot to take her new sun-glasses with her. Still the old ones managed even though I couldn’t see very well in them. Luckily no hold ups in Matlock. It only takes one delivery van to park on the main road to hold the traffic up halfway back to Matlock Bath. When we arrived at the Law Courts (after trying three times to find the entrance to the car park) we had to have our bags searched and step through one of those detector things. The man in front of me had to empty his pockets into a box to be searched and still managed to set the detector off a couple of times. We only had to wait a little time and then we had to read through the application for probate and swear an oath clutching our new testaments. It should only take about 10 days to be granted and then we can proceed with the selling of Dad’s shares and acting upon his wishes in distributing what is left of his savings. My sister and I are the executors and the benefactors of his will so it is quite straight forward.

Problems, Problems

We’ve hit our first problem almost straight away. When we ordered the kitchen the oven housing came up on the computer as beech even though we had ordered cream. The assistant checked with the manager. “It’s the right code for cream” he assured “when it arrives it will be cream” Was it heck. We called the warehouse and they said not their problem, call the shop and slammed the phone down. We called the shop and luckily the asssitant remembered us and remembered checking with the manager. After much phoning around she found out that the order codes were wrong in the sale price leaflet and that their head office hadn’t told them. So a new order was put in for a replacement which should arrive within two days.Still there are plenty of other jobs we can get on with. It’s quite tiring having to do the washing up upstairs in the bathroom and trying to manage with just the microwave. We had thought about eating out this evening but then realized it was Valentine’s Day and that probably everywhere would be booked up – so we fetched pizza and salads from Tesco. Off to Sheffield tomorrow

Oh, Yuk

Well, I was right the old units were removed and behind them were absolute horrors of old tiles, woodworm in the skirting boards which were painted bright blue; lovely with the yellow flowered wallpaper and tiles. Behind one of the units were several pieces of pottery including 1970s egg cups in red and purple with little feet and cups and saucers with a green ivy pattern. Under the sink unit was a 1979 Sunday Mirror full damp, silverfish and five pages of Britt Ekland in various stages of undress. The stench pipe housing was rotten and just fell away with the tiles so this has had to be rebuilt. The stop tap had a small leak (thank goodness we have insurance for this with the water board) and there was an old gas oven pipe which we need to get taken out and capped by the by the gas board. New tiles have been laid and the walls painted so now we can begin assembling and installing the new kitchen. I was always worried about what was behind these units and my worst fears were realised. I'm just ashamed we've lived with them for so long. At least the front bits were clean.

New Kitchen

The kitchen we ordered from Homebase after Christmas is now sitting in bubble wrap in the garage waiting to be installed. Firstly we have to rip out the old kitchen and make good the floor and walls, because whoever installed the present one put it in and then laid the floor tiles up to the base units, and if their workmanship behind these units is the same as we found behind the wall units then we are in for a lot of hard work. We took down the wall units a couple of years after we moved in to make good the walls behind. The cupboards had been mounted on the old original 1970s tiles (yellow flowers) which in turn had been laid over the wallpaper (yellow flowers) and then packed with broken tiles behind. I’ve a feeling this weekend is going to be a dusty, dirty one.

Food & Antiques

Yesterday S&R came over from Nottingham and we drove over to Leek to find a shop they wanted to visit. Period Features is on Broad Street and is a treasure chest of lovely things, we had a rummage around and a chat to the owner and then wandered across the road to explore one or two of the antique shops that the town is famous for. We then had lunch in No 64, lovely food, a bit pricey but as it was S&R’s Wedding Anniversary the next day it seemed appropriate. The restaurant itself is light and airy and the staff courteous and attentive. We all had something different off the menu but my pudding of apple sorbet with crisp apple slices was wonderful. P’s wild mushroom risotto was also delicious. Later we wandered around the town and dipped in and out of more shops and then the antiques centre which we had parked near. We chattered, meandered and generally had a wonderful time. I love days like this.

Still Smiling

Reasons to be Cheerful

Part One

The BBC is having a Stephen Poliakoff season. I really enjoyed ‘Friends and Crocodiles’- shown a couple of weeks ago on BBC1 and also the repeat of ‘The Lost Prince’ on BBC2 over New Year. I’m loving the re-run of ‘Perfect Strangers’ on BBC4 and still to come on this channel are the wonderful ‘Shooting the Past’ and also ‘Close my Eyes’ with Alan Rickman – I just love him in this film. All of them so moving, stirring and stunningly beautiful. Thanks BBC. Can't wait for 'Gideon's Daughter'.

Part Two

I’ve just finished reading ‘The Lighthouse’ by P D James. It’s another Adam Dalgliesh novel and as usual so beautifully written that you just float through it as if the pages were made of silk and the words formed from honey.. I wonder if they will film it for TV. They filmed ‘The Murder Room’ almost as soon as the book was out as they did with ‘In Holy Orders.’ I have to admit that although I like Martin Shaw, I really prefer Roy Marsden's portrayal of Dalgliesh.

In complete contrast I’m now reading ‘Starter for Ten’ by David Nicholls. This is making me snort with laughter, rather unbecomingly, in public places – so I have decided I can only read this at home, alone.

Next on my pile of books is ‘Looking Backwards’ recollections by Colette. I picked this up for £2 in a book shop in Leek and remembering how much I used to love reading Collette I had to buy it.

Smiling on a grey day

The ‘Big Issue’ man who stands outside M&S in town always cheers me up. He offers to his customers ‘two free staples with every copy’ and when people pass by he queries ‘Big Issue, duck?’ and if you say ‘no thanks’ or shake your head with a smile he always says ‘s’all right, flower, take care now.’ He’s a real tonic and must make lots of people smile every day.

Picked up my new glasses from D&A and my new prescription sun glasses too - both on special offers. I hope I haven't jinxed the weather though by buying the sun glasses. I bought a new umbrella a couple of weeks ago and it hasn't rained since.

Admin Charges

I’m absolutely furious that a mail-order company with whom I’ve had dealings over several years now have penalized me for forgetting to sign a cheque I sent them. They have charged me a staggering £15* to cover the ‘administration’ of having to send the cheque back. Given that I have always been a good customer who never had any huge debts, who had never forgotten to pay or to sign a cheque before, and only owed them the sum of £16 anyway I find this unforgivable. I did send the cheque a couple of days after my step-father died and I was distracted by thinking about funerals and etc and I should have checked it but even so I find this kind of ‘customer care’ totally unacceptable. I will never use them again. Just beware of this company, a French one, based in Yorkshire. Bah.

