Some photos from out trip down to Bedford last month, taking Andree on her birthday to see Ian, Svitlana, William and Chloe. We haven’t seen them for a while, and this was the first time that we met baby niece Chloe.

It was quite a late decision to visit, and so we had Tia with us. Ian and Svitlana’s house, a homely Victorian terrace, is on a quiet cul-de-sac, with a large park at the end, just seconds away from the front door, perfect for the children. We all headed for the park and play area, and then Chantal and I continued with Tia across the river to explore a network of footpaths and cycleways that led to  lakeside walk. It was a pleasantly warm day, and we stopped for an ice cream.

We returned to join the others for a barbeque – Ian is taking on the responsibility, bequeathed from Duncan, as family Barbequer-in-Chief, specialising in steak. The warm day had turned chilly, and so we ate in Ian and Svitlana’s cosy dining room.

Chantal did take some photos of Ian, Svitlana and Andree, but appears to have “mislaid” them.

A well overdue post from the Hands, sent by Claire while we were in Canada. So sorry for the delayed post Claire! Claire’s post:

Thought you might like to see this picture of Bess on her pony day.  She spent the day doing horsey based activities, mucking out and grooming.

A great success.  Turned up to collect her and she was hugging a pony as if it were Romeo!

Chantal visited Steven last weekend, travelling via Bedford to drop off and collect Andree at Ian and Svli. She stopped for lunch on the homeward trip and took some family photoa of William and new baby daughter, still apparently nameless.

Harvest time, that time of the year when the seasons are obviously moving on from summer to autumn.

On Saturday evening I finished a walk with Tia by climbing Croft Hill, stopping to chat with another dog walker at the top. I had heard the roar of a combine as a climbed the slope, and from the “summit” could see that a combine was working the field behind our house, moving clockwise around the field edge at the start of a series of ever decreasing circles.

By the time that we got into our back garden the combine was rounding the corner at the end of our neighbour’s garden and trundling directly towards our garden fence, perfect for photos before it did a right wheel along the back of the neighbour’s gardens.

By Sunday lunchtime the field was harvested, the straw rolled into giant bales, and the harvester was emptying grain into a trailer on the next field.

This is the industrial side of living in  the countryside.

Simon and Kate are on honeymoon in Thailand. We woke this morning to news of bombing across Thailand, but they are fine, well away from the bombings (although two were in the same region) and having fun. Their trip has been organised by a quality tour company, who I have no doubt will keep them out of harms way. They have been keeping us up to date via WhatsApp images- I’m sure that they don’t mind me sharing them with family. They can tell you all about what they’ve been up to when they return!

You probably all know by now that Lesia was “put to sleep” a week or so ago. For many months Lesia’s front half had been gradually losing touch with her back half, thanks to a nerve condition. With care and physiotherapy she still enjoyed over 12 years, a good age for a German Shepherd, but we had to make the decision that her quality of life had deteriorated too much, and a home visit by the vet was arranged. It was upsetting, but at least Lesia’s final moments were spent eating a Bonio on our patio.

Lesia was wonderful with people, especially children, but we have to admit that she could be a bit of a bugger with other dogs, unless properly introduced. In her younger days if she spotted another dog before we did during a walk she would sprint at it, barking ferociously. We knew that she would keep her teeth to herself, but the other dog owner didn’t. I had many an embarrassing encounter.

For a while Lesia had been on very short walks, and I have to admit that going longer walks only accompanied by Tia has been a pleasure. She is a lot calmer now than during her first couple of years, partly thanks to training and the our realisation that she needs long walks, and partly changing her diet to a lower energy dog food. She has excellent doggy manners, greeting other dogs who are equally friendly in the usual nose-to-bum manner, and ignoring other dogs who show no interest in her.

So then, we have a calmer, pleasant more relaxed future of dog walking, enjoying quiet evening strolls,including summer sunset walks as we did just a few days ago .

So why is Chas dropping hints about having another dog? Not only another dog, but another GSD?

I have made my view on the matter perfectly clear……

My Oakstump postings have been a bit hit and miss recently. The site was originally an alternative for Facebook, but since I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into the Facebook era I’ve been using that more.

Oakstump is for all family news and photos, particularly for posts that are intended for family consumption rather than the wider world (but maybe including some already shared with the wider world) – feel free to let me have anything you’d like sharing with our international family.