* I had to put a stamp on the envelope they provided so this sum would be for their postage to me and the typing of the letter

Good night; God Bless

George Elliott 19/2/1914 – 9/1/2006

He wasn’t my real father, my blood father, that is, he was my step-father. I have called him Dad ever since he married my Mum when I was six years old and we moved from the city to a small village in Derbyshire to live at his home. My own father died of leukemia and I do have vague memories of him. I remember hiding under the table when he came home from work and then I would jump out shouting Boo. I remember he used to dance me round the room on his feet and play shops with me. I also remember the day of his funeral, the wreaths in the front room and mum crying. Later after I’d been taken to the Museum by a neighbour’s children I came back to the house and all my relatives were there and mum was sitting by the fire with a blanket round her shoulders. A few months later a man came to our door, I can see him now in his bike leathers and gauntlets, I knew then, even at that age, that somehow he was going to be important in our lives.

So there I was, just six, with a new home, in a new and different place with a new school to go to, a new older sister and a dog, a border collie, called Laddie and a new father. This man, who at first I resented for taking my Mum from me, cared for me, looked after me, and gave me holidays at the sea side. He loved my mum and she was happy again. They had been teenage sweethearts, split up, married other partners and lost them to illness and now they were back together. We argued a lot when I was a teenager. He was a sportsman from a sporting family. I loved music, drama and reading, he wanted me to be good at sport, I wasn’t, except for running. When my mother was nursing my grandmother through her last illness Dad was always waiting for me when I got home from school, with a meal on the table. So many little things I think of now, when I look back. He could be cantankerous, self opinionated and argumentative; although we didn’t always see eye to eye we always looked after each other. When my Mum died I sat on his bed and held his hand whilst he poured his heart out. I remember the day I telephoned and when he answered I could tell something was wrong. We alerted my sister and set out on the long journey to see him. He had had a fall and a slight stroke and was taken to hospital, then to a nursing home. Over the last couple of years he hasn’t known us or been aware of who he was but always greeted us with a welcoming smile. When we visited just before Christmas, there was no smile and I think I knew then that it was only a matter of time and so it proved. He died on Monday at 10.30p.m. just as the ambulance arrived at the hospital. I am relieved his suffering is over but I am going to miss him so much. Thank you, Dad.

Kicking and Screaming

I suppose I’d better bring this blog kicking and screaming into 2006. Well, actually it’s me doing the kicking and screaming – not literally you understand. I hate New Year at the best of times. Being one of those ‘cup half empty’ people (in my defense I try not to be but I can’t help it) coupled with a tendency towards the winter blues I find it a most depressing and maudlin time of year. Memories flash around in my brain and I find myself thinking of people who are long gone from this world. So I try to ignore the fact that it is a new year and just try to get on with those everyday kind of things that stop you thinking too much. Well, I would if I could but everything seems to be on the blink. The cooker fan works occasionally, when it feels like it. There is something wrong with the vacuum cleaner, the iron has packed up, we had to buy a new kettle and the key broke in the back door on New Years Eve and not a locksmith or key cutter open before Tuesday 2nd. We are also trying to design a new kitchen and it is driving us to distraction. Oh well, in the scheme of things this is nothing but it is all adding to the high blood pressure I now discover I have.

A belated Happy New Year by the way.

Betwixt and Between

I love the days in between Christmas and New Year. They are so quiet and peaceful after all the rush of the week before. There is no pressure to go anywhere or do anything. Each day we have had a long walk to blow away the remaining cobwebs of two days spent at home eating, watching TV, listening to music or reading, interspersed with telephone calls from and to friends and relatives and quick trips into the garden to replenish the bird feeders and topping up the cat’s bowls indoors.

Tuesday we walked in Consall Forge Country Park taking our usual route along the canal past the station and the pub and back again by the lakes. We passed one or two other hardy souls on the way but not many people were out and about and the car park had only about five cars parked there.

Wednesday we ventured out to Lichfield. We parked easily and wandered into the town which was briskly busy with shoppers. After coffee and croissants we made our way to the cathedral and went inside. It was blissfully peaceful and warm and welcoming and we sat a while and looked at the sunlight streaming through the windows over the chancel and the way the shadows danced in the light above the delicate, filigree rood screen. We moved silently through the aisles and read some of the memorials, admired the nativity sculptures and watched as children lit candles for loved ones. We found the memorials to Erasmus Darwin, (whose house, which stands across the close, is now open as a museum) Samuel Johnson, (whose birthplace is now a museum in the town) and David Garrick; all famous men of Lichfield. We didn’t find the one for Anna Seward, Swan of Lichfield though, how did we miss it? We drove back through Kings Bromley, Yoxall and across the A50 to Rocester and back to Stoke along the Roman road.

Yesterday afternoon we walked round the lake at Trentham. It was completely frozen over and the trees and bushes on the islands were like massive ice-sculptures. Almost everything was white with frost and we were gradually covered with the wet ice blowing from the trees as we walked underneath them. We had a warming cup of coffee at the little café on the boat jetty halfway round and then wandered back and looked in some of the shops and the garden centre – my pre-Christmas determination not to step into a shop until after new year didn’t quite last I’m afraid – but at least these were small specialist shops and not the big city centre ones or, God forbid, the dreaded supermarket.

So Here It Is

Well, everything is done now, cards posted or handed out, presents swapped and under various trees across the midlands, larder full, house clean and tidy - so now for our treat. We headed up to Hanley expecting it to be really busy, heaving, in fact, but no, it was quieter than a normal Saturday. We set off to purchase our treats with the large amount of £2 coins I had been saving up for the last couple of months. Each year we choose a CD, DVD or book each for our Christmas entertainment. There were plenty on offer but after careful consideration I chose a DVD, 'The Hours' and a CD, KT Tunstall's 'Eye to the Telescope' and P chose his DVD 'Cosmic Jam' (Bill Bailey live) and his CD, Katie Melua's 'Piece by Piece'. We then saw Robbie Williams's Greatest Hits for £5.97 so that went into the basket as well.

Then we wandered down to the Museum where 'Reels on Wheels' were showing 'Wallace and Grommit and the Curse of the WereRabbit' - great fun.

So now we are safe at home, the twinkling lights on, the cats all in and curled up in the warmest parts of the house. A bowl of pasta, a glass of wine and a good book - what more could you want.

Peace and Happiness to All.

Emotional Day

Busy day today. We were due at my sister’s house in Chesterfield for about 11.30a.m. so we set out early and stopped at Arkwright’s Mill in Cromford for a leg stretch and a cup of coffee. We also buy our flour there for bread making when we can’t get as far as the mill at Rowsley. We had a lovely lunch with J & R and swapped cards and presents. J wanted P to re-install something on her computer so R to us to the Nursing home to visit Dad. This was, of course, the most difficult part of the day. I had last seen him in the Summer and J had warned me that he had changed for the worse, he had lost so much weight and was very gaunt around the face. As usual he had no idea who we were but we took him cards from the family and sat with him for over an hour. When we last visited in the late summer he chatted away about something – we never know what he talks about – sometimes he is back in the 1920s when he was a youngster. This time he couldn’t speak very much without a huge effort. When we left him he was drinking tea and eating biscuits. He will be 92 in February but we both wonder if he will make it. I got home feeling very emotional and can't as yet express how I feel.

Friends & Memories

Set out very early this morning to make sure we got over to Nottingham and parked up before half past nine. It usually takes us about an hour to get there and the roads were fairly clear so good progress was made and we were sipping lattes and munching toast in one of those Costa/Nero/ Starbuck type places by 9.30a.m. We then set out to wonder around the centre of what is probably my favourite city (although York comes close). Every corner I turn has a little memory waiting for me – perhaps I may write more on this later. Today, of course we were concentrating on the purchase of those last few presents before 11.30 when we were due to arrive at S & R’s house which is just off the Derby road not too far from the QMC. Amazingly we managed to achieve our goal and got to their home on time. Then we picked up S and drove over to the Geological Survey at Keyworth. They had opened their shop for Christmas and S wanted stones and gems for jewellery making. We spent about an hour and got back in time for R’s wonderful lunch and a lovely afternoon of chat and laughter and the comfort of being with friends you have known for a very long time. We didn’t even have to worry that the cats would be hungry as our good neighbour popped in and fed them and closed the curtains and put on the lights.

Elizabethans

Today we popped up to Little Moreton Hall where they were having an Elizabethan weekend. It really is the most atmospheric place and when it's decked out in its seasonal glory it is even more wonderful. We took some photographs of the outside of the building, photography isn’t allowed inside. We were entertained by Piva to some rip roaring early music and even joined in a sing song at the end of their set. Great stuff to get the festive juices flowing. Next week its back to the tawdry (I love that word), plastic seasonal commercialism that is today’s world. I still have presents to buy and no inspiration to buy them - help.

A Seasonal Visit

Set off early on Saturday morning to take a holly wreath to put on mother’s grave. As we drove through the grey mist and rain I felt a pang of guilt because this was only the second time this year I had visited her grave. I consoled myself with the thought that when she was alive we would visit quite often and that I wasn’t really letting her down by not visiting the grave more often because she wasn’t really there but here with me in my heart and memory. She is buried in the lovely churchyard of Scarcliffe in Derbyshire the village she and I moved to when she re-married many years ago. It takes about an hour and a half to drive there from here and we took our time and had a pleasant break on the way.

Along the A50 into Derby and then the A38 to junction 28 of the M1 where we stopped at the McArthur Glen Retail Park for coffee and the hope of being inspired into actually starting the Christmas shopping. We had coffee under the twinkling tree and watched whilst Santa and his not so little helpers handed out hats and flags to all the children. Here we did find inspiration to buy three of the 12 presents we have somehow to purchase between now and the 25th. Then it was a quite drive up the M1 to junction 29 and down towards Palterton and Scarcliffe. Then we drove over to Cresswell to see what was happening at the Craggs. The Centre was closed but we were interested to see all the alterations taking place and the diversions going in so that the road which now runs between the caves can be closed and the site preserved.

We headed back to Bolsover where we had a late lunch at the Castle which was in the midst of a Christmas extravaganza of 10% off Christmas stock and a hunt the reindeer game for the children. There was a lively atmosphere in the visitor centre and the food was lovely. We drove back home via Clay Cross, Matlock and Ashbourne arriving back in Stoke just as the last rays of natural light were disappearing and the street lights were taking over. Three hungry cats were awaiting our return.

Where there's a Will

Further to my last entry the book is now ready for going on-line, I’m just waiting for someone to show me how to save it in Acrobat format – I think that’s what they said anyway.

Well, what a week fans of Shakespeare have had. First on Monday was the BBC’s production of Taming of the Shrew in the Shakespeare Re-Told Series, I thought this one worked well, better than Macbeth the week before but still for me not quite as good as Much Ado. On Tuesday I really enjoyed William Boyd’s play ‘A Waste of Shame’ on BBC4 which gave his opinions and ideas on the identity of the ‘Fair Youth’ and the ‘Dark Lady’ of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I thought Rupert Graves was excellent as Shakespeare even though the author had made his character rather dark and intense but this somehow made him more real say than the Will of 'Shakespeare in Love.' Then on Thursday I sat down for lunch and found a repeat of Michael Wood’s excellent ‘In Search of Shakespeare’ series on the UK History channel – so a little overdosed on the bard this week but that can only be a good thing.

Am enjoying reading ‘The Pure in Heart’ by Susan Hill. This is the second of her Simon Serrailler crime novels. I really enjoyed the first one ‘The Various Haunts of Men’ although I was left bereft by the final awful twist at the end. Both books are wonderfully written and hard to put down. The columns written by Alex Kapranos and Maureen Lipman make Friday’s Guardian a must buy, so now I have to make sure I get Friday’s copy as well as Saturday’s each week

Oops - been busy

Didn’t realize it was so long since I’d written anything on here. Probably because I’ve been busy typing up and editing the text of a small booklet I wrote about ten years ago and trying to get it ready to put on-line. When I worked at Ayscoughfee Hall, Spalding I wrote a history of the house and the families who had owned it over 500 years and it is now out of print. The Hall itself has been closed for refurbishment and the Council, who originally produced it ‘in house’, aren’t going to produce any more for the moment so I thought that if I could get the text on-line, minus illustrations, people who wanted to read it could access it. When it is ready I’ll put a link up from my Scarcliffe site. My other book ‘A Postcard from Spalding’ is still available from the Local History Magazine website.