For all sorts of reasons my time is becoming increasingly flexible compared to the last couple of years or so, and so I’m going to put a few more postings on the site, Maybe including some that are on Facebook, but with more details. I have no idea how often, if ever, you lot look at the site, but hey, I enjoy posting anyway.

After an eventful couple of months we promised ourselves a chilled out holiday in Wales doing very little, and we have made a good start, encouraged by plenty of Welsh weather, although with some warm sunshine between the rainy bits.

Chantal was feeling a little under the weather yesterday and spent most of the day inside doing photography. During the drier interludes I spent some time “dog training” – a length of copper piping from Steve’s (our friend who owns the cottage) workshop became a convenient jumping pole for Tia, and even Lesia joined in with a bit of very short distance retrieving of a ball.

By the time Chantal settled down to watch the Wimbledon men’s tennis final I’d had enough chilling, and Tia and I explored a local footpath that led up through the woods at the back of the cottage. I have subscribed to online OS maps and so tried the app out on my i-pad successfully (although I wouldn’t rely on it if a map is essential for a walk).

The woodland walk was pleasant enough, although parts went through areas of tree felling (although no working on a Sunday), and the path was diverted with clear arrows. Despite this we decided to turn around when the footpath covered in deep “brash” as it climbed a hill.

Chilling resumed in the evening.

We had the annual “birthday party”for the three birthday-boys; Matt, Steven and Les, all with birthdays last week. Les flew over from the States for the second year running – his birthday fell on the day of the event. The “usual suspects” attended, although this year Bridget and Megan couldn’t come, since they were otherwise engaged in a sleepover and School Fayre. It was Bridget’s last opportunity to be at the Fayre, before moving up to the next school. I don’t think that she been able to go before – she’s always been here.

After an afternoon of eating and drinking, as is traditional, most of the party went for a stroll up Croft Hill where Bess and Florence flew kites, aided and abetted by Matthew, before we returned to join the rest of the party to toast marshmallows around the fire pit (apart from those who opted to watch a football match instead – I can’t even remember who was playing!)

A core of hardy souls stayed around the fire pit chatting and enjoying a dram or two, finally giving up and going to bed at 1.30am – remarkably late for us older folk.

Photos in “Our Recent Photos”

Nearly 2 months since the last post. What an eventful 2 months – just one wedding and a funeral, but that’s quite enough. Time to move on, and to start posting a bit more regularly, but before moving forward,  I’d like to look back by sharing part of Dad’s “Eulogy”. My words about Dad were part of a larger eulogy that included our childhood memories, read by Ros and my niece Megan and a moving poem read by Pauline.

Dad was born in a cottage on Forest Road, Huncote where his parents lived with his grandfather who had a market garden and orchard behind the cottage. Eventually Huncote Leisure centre was built on this land, now visible from our home in Croft, and so, in one of those neat circles of life, I can look across the fields to the home of my father, grandfather and great-grandfather,

Dad was christened James, a name that often appears in our family tree, but was promptly nicknamed “Jimmy”, a name that does not often appear in our family tree, and to which my grandmother heartily disapproved. And so it was that for virtually all of his life James was referred to by his middle name. My sisters and I lost count of the number of times that we told hospital staff “I don’t care what your notes say. It’s Arthur.”

Throughout his life Dad has shown a desire to approach things in his own way. He and mum shared a passion for cycling, and when Dad saw a tandem advertised, he purchased it. The tandem was in Sheffield. Dad was in Leicester. The solution? Catch a train to Sheffield after work, and then cycle, on his own, back to Leicester. Dad never complained about the distance or the Derbyshire Hills. His only grumble was that his stop for supper at a favourite fish and chip shop was abandoned because the shop was closed by the time he got there. This tandem became the family transport – Mum and Dad cycling, me on a child seat at the back, and Ros in a wooden sidecar

As the family grew with the addition of Pauline, a car became a necessity. Dad was not one for modern vehicles, and his first car was a Morris Series E, which I believe ceased to be produced in the 1940s. My favourite was the next car, a large Triumph Renown. I recall a trip to Devon, a long journey in those pre M5 days, but even more so for us. Every time we stopped at junctions or traffic lights the Triumph stalled, and had to be re-started with a starting handle, exhausting for Dad, and embarrassing for the rest of us. Dad always insisted on carrying enough tools in the boot of all of his cars to cover all eventualities, even in a modern car when a diagnostic laptop would have been more useful, an indication of his engineering background.