A bit of a Scandal

As promised a report of the Northern Broadsides production of The School for Scandal. We actually attended the matinee performance on Saturday as we couldn’t get seats for the evening performance. There were seats left on the balcony but they are very uncomfortable and make you sort of lurch forward with your feet off the floor. Anyway, we arrived with plenty of time to spare but we needed it because the car park was full and we had to park on the main road and walk back. We were sitting in the midst of a group of students who were making notes and drawings of the sets and costumes and generally having a wonderful time. The actors began to wander on to the stage area as the front of house staff were still guiding people to their seats so there was a wonderful melee of different people to watch whilst waiting for the performance to start. As is usual with Northern Broadsides there was music provided by the actors and the first tune heralded the start of the play.

I found the whole thing thoroughly enjoyable with good solid performances from all of the company, although I did have slight trouble picking up a few words from the actress who played Lady Teazle, not that she was quiet but more slightly indistinct and lispy. This was accompanied by a particularly strange habit of tucking her elbows into her waist and letting her lower arms and hands flutter about in a most disconcerting manner but she was very funny. There was a totally comic moment of ad lib between the actors playing Charles Surface and Sir Oliver when, just as Sir Oliver was making a sweeping exit a mobile phone rang in the audience. ‘Oh’ the actor declared ‘kettle’s boiled’ – the owner of said phone took a long time dealing with it and each time the actors tried to carry on with their lines off it went again until Sir Oliver turned his gazed upon the unfortunate person and declared ‘Well, are you going to answer it?’ It must have been very unsettling for the actors but they coped well. Naughty theatergoer though, to not switch off their phone it shows great disrespect for others.

That Christmas Thing - Part 2

In a similar vein to those letters you get to ‘The Times’ when people write in to say that they have heard the first cuckoo of the season, so, tonight, as we drove home from a wonderful performance of The School for Scandal (of which more later) we saw our first ‘decorated’ house of the season. Yes, indeed, there it was as we came up the hill in the gathering gloom, accompanied by the sound of distant fireworks (again!) standing out amongst its fellows in all its garish glory fully adorned with twinkling icicles, a parachuting Santa, a flashing Rudolph and his sleigh and lots of glistening, dancing, snowmen. Why? It’s only 12th November for goodness sake.

That Christmas Thing

I've had my first Christmas card and present today. Delivered by post and not from overseas either, just from Lincolnshire. Of course I'm really happy and grateful to receive said present but it has made me feel totally inadequate as I haven't even begun to think about Christmas yet. I know the shops have been full of 'festive fayre' since August Bank Holiday, but I've been doing my rather good impression of an ostrich. I was aware that Chritmas was happening because when I went into the local town at the end of September to buy a new trowel for the garden I was told by the shop assistants in both Woolworth and Tesco that 'oh, gardening has finished now, we've put Christmas out.' - or words to that effect anyway. I'm afraid gardening in my neck of the woods is far from 'finished' - just in limbo at the moment because most of the garden is waterlogged again.

Oh well, I suppose I'd better start making lists - it doesn't achieve anything really but makes you feel as if you are doing something. On second thoughts, perhaps I'll do it tomorrow.

Much Ado

Well what a treat on TV last night. I just knew I was going to enjoy the first of the four modern adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays (done by the BBC after their very successful Chaucer ones). Much Ado About Nothing is, for me, one of his best comedy plays (the other being Twelfth Night) and as it had two of my very favourite actors playing Beatrice and Benedict I just knew I wouldn’t be disappointed. I loved every minute of it and was surprised how well it adapted to the modern setting of a regional TV news station. Pressed the red button for the interactive stuff afterwards too and that was fascinating – thank God for the digi-box.

I was trying to recollect when I first saw Much Ado so I dug out my programme collection. I remembered seeing it at the old Victoria Theatre in Stoke when we came from Mansfield on an evening visit organized by the Art College (who would have thought then that I’d actually come and live in Stoke?) I also knew I’d seem it at Stratford with Judi Dench as Beatrice and Donald Sinden as Benedict. Sure enough I found the programme – it was in 1976 (shock, horror that's nearly 30 years ago) and other actors were Cherie Lunghi as Hero plus, Bob Peck, Robin Ellis, Ivan Beavis and Ian McDairmid.

Of course, the old Vic was replaced by the new one and we are off there on Saturday to see the Northern Broadsides production of School for Scandal. We really enjoyed seeing the company earlier this year in Sweet William so when we saw they were coming again we booked straight away.

I must look back to see when I first saw School for Scandal. I know it was at Nottingham Playhouse and I think it was directed by Jonathan Miller – I remember the revolving stage and the exaggerated turned up noses making the actors look like caricatures from a Hogarth painting. I’ll report back on that one.

Mischievous Night

When I was a child the 4th November was always ‘Mischievous Night’. In the small Derbyshire village where I grew up this usually meant little more than a few practical jokes played on neighbours in the early evening after school. My best friend and I would meet up with a few others and we would dare each other to knock on doors and run away. This entailed opening gates and going up drives to front doors which if you had to run away quickly gave you less time than if the front doors had been nearer the road. There was one particular house that had a rather decorative front garden made up of little paths and the big ‘dare’ was to run around the little paths without getting caught. This was rather more nerve-wracking that the “scrumping” for apples that had gone on a few weeks before in the orchard of ‘the big house’. Of course the boys always did more than we girls; taking garden gates off their hinges or sending a treasured garden gnome on a little trip somewhere further down the road.

Come Bonfire Night (which was always on 5th November and not spread over weeks like it is today) we had the pleasure of excitedly gathering around the bonfire on my friend’s dad’s allotment. We had a few fireworks each which we all brought along to share; things like Roman candles, Catherine wheels and rockets plus the occasional jumping jack and banger. It was the bonfire, though, that was the draw – it kept you warm, it cooked your baked potato wrapped in foil, it lit up the night sky and we all used to run around in scarves and mittens, clutching our sparklers whilst sucking on home-made bonfire toffee before heading home tired, happy and smelling of wood smoke.

All this may seem rather mundane and innocent in these days of ‘Trick or Treat”, two months of fireworks and Christmas in the shops at the end of August. Where has the respect for anniversaries and seasons gone? The simple pleasure of celebrating them chronologically and eating foods seasonally seems to have disappeared, it would seem today that if your life isn’t “extreme” or “awesome” then you are seen as a “loser” and that is a shame because the simple magic and innocent enjoyment has gone and will never return.