Dad’s employers asked him to fly to Geneva for a conference, but Dad opted for an alternative travel arrangement – catch the sleeper train which stopped overnight in Paris. Thus he got a night out in the French capital. Unfortunately, the train stopped in sidings, and so Dad had to climb down out of his carriage, and cross various railway lines, to enjoy a night on the town, before returning to scramble back up onto the train.

Dad’s alternative approach was also a feature of our home life. All three of us have commented on his extensive use of string. Everything is tied up with string, from hosepipes, to documents. Stepladders are secured with string. Computer cables are held in place by string.

Dad coped well after we lost Mum in 2010, with home cooked meals, at regular times in accordance with his biological clock. Breakfast was served first thing in his morning, say about noon, and then Dad would maybe pop into Lutterworth. He always complained that banks shut too early, before lunch, which in his case was around 6pm. Thankfully Ros is also a bit of night owl, and was able to answer his 11pm queries about cooking dinner.

Dad continued to cope until a couple of years ago, when, looking back, we can now see that some of Dads decisions were not as sensible as maybe they should have been, even accounting for his own unique approach to life. Life was beginning to challenge Dad’s fierce independence, and he found this immensely frustrating, often feeling the need to dispute opinions that differed from his own.

Anyone who has known Dad well recently will know exactly what I mean if I say “Should have gone to Spec Savers”. Dad was certain that another optician in the town, who had served Dad perfectly well for very many years, had prescribed the wrong lenses, and a no doubt innocent remark during a subsequent visit to Specsavers confirmed this as far as Dad was concerned. Our suggestion that maybe the problem was his habit of keeping all old specs, and sometimes picking up the wrong pair, was rejected. I know that he shared this grievance with many of you on many occasions.

Dad felt it totally inappropriate that he should be fined for staying in Morrison’s car park for three hours, just because it had a two hour limit. Dad won this one, arranging to visit Customer Services and sign in as a “visitor” with unlimited parking whenever he went shopping.

We all agree that the battle that started Dad’s final decline was one that he lost and which he took personally. We had expressed our concerns about Dads driving, and Dad reluctantly agreed to keep to local roads, and drive in daylight, but then accepted an invitation that involved returning home in the dark, and the night proved to be foggy. Thankfully Dad’s erratic driving was spotted by the Police, who stopped him, guided him home, but reported him, and Dad lost his licence in January 2015. This was not only a major personal blow to Dad’s independence; it was the first time that he was unable to fight back.

It seemed that from this time Dad not only became increasingly frustrated by life, but also began to decline physically. In late 2015 we noticed Dad’s reduced appetite. For the first time he couldn’t finish a Sunday roast, when he visited us. It soon became clear that this was not a temporary symptom, and we set off along a bumpy road of hospital tests, which, to say the least, Dad was not enthusiastic about. Dad was finally admitted to hospital with unrelated thrombosis, and it while he was at LRI that the result of a previous test diagnosed cancer.

Surprisingly Dad settled in well at hospital, enjoying the company and attention. His character changed completely, and he became content and amenable.  It was Dads suggestion that his final care should be in a nursing home, and we were lucky to find an excellent residential home in Sutton-in-the Elms. Sadly Dad only enjoyed the pleasant surroundings, the caring staff and his many visitors for just a few weeks. There was no battle with cancer, no pain or discomfort, just a rapid decline, with Dad eventually slipping away in his sleep with family beside him.

A slightly late report on Simons Stag event.

Nine of us met at Sherwood Pines activity area, and started with Segway.  I’ve never done this before, and looked forward to it. We signed to confirm that we knew that this was a high risk activity, although it was not anywhere near as risky as some of the activities that I’ve been persuaded to perform over the years by my Scouting/Scraggy Crow mates over the years. Embarrassingly the form included a box for age, and there was a double-decade leap when it came to my entry. Kate’s Dad, Melv, took part, and between us we dragged up the average age significantly.

Each of us was introduced to our Segway, and after a couple of circuits practice in a safely fenced off area we were allowed out onto the forest tracks, busy with families, dog walkers and cyclists. Acceleration was by shifting weight onto your toes, slowing by leaning back on heels. We proceeded at a heady maximum speed of 12 mph – attempting to exceed this resulted in the “handlebar” moving back towards you, shifting the weight back which effectively limited the speed. I experienced this somewhat disconcerting manoeuvre a few times.

The group was led;  we weren’t allowed out unaccompanied, but since this meant a pre-planned route experiencing fast(ish) wide smooth forest roads, and twisting bumpy narrow tracks that we might otherwise have missed,  this was beneficial. I loved it, and the pre-booked hour was over all too quickly.

After a brief lunchbreak it was time for Go Ape. I’d seen the course, which didn’t look too bad, and was feeling quietly confident. And then it became clear that I had been looking at the junior course. Once again we signed to say we knew that we were about to embark on a risky venture, and we had a training session on the first of five individual stages high above the ground. The training basically involved demonstrating how we must always be clipped onto the safety wires by at least one of three karabiners. I’d done this karabiner stuff before, having been dragged up several rock faces by a safety rope, sweating and trembling, by my “mates”, but this was more complicated and involved colour co-ordination.  Clip pulley to safety wire, release blue karabiner from previous safety wire, clip blue safety wire to pulley, release red karabiner from previous safety wire, clip red karabiner to next safety wire, and off you go, unless the next stage is a Tarzan swing, which then involved the green karabiner. No-one colour blind should try GoApe.

Each stage basically followed the same routine – climb a rope ladder to a platform around a tree trunk, and step off the platform onto various rope-bridge contraptions strung between the trees linking to the next platform (after processing the coloured karabiners in the correct order). There were about half a dozen bridges to each stage,  some with suspended steps that had a habit of swinging away from your feet, some with tunnels of rope netting, some including a high level Tarzan swing across to a rope net, to be climbed to reach the next platform. At the end of each stage a lengthy zip wire delivered you back to ground level – despite my every effort I always arrived at the bottom going backwards.

Would I do it again? Yes, provided I was allowed to cheat as I did this time. Why rely on wobbly rope hand and foot holds when there are perfectly stable safety wires?

While we were all enjoying ourselves in the healthy outdoors, the “Hens” were  decorating clay pots, concocting cocktails, and enjoyment Leicester’s “lively and vibrant night life”. Photos will appear once Chantal has mailed them to me.

Slightly, but only slightly, late news. Last month the Hands Family, Claire, Si Bess and Florence, increased by 50%. Claire has not had twins – the girls are each the proud owner of a guinea pig, Bess had one guinea pig for her birthday, but since (a) guinea pigs are social animals, and (b) having one sister with a guinea pig and one without does not promote family harmony, Bess and Florence had one each.

Guinea pigs are, of course, way more interesting than watching Cbeebies, and so the girls spent a very contented evening sitting enthralled in front of the guinea pig hutch as the new pets settled in. They would have sat there all night without parental intervention.

I understand that at least one guinea pig, I can’t remember whose, has already had an adventure – he (she?) managed to get get his (her) head stuck in a guinea pig toy, and a veterinary consultation required. Bet that cost just a little more than the guinea pig, but “it’s a write off” doesn’t apply in the pet world. We know this from experience.

As some will have seen on Facebook, yesterday we went up to Derbyshire for a Peak District Walk. We go up to the Peak District every year on my birthday, for a walk and to see our friend Merell, who bred Lesia. Since my birthday fell on Bank Holiday Monday we went up the following day instead, when the Peak District would be a little less busy.

We drove up to Curbar Edge, where Chantal and Lesia headed one way on a short slow stroll in the hope of finding highland cattle the graze on the Edge. Tia and I went the other way onto Curbar Edge for a longer walk. I planned to walk a mile or so along the Edge and then drop into the valley for the return leg but it was so lovely up on the edge that we ignored the path down into the valley, and instead did a 4 mile there-and-back walk.

After meeting back at the car, Chantal treated me to a pub lunch before going to see Merell at Beeley, stopping briefly for a photos of the village church.

As some know, Dad was admitted to hospital on Friday. A brief summary of what’s been going on:

Dad has not been eating properly for some time, and has lost a lot of weight. 2-3 weeks ago his GP recommended that he was admitted to hospital, but Dad refused. We arranged “meal on-wheels” so he had a hot dinner placed in front of him, which was partially successful, but he did not eat all of the meals delivered. Hone cooking was not successful either.