The 'Limo' Man

Just around the corner on the end of the next street from ours lives a man who runs a stretch limo business. Every Friday he fetches both of his cars, one black, one white, from his garage under the railway arches down in the town. He always spends quite a bit of time cleaning and polishing them and then adorning them with flowers and ribbons for the weekend’s weddings or parties. He is a dapper little man with a perpetual tan who usually wears shorts and deck shoes, no matter the weather, and takes great pride in his work; he does, though, look as if he should be on a marina or quay side in the south of France rather than on the corner of a street on a 1970s housing estate. Anyway, the reason I mention him is that as I walked past today I had to look twice at the limo parked just off the main road because it wasn’t black, it wasn’t white but it was pink, a sort of strawberry ice cream pink, just the ticket for those ‘girly’ nights out. It did, however, look rather forlorn and extremely dusty in the wind and rain with fallen russet leaves sticking to its windscreen. I bet ‘Mr Limo’ had just popped in the house for his sponge and bucket though.

In today’s Guardian the playwright Simon Grey was asked what he would do if he had the money. One of his answers was ‘First, I’d make sure that there are lots and lots of public lavatories in all the towns and cities in the country; properly attended with security guards if necessary.’ I’ll second that and add that can they be open 24 hours a day and be spotlessly clean too? And please, please not those ones where you press buttons, pay and get in and then panic in case you can’t get out again? I have strong memories of P and I driving back through the night from the ferry port at Portsmouth, after a super holiday in France, both upset because we’d hit a rabbit and not being able to find a public convenience that was open for ages and then, when we did, it was one of those ‘tardis’ things, in the middle of a car park, in the dark, in god knows which town because I’ve never been able to remember.

Avoiding the M6

Today we set out really early to travel to Stratford upon Avon. For someone who used to visit there perhaps two or three times a year*, I realized that it must have been at least four years since I last visited and that wasn’t to actually ‘visit’ but to work manning a stand at a Heart of England Tourist Board event at the sports hall.

We decided to travel via Lichfield, Tamworth and Balsall Common towards Warwick. Of course it was slower than the motorway but infinitely preferable, we pulled into the car park at about 10 past 10 and ambled up towards the theatre. At this time there were very few people about to say it was such a lovely day. We wandered up by the river and had coffee at the theatre coffee bar overlooking the river – it was blissful. Then a wander up through the gardens and round to Holy Trinity before setting back towards the town and a look round the shops. We had lunch in a café attached to New Place and had it almost to ourselves. At about 2.30 we decided to head back to the car park, struggling through the crowds who were just beginning to swarm into the town obviously encouraged by the good weather to spend an afternoon by the Avon. We set off towards Leamington and on to Ryton Gardens to pick up vegetable seeds for planting next spring. I love the gardens there and the shop, so many ‘goodies’ to be had; it is a great temptation to spend too much money. Arrived home about 6p.m. very tired but happy.

*Why is it that all the years we lived in Mansfield and then Spalding we used to visit so often, not just the town but the theatre too, but now we’ve moved to Stoke and it’s just down the M6 we rarely go? I think I have my answer – the M6.

Fungus Foray

Today we had an enjoyable walk on Cannock Chase. The weather was clear and bright and the colours in the trees were sometimes breathtaking. We followed a couple of way-marked routes, stopping for coffee at the Visitor's Centre on the way.



The walk somehow turned into a 'fungus foray' as there were so many different specimens to see like these:-

The things you hear

Overheard in W.H. Smith, Hanley yesterday

‘Is there room for Gloria Hunniford?’

‘Yeh, I had to stick John Peel up there yesterday, ‘cos Sharon Osborne was out.’


On TV - Love Soup - really enjoying this at the moment but I've yet to find anyone else who watches it.

Weekend Wanderings

We had a lovely weekend. Saturday we were up early and drove along the Roman road to Ashbourne and through to Cromford to buy bread flour at the mill café, a root around the book shops and a little walk by the canal after a cup of coffee. Then through Matlock Bath and Matlock to Chesterfield and lunch with my sister and brother in law before heading into the town centre to visit The North Derbyshire Family and Local History Fair at the Winding Wheel. There were lots of interesting stalls and displays and it was so good to hear the familiar accents of my childhood. P got chatting to a man who used to work with his father and found out about the oil wells at Hardstoft where his grandfather used to work. I met a very interesting woman on the Ticknall Pottery stand who was familiar with the areas in south Derbyshire where my father’s family came from. She knew the history of the pottery in Church Gresley owned by one of my ancestors. Also saw some wonderfully evocative photographs of old houses in the St Mary’s area of Nottingham where my ancestors on mother’s side might have lived when they worked in the lace industry. We drove back home through Baslow and past Chatsworth to Bakewell and then through Monyash, Hartington and eventually home.

Sunday was restful. Pottering around in the morning, P making bread, me sorting out washing and ironing whilst listening to the Archers. Then a walk along the Cauldon canal from Consall station and back through the woodlands. The autumnal colour of the trees was spectacular in the gentle sunlight and it was great feeling the leaves crunching underfoot.

Perfect Timing

Saw a really funny play at the New Vic last night. It was a new play written and directed by Alan Ayckbourn and performed by the Stephen Joseph Theatre Company. Called ‘Improbable Fiction’ it is centered around a creative writing group meeting in the shabbily middle class home of its chairman Arnold, who translates foreign instruction manuals and has a bedridden mother upstairs. The characters arrive one by one for the meeting, first is a local girl who sits in with ‘mother’ and pops down to make coffee for the members (the coffee serving scene is priceless). The other characters are, a nervous housewife who is writing a children’s book about a goblin, a lesbian farmer who wants to write an historical romance, a young journalist who writes about a 1930s detective who quotes poetry a lot, a sci-fi nut who works for local government, believes the chief executive is an alien and uses the wrong adjectives to the great annoyance of the last character, an irate retired teacher who hates everyone and everything and who writes musicals. At the end of the first act, when the last of the writers have said their goodbyes and when, although it has been very funny, the audience are wondering where on earth this will go, there is a clap of thunder, the lights go out and suddenly poor Arnold is approached by a young girl in a crinoline, wielding a kitchen knife. Cue interval. Thus, the second half of the play, is an hilarious mixture of quick costume change, entering and exiting as the characters veer between the Victorian gothic novel, the 1930s Detective story and the government agents searching for alien abductors, I was in awe of the agility and timing of the whole cast, plus the perfectly timed disappearing and reappearing telephone and as I’m sure you must have guessed relished the much anticipated appearance of the goblin. The squirrel was a surprise though.

'A bit of flint in your wellie' Day

Today was one of those strange kind of days where you find yourself suddenly involved in something that would never have crossed your mind when you clambered out of bed that morning. Nothing serious, I hasten to add, nothing life changing or even symbolic, just not of the normal run. I stopped watching Last of the Summer Wine years and years ago but there is one scene I always remember from the dim and distant past where Compo finds something in his wellington boot and utters the immortal lines 'Well, who’d have thought that when I got up this morning I’d have found a bit of flint in my wellie' That is how I feel today.

My walk down into town was uneventful until, whilst crossing the retail park car park, a woman who had just seconds before passed me by on the footpath walked a few more yards on and fell flat on her face. I heard her yell and an ominous thump and turned to see her flat on the floor. I ran back to see if I could help. She was dazed and incoherent, also her nose started to bleed, all I could do was to give her tissues, thankfully clean ones, and tell her to pinch the fleshy part of her nose. Someone came by and stopped and I asked if they could find a first-aider from the nearest shop and they dashed off. A man came over to help but there wasn’t much we could do until a young man from Next came rushing over with his first aid kit. The man and I said our quick farewells and drifted away. I do hope she was all right.

Later that day, after a long phone call with a friend who wanted me to check various pieces of art work she’d produced for their new web-site, as soon as I put the phone down it rang again. It was thus that 15 minutes later we found ourselves in next door’s back garden burying Brian the budgie. Our neighbours were on holiday and their elderly mother was staying to look after the three cats and the budgie. This budgie was 15 years old, I don’t know if that is a good age but for the last three months he (well she actually but always known as Brian) had been seemingly on his/her last legs but still eating and whistling. Mother had come home from the market and found him/her feet up on the floor of the cage. So, we found a small box, picked up a spade and made our way next door. We buried him/her under the plum tree saying bye, bye, Brian, good night and God bless. Mother was upset that Brian had died on her watch but it was bound to happen sooner rather than later and luckily we were there to help.

Definitely a 'flint in your wellie' day.

Sunday Walk

The weather forecast was good so we decided to walk along another section of the Cauldon Canal. Our previous walk had taken us along the section from Cheddleton to Deep Hayes Country Park, past the Flint Mill and the sub-aqua diving boreholes at the Wallgrange walk-in and café. This time we decided to walk from the country park to where the canal branches into two and forms the Leek arm (built in 1817 to supply the town with coal) and the continuation of the main canal to Froghall (it used to go all the way to Uttoxeter.) There were still quite a number of boats traveling slowly along the canal, one already stocked up with logs of wood in readiness for the autumn weather. We passed the Hollybush Inn where a group of ramblers had congregated to have their mid-morning break. Just around the corner, beyond the little animal farm at the back of the pub, was the Hazelhurst aqueduct which carries the Leek Arm over the main Canal. We clambered up the steps to the top of the aqueduct and turned left to walk along the arm section to the Hazelhurst locks and back along the main canal to the Hollybush, where we consumed cheese sandwiches by an open log fire before going back to the aqueduct and this time turning right and walking back towards the Leek Tunnel. By this time the sun was very warm and the water, undisturbed by any passing traffic, was crystal clear and the trees and bushes were reflected in its mirror stillness, disturbed only by a couple of Canada geese and a water rail or two. Having reached the Leek tunnel and viewed it from either side we wandered back and diverted towards the walk-in café for refreshment. Gathered in the car park were quite a large group of people climbing into diving suits and donning oxygen tanks in readiness for their descent into the boreholes and presumably the caves below. I think that is something I couldn’t do. After a large glass of apple juice we were ready to walk the short distance back, along the main canal, to the country park car park and to wend our way home.

Who would Like

It’s the time of year again when various organizations send out their ‘gift’ catalogues. I don’t want, as it is still only September and I don’t like to even think about it until after bonfire night, to mention the dreaded C word yet, but this is what their catalogues are aimed at. We receive several of these catalogues each year mainly from the charities we have supported in the past like the PDSA and Cats Protection. We also receive the glossy and useful ones from Lakeland (there is no way on earth I can walk past a Lakeland shop and not go in) and Scotts of Stow because we’ve bought from them before. This week though, heralded the arrival of my two absolute favourites.

First up is The Cat Gallery catalogue from that super shop in York which we have to visit whenever we go there. Secondly, my ultimate favourite, I think, is the RSC one full of all things Shakespeare. Nestled in its pages alongside the usual mugs, coasters and T- shirts are wondrous items like a pop-up Globe theatre book (with play books and press out characters) and little wooden dolls you can dress up (clothes included), leather bound notebooks and embroidered cushions. The trouble is that these two publications can make you very selfishly order things for yourself, completely forgetting about the seasonal spirit of giving. Last year I ordered my ‘Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble’ tea towel – complete with lovely cackling witches, the year before my ‘He hath eaten me out of house and home’ apron decorated with self satisfied cat and fish bones, both, sadly, no longer available in the 2006 catalogue, but still much used and loved around here. Also, decorating our fridge are two magnets bearing the quotations ‘Where is the life that late I led?’ and ‘Would I were in an alehouse in London’ – indeed! Hmm, I wonder who would like a pop-up Globe theatre this year?

Random Conversation

On the building and placing in situ of a new bird table

Him ‘Is it level?’

Me ‘It’s leaning slightly’

Him (after adjusting) ‘How’s, that?’

Me ‘No, up a bit, on the left side’

Him (after more adjusting) ‘That better?’

Me ‘No, it’s still not level’

Him ‘I’ll fetch a spirit level’

Me ‘OK’

Him ‘The spirit level says it’s level’

Me ‘And I say it’s not’

Him ‘Well, it is level’

Me ‘Not from here, it isn’t’

Him ‘It is level, it says it’s level’

Much later, as he gazes from the conservatory window

‘That bird table isn’t level, is it?

*************

Moral of the day: Don’t have a navy blue carpet fitted if you have a cat that has more than a whisker of white fur – you know it makes sense.

Weepy Films

A friend and I were recently having a good old ‘chin-wag’ about things that upset or moved us in an emotional way. After covering recent news events we moved on to films and had a memory fest of ‘those that had moved us to tears of either sorrow or happiness.
One of my other friends says that he cannot watch a film that doesn’t have a happy ending. I’m not quite as bad as that I really enjoyed the film ‘ThisYear’s Love’ but he didn’t because of the ending and I felt bad for recommending it to him. Ditto ‘Truly, Madly, Deeply’, I can start weeping from the first moments, without producing quite so much mucus as Juliet Stevenson, but it does have a ‘bitter sweet’ ending. I always sniff a bit at the end of ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ too. Old films invariably bring on the waterworks, ‘Mrs Miniver’, ‘Mr Blandings Builds his Dream House’ and ‘Brief Encounter’ to name just a few. Who can forget that heart wrenching moment in ‘The Railway Children’ when Jenny Agutter runs down the steam swathed station platform crying ‘Daddy, my Daddy’ or when Ingrid Bergman as Gladys Aylward leads the Chinese children into town singing ‘This Old Man’ – hankies out at the ready.