An endoscopy revealed a small ulcer, easily treatable with tablets, and not sufficient to stop Dad eating. He had a subsequent CT scan 2 weeks ago, and we still haven’t seen the report, thanks to Coventry and Warwickshire NHS not communicating with Leicestershire.

On Good Friday Pauline was due to take Dad up to see my other sister in Yorkshire, but found Dad with a tummy bug, and unable to support his weight on one of his legs, and she called us over to help. The less said about the consequences of the tummy bug the better….  The 111 service arranged a non-emergency ambulance which arrived at 6pm to take Dad to Leicester Royal Infirmary, where we (initially Pauline and her husband Rob, and then me and Chantal) waited in the ambulance until 10pm before being admitted. After several waits and assessments Dad was admitted to a ward by 3am.

Dad was initially very unhappy about the situation, but has now settled in. He was quite chatty and relaxed this afternoon.  He is still not eating much, but at least is on fluids and is being monitored. Naturally the required specialists will not be available until after Easter.

We’ll update Oakstump on any significant news.

Happy Easter to all!

Slightly hectic Easter this year. Church this morning, where we decorated the empty cross at the front of the church with daffodils, as has become a custom at church. I managed some gardening in spring sunshine this afternoon before Matthew arrived, after visiting my Dad in hospital – more about that in the next post. We visited Dad this evening, before settling down in front the The Night Manager – what an excellent series!

Trying to catch up on Oakstump posts – see forthcoming posts re my Dad and grandchildren & guinea-pigs.

My family birthday walk last weekend – been a bit too busy to post earlier this week. As has become traditional, I invited local family, this year including Kate’s parents Judy and Melv, for a walk and pub lunch. This year, as last, combining these so that we all walked across the fields behind our house to Thurlaston, where we enjoyed a pub lunch at the Elephant and Castle.

After walking back it was time for tea and birthday cake, and a board game of the sort that involves a lot of competitive shouting.

I know that my actual birthday isn’t until Monday 28th, but, since it falls on the Easter weekend, assumed that folk would be away – erroneously as it turned out, thanks to the School term not finishing until Maunday Thursday.

Simon and Kate have moved! On Friday, with the assistance of me, Matt, Kate’s parents and their fried Slug (seen above with Kate and Simon) two-and-a-half van loads of “stuff” were transported from Wigston to Lutterworth., on the whole a smooth operation. Just as we we thought that the end was nigh, Simon pointed out that there were two garden-sheds full of boxes, but on tghe other hand, just as I was contemplating how on earth we were going to man-handle a large wardrobe down the stairs, Kate announced that it was staying.

I was happy to play the aged-parent trump card – anything remotely heavy was left to the youngsters.

The only item that proved a problem was the large heavy dining room table, which was successfully extracted from the Wigston house, but the front door of the new home was too small, as was the gate to the rear garden, the only access to the patio doors. The table currently resides in the garage. Various options were discussed at a family meal the following evening, when “my” family met at The Elms, Lutterworth to celebrate Pauline’s and Dad’s birthdays, the date falling between the two. The potential table solutions included manhandling over the 6 foot garden fence, removing a fence panel, or borrowing a farming friends “Teleporter”.

We wish Kate and Simon every happiness in their new home.

Dad was 88 last Thursday. The plan was to go out for a meal with him, but thanks to a bad back he didn’t feel up to sitting still in a restaurant for an evening, and so we (well, Chantal) took pots, pans, cutlery and ingredients to his house, and cooked him a meal. Afterwards one of his friends joined us, and we opened cards and presents and watched a DVD together. Quite a relaxing evening – well mayby not so much for Chantal.

The flowers were from Ros, in Yorkshire.

At long last we have optic-fibre broadband. Only as far as the green box outside of the Heathcote Arms in Croft, about half a mile away, the last bit being copper wire suspended amongst the trees, but we are guarenteed 22Mb-32Mb (which in practice will no doubt prove to be just 22Mb). We’ve had this option since August, but we were tied to a BT contract, and although we could upgrade at that time, only expensive fibre options were available from BT. The BT contract ended on Thursday, when we swapped to Plusnet. BT reduced it’s price, but only price matched Plusnet when we were already committed.

It wasn’t totally smooth, of course. Plusnet initially advised that we would be offline for up to 2 hours on change over day. I had already planned to work at home, dog-sitting while Chantal was in court for one of her works cases, and so I decided not to change the date for the new contract, and just put a note on “the board” in the office advising that internet at home would be variable and that I may not be picking up e-mails straight away. We were actually offline for 24 hours, quite traumatic for Chantal, and I had to go into the office for a short day.