I find sometimes though, that I care about the animals even more that the people in films, is this wrong of me? Does this sound like some defect in my character? Whilst watching ‘The Shooting Party’ I only cared that the boy’s pet duck should escape the guns, blow the gamekeeper breathing his last on the forest floor. I was so upset in ‘Cold Mountain’ when the old woman slit the throat of her favourite goat to feed Jude Law’s hungry soldier. I was upset at the end too, who wouldn’t be, but – oh, that goat! I could never watch ‘Ring of Bright Water’ again, and why did they save that spade incident until near the end? Even ‘pretend’ characters can get to me. In particular, I always weep when ET’s heart starts up again when the little boy cries over him and don’t get me started on the Tiny Tim scene at the end of ‘The Muppet’s Christmas Carol.’

The last film I saw moved me deeply, I hit the highs and lows and highs again. ‘A Very Long Engagement’ is a wonderful film. We bought it for R for his birthday (he’d loved Amelie) and assured him that he would like it and that, yes, it did have a happy ending, well a resolved ending anyway. He rang a few days later to say what a wonderful film it was. It is too.

Spider Time

This is the time of year I dread, the time of year when I have to creep steadily round the garden, sweeping brush in hand, ready to cut swathes through the cobwebs that overnight, drape themselves decorously across paths from one bush to the other, or from the greenhouse to the willow tree by the pond, or from the shed to the plum tree thus preventing access to the compost heap. In the early morning sunlight you can’t see them, so the brush has to go before me, I’m afraid. I really don’t like to hurt anything that moves and sincerely hope the spiders soon find alternative accommodation.

If they stay out of my way, I can just about cope with spiders in the garden although weeding the heather patch is a nightmare as I have to make sure I’m fully covered incase a spider should run up my leg or something. I have trousers, tucked into socks and then wellies, gloves on my hands, hat on my head but still I feel uneasy. If they come into my patch- the house that is - then that is quite a different story. I have a ‘spider catcher’ handy (a children’s plastic bug pot going cheap in Woolies) and if I really want to frighten myself I look through the little magnifying spot on the lid when I’ve caught one - Eeek!!! Well, I’m usually quite good at catching them and putting them outside but some spiders are, I’m afraid, too large to even contemplate going anywhere near.

I remember when we first moved over to this part of the country we rented accommodation for about eighteen months in a village close to Market Drayton. The property was surrounded by very large fir trees and this seemed (it may have been my lurid imagination) to encourage spiders. We used to get huge ones in the house, especially in the bathroom which, you have to agree is, along with the bedroom, the worst place for large spiders to run loose because here you are more likely to be walking around barefoot. I saw one once, when I was in the bath, run across the floor – I swear I could hear the patter of its feet – and it was heading straight for my slippers. Now, because of the spider, and given that we have cats, the mouse problem, I wear flip flops around the house thus giving the varmints no place to hide.

Doctor, Doctor

This morning I finally had to give in and take myself down to the open surgery. If you get there by 8a.m. you can see a Doctor but it has to be the one next available and not the one of your choice. Okay, I’d had this problem with my left ear for a while and now my throat and all my glands were joining in so something had to be done. What is it about Monday mornings and illness though? The surgery was absolutely packed, though not as packed as it had been when I once had to see the Doctor on the Tuesday after Easter and the queues were out of the door, the waiting room packed and I had to wait for over two hours, half of it sitting on the floor leaning against the fireplace, anyway, today I waited just and hour and fifteen minutes* and luckily I’d taken my book to read so the time passed quite quickly. My main worry was that there were four of the five Doctor’s on duty and one of them I don’t really like very much, I don’t know why, but I find him very arrogant although he did act very quickly when I visited him a couple of years ago with an ulcer in my eye, I was up at the hospital eye clinic within two hours so I can’t fault him on that, but when I’m feeling low, I find him difficult to deal with. Well you’ve probably guessed the outcome of this, when my turn came it was his voice that rang out over the intercom system and I went along the corridor with my heart in my mouth. There he sat this ‘bête noir’ of mine, I hadn’t seen him for two years and he had changed so much, he seemed smaller, rounder and was completely bald. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

*This may seem like moaning, I'm not really, we are so lucky to be able to see a Doctor on the day we want to, I know some people have great difficulties getting appointments when they need them.

Happy Birthday to Me

I’ve had a really lovely birthday today. Woke up to fresh orange juice and cards from P, from friends and the cats’ own paw-printed one, before coffee, croissants and home-made plum jam for breakfast.

We then set out to Trentham to have a ride on the ‘Miss Elizabeth’ across the lake and back. The ride was wonderful, the weather just right and, it being the first trip of the day, the boat wasn’t crowded. We saw herons sitting in their rather ponderous and to me, slightly spooky, way on the edges of the island heronry. Swallows and dragon flies were swooping over the water and little rowing boats bobbed about in the wake of our boat. I have to say it was all rather perfect.




After this we had coffee and cake at one of the cafes in the retail park, which was by now packed with visitors, and then made our way into the Italian gardens. So much has happened in there since we visited late last season. The formal gardens were lovely and colourful, the lower garden having particularly interesting planting, the upper garden near the old church and orangery was a little bit ‘municipal’ for my taste but I guess this is how it was in it’s heyday. The fountains and lake views were wonderfully clear and bright in the early afternoon light. After wondering around the gardens we sat in green and white stripy deckchairs and watched the boats on the lake, then we ventured onto the woodland walk, looked at the little ‘back yard gardens’ and then I ventured into the ‘Barfuss’ – P declined to go in, but I left my shoes and rolled up my trousers and in I went, the walk was so invigorating, the mud between the toes very squelchy but somehow enjoyable and I think the best walking surface was the pine cones as they had been softened by those who had gone before me and felt warm and dry underfoot. Then back to the foot showers to get rid of all the mud that had collected between my toes – bliss.



Home late afternoon to sit in the garden and look forward to a feast of home made veggie lasagne, courtesy of P, with a nice rose wine and ice cream to follow. How wonderful is that?