Those of you on cable will probably still grumble that our internet speed is slow, but it definately an improvement.

Took Dad coat shopping to Go Outdoors in Loughborough this afternoon. Andree, Chantal and Tia came too (Go Outdoors is dog friendly). It went remarkably well, although when Dad said that what he wanted was a coat that was “tailored” I did wonder whether we had come to the wrong place.

The practicalities of being elderly hits home when buying a coat. The correct size is actually too small when you need space and flexibility to manoeuvre rheumatic arms into sleeves. Modern “outdoor activity” jackets are the perfect design, being lightweight, flexible, breathable, hardwearing and forgiving, but the double zip, opening from top or bottom, is a mixed blessing for arthritic fingers, especially when it can be confused with an extra inner zip for a fleece lining, but Dad decided to purchase a jacket anyway.

There was a slight delay when I arrived at the checkout with Dad only to find that Andree, who was holding Dad’s new coat, had stopped to browse a bit more, while Tia was, quite understandably, heading for the door. The purchase was eventually made, and we all came home for a well-earned cup of tea, where Dad was adopted by Muffin.

Reports from my sisters Ros and Pauline are that Dad has already phoned them to say how pleased he is with his new jacket. Success.

I’ve put some photos from Christmas in “Our Recent Photos”

Moon and Mars

Barwell meteorite

Last weekend Chantal had the Moon and Mars and Mars in the palm of her hand, and it wasn’t photographic trickery.

On Christmas Eve 1965 Barwell, the village where I go to Church, about 20 minutes from here, received a visit by 44kg of rock, delivered from the sky in chunks of various sizes, and in December 2015 some of this rock made a return visit when our helped the community to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the “Barwell Meteorite” falling onto the village by displaying one of the larger pieces of the meteorite on loan (with a Keeper!) from the National Space Centre in Leicester. Both Chantal and I were there all day helping “manage” the stream of visitors.

This large chunk was interesting enough on its own, but we also had a display by of pieces of meteorite from across the world by the British & Irish Meteorite Society, which included pieces of Mars and the Moon, which had been blasted into space by the impact a large meteorite, eventually to land on earth as smaller meteorites. This display also had several smaller pieces of the Barwell meteorite, which was older than the earth.

It was a fascinating day, with over 500 people visiting, without charge, to come and see the various “space rocks”

A week ago we had our annual visit to Hinckley Rugby Club. Each year our friend’s (who you may have heard referred to as “Richard-up-the-road”) company sponsors a Rugby match there, and in return he is allocated a table for 10 at the pre-match three course full roast dinner, and each year we are invited, along with our friend and his wife and 6 other close friends. And just to ensure that we enjoy ourselves the bar-bill is included in the deal. After the meal we go and watch the rugby game, this year braving high winds, before returning to the club house for a final tipple before the taxi home arrives. It is not unknown for me to arrive home, walk the dogs, sit down in front of the TV, and suddenly find that 3 hours of the evening cannot be accounted for. This is year it is was Chantal who settled comfortably on the sofa and promptly slumbered through Strictly….

News from Yorkshire – Bess Hands has won an award at school, an Award for Outstanding Piece of Work or Behaviour, Dedication, Positive Attitude, or Caring no less. Bess won the award for “fantastic singing and learning all the words in the School Nativity production”. Well done Bess – we are proud of you, and looking forward to seeing you on 27^th. Just 19 sleeps until Christmas!

Emma joined us for a few days last week, on her way back to Glasgow after doing a tour of the more interesting parts of Europe, including Berlin, Prague and Budapest. She had spent a couple of days in London, and spent some time with us on her way back to Glasgow, arriving Monday evening and leaving Wednesday lunchtime.

Unfortunately I had to work on the only full day that Emma was with us – a long arranges site meeting involving quite a few people, and difficult to cancel, and so Chantal and Emma spent the day at Twycross Zoo, which combined Emma’s animal welfare interests, with Chantal’s photography.

On Tuesday evening we went out for a meal at The Bull in Broughton Astley, which, I supposed, is nowadays a “gastropub” with excellent meals, better than the pub grub available when I lived in Broughton.