Good Enough for Byron

Over the last three weeks we’ve travelled from Aberaeron on the Welsh Coast to Salthouse on the Norfolk Coast and many places in between. Aberaeron is a lovely little Georgian town with purpose built harbour surrounded by small terraced houses painted every colour you can imagine ranging from delicate pinks and lilacs, through subtle greens and blues to garish purple, red and yellow, but somehow being at the sea side it looks right and is strangely complemented by the honey ice cream for sale on the harbour side in as many flavours as there were house colours.

Harbour, Aberaeron

In complete contrast were the sun bleached colours of the pebble beach and dunes at Salthouse where we sat and watched the terns wheeling over the sea and disappearing as quickly as they had appeared, maybe heading for the little café on the main road which was full to bursting with folk who, after visiting the modern art installations at the local church were enjoying the local delicacies of crab and samphire.

Sunset, Old Hunstanton

Since our return we have had a friend to stay with us and enjoyed trips locally and now almost completely broke until pay day* we have spent the last week walking, in sections, the Trent and Mersey canal tow path from Barlaston in the south to the Harecastle tunnel in the north, and it has been amazing.

* P announced today that we could live on potatoes and vinegar both of which we seem to have in abundance joking that if it was good enough for Byron then it will do for us. Well, I seem to recall in the film made by Robert Bolt** and starring, if I remember correctly his then wife, Sarah Miles, as Lady Caroline Lamb, much was made of Lord Byron dining on potatoes and vinegar.

** Years ago when I did my English A level we studied the play A Man for All Seasons by Robert Bolt. Even now I still remember two quotes from this play. One is, of course, part of Sir Thomas More's speech at his trial and goes something like “I do none harm, I say none harm and I think none harm and if this be not enough to keep a man alive, in good faith, I long not to live” The other one is when Sir Thomas is visited in prison by his wife who brings him food. I remember this quote rather like I remember the one from Little Women which goes “Is this a slipper I see before me? No, it’s a toasting fork with mother’s slipper on it.” Anyhow, the second quote from A Man for All Seasons is “You still make superlative custard Alice.”

Holidays

Although I always enjoy a holiday once I'm on my way, I find the chaos surrounding getting ready for it really tiresome.

Days before I'm trying to keep clothes clean so I don't have to keep washing, yet I still manage to have last minute washing and ironing. Also I have to clean the house from top to bottom in case the cat sitters should think I'm a really dirty lazy person. Also lawns have to be cut and the garden left tidy - just in case. Of what I don't know.
I make lists and cross things off and then make more lists, throwing things that we need to take with us into a basket as I think of them, things like umbrella, spare glasses, phone charger, book to read, note pad and pencil just in case I'm moved suddenly to write a sonnet or two, kitchen sink........!

I usually settle down when I'm about a couple of hours into the outward journey but until then I'm chasing my tail and fretting about what hasn't been done.

Anyway, Wales here we come, will be back in a couple of weeks.

Monkey Forest

Today we visited the new Monkey Forest at Trentham Gardens. I wasn't sure about this new venture but now I've seen them in their tranquil, leafy habitat, I don't mind it so much. The staff are helpful and friendly and quick to sort out any problems that may occur. One monkey came to sit on a seat quite close to us and watched us with as much interest as we were watching him, then he sloped off after a couple of other members of his colony and went to feed nearby. A couple of other males were grooming and playing with a baby, apparently the males spend a lot of time looking after the young ones.

A pleasant evening

Last evening was the presentation of certificates to the competition winners from the All Write Course that has been held at the city library from April to July. It was a nice evening; the two groups, Monday evening and Friday afternoon (mine) joined together with the writers and poets, who had done workshops throughout the course, and the course leader. Special guest was novelist Kate Long author of The Bad Mother’s Handbook and Swallowing Grandma. The latter is her latest novel and at the end of the evening she read a small and very funny extract from it.

Our Friday group did particularly well with the poetry and prose entries and I was very pleased to receive from Kate Long a Certificate of Highly Commended for the story I had entered. Adjudicator of all the entries was Roger Elkin (editor of Envoi magazine). He seemed to think my story a ‘romance’ and ‘sexy’. If you can call the final performance of a cellist who is dying of cancer and plans to commit suicide that evening a romance or even sexy well, okay, but I didn’t see it that way. I was pleased to have been chosen though, and so pleased for all the nice folks I've spent quite a few Friday afternoons with over the past month or so.

Of Mice and Men

I had two hours this morning in which to do the huge pile of ironing that had grown over the last few days, it having been too hot to even contemplate getting out the ironing board. I had just started the dreaded job when I heard familiar heart-sinking noises from the room above. That familiar, thud, run and growl which means one of the cats has brought a mouse into the house. I switched off the iron and ran upstairs. Usually with our female cat I can just take the mouse from her and carry it out to safety under the hedge but her brother was involved in the chase which started in the bedroom. Every time I reached out to try and pick the mouse up it scooted off. Now this was the Olympic athlete of all mice, I’ve never seen one move as quickly. It ran out of the main bedroom, ran past the study door (thank God) and into the spare bedroom. I moved just about every piece of furniture to find it and the cats had now followed and chased it out into the bathroom, after shutting all the doors and laying a towel down to stop it getting under the airing cupboard door I try to catch it but to no avail.

It heads off down the stairs, almost throwing itself down each stair with both cats and me giving chase it veers to the right and into the kitchen. I shut the lounge door and then the kitchen door. Good we have it cornered in the kitchen. It has taken up residence under the dresser, which is full of heavy crockery and china and the top is cluttered with cookery books on a rack far too heavy to move. I place a humane trap at one end and lunge under the other with a mop handle but every time the mouse approaches the trap it backs off and I have to start again. I decide to shut the door on it and the cats and leave it to its fate. I hear pounces and mews and go back in. One of the cats has the mouse cornered and I manage to throw the tea towel over it and scoop it up. I run with it to the top of the garden, let it go under the hedge, shouting run, quick run. It does. I needn’t have worried both cats were running around the dresser thinking it was still there.

Just before our meal was ready this evening there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a man standing there.

“If you could save the world from all the greed, violence and wars there are now, would you want to?” he asks.

“Well, of course” I reply, “who wouldn’t, but that would be impossible.”

He clutches his red bible fervently “I’m afraid we are just about to eat” I try to stop him from going any further “Sorry.”

“It smells very nice” he replied very courteously “May I come back later and talk to you Mrs err…”

I tell him I prefer not to give my name.

“That’s ok” he replies “I’m Desmond.”


“Well, Desmond, thank you for calling.”

He didn’t come back.