We said farewell to Emma on Narborough Station, as she left for Glasgow, via Birmingham, to prepare for her graduation on 1st December. Monica has flown over from Canada for the Graduation, before they both fly back to Vancouver in two or three weeks. We are looking forward to seeing them both during our next planned visit over there in late summer 2016.

First snow on Croft Hill – in fact the first snow for a couple of years! It wasn’t quite ready for sledging though…

Les joined us for the weekend last week.  Sadly his cousin recently died, and Les came over for the funeral in Somerset on Friday (13th!). Chantal drove down to be with her family, and she and Les stayed over with Noel and Angela in Yeovil, returning g here on Saturday afternoon.

Despite the sad circumstances we had a nice weekend, doing nothing in particular, just relaxing and catching up. On the Monday Les and Andree joined us to go to the cinema, to see “Lady in the Van” (recommended, unless action stuff is your thing…) and then later Les Chantal and I went out for a meal. Fortunately, before it was too late, I had realised that Les hadn’t been to the pub for a decent beer and so suggested pub grub even though Chantal had prepared a meal. Strangely Chantal has trouble understanding the significance of the pub culture to an ex-pat Brit.

The beer may explain why a photo session when we got home produced some variable results.

Les flew home on Tuesday

A week ago I spent a weekend on a no-frills 1922 sailing barge. I’ve posted a blog in “Iceland to Oz” – not the furthest trip blogged in this section, but it seems the best place to put it! Photos in “our recent photos”.

Simon was 30 a week or so ago! He spent his birthday weekend with friends at Center Parcs, and when I texted to wish him a Happy Birthday “OLD man” I got a quick response that he isn’t at all old – I was the one with a 30 year old son!

We had a family get to together to celebrate his birthday on Saturday, when Kate cooked us her usual superb fare. It was commented on that my seconds appeared to be the same sized portion as my “firsts”, but I couldn’t see a problem with that. In fact the only problem was that I was so busy eating that I didn’t take many photographs – not necessarily a bad thing. For the record Matthew joined us, along with Pauline, Rob and Megan and Megan’s boyfriend Matt. Ros and Dad weren’t able to make it.

Since the Dixons were there, there was discussions about apps, and of course Apple v Android.

Simon was given a remote controlled mini-helicopter which had a couple of crash landings before he got the hang of it. I’m not sure that Kate was over-impressed with this gift.

It was good to see a chair in use that I inherited from my Dad, and now Simon has inherited it, apparently having been using it for 30 years…..

Chantal was up at 4.ooam this morning to head up the M1 to Mam Tor, Derbyshire. This is why;

This was taken with her phone. I have absolutely no doubt that even better one will be appearing on Facebook. Wish I was there, but I am working tonight. A 4am to 2am day is too long at my age!

The fields behind us have now been disked, just turning over the soil to bury the stubble from the harvested beans. Not a particularly interesting story, but it’s an excuse to show off Chantal’s photo taken when the disking was underway.

Sometimes I get confirmation that, despite living the in countryside, having farming friends, and, in my case, spending most summers doing casual farm work in my youth, we are not country folk. A couple of days ago I got “caught” walking Tia off of the public footpath, following a field edge for a bit of variety. A chap in green wellies and a gillett walked around the corner with his four spaniels, and “had a word” because I wasn’t on the footpath. He was fine about it, explaining that he understood that the grassy field edges were a tempting route, but that he pays the farmer, which he corrected to “well, I buy him a drink” to access these areas to train his gun-dogs, a reminder that we are in the shooting season.  He did comment that he’s seen me before (on footpaths!) and that Tia was well trained. Thank goodness she was behaving on this occasion.

Yesterday morning , while on the footpath, I came across a group of tweedy country types at the edge of the adjacent field, placing what appeared to be a couple of plastic pigeons on a rotating low level horizontal wire, as though the birds were flying in a low circle. They also appeared to be carefully placing dead pigeon on the field, setting the carcasses up as though they were feeding. On enquiry they told me that they were aiming to attract live pigeons to the field, in order to shoot them. Sure enough, our afternoon of gardening was disturbed by the sound of gunfire from the field.

With the exception of the New Year clay pigeon shoot, I have never been shooting, and am not sure that I would gain satisfaction from killing fur and feather, even if the animals are vermin.

I enjoy the countryside, but am not really part of true rural life.

It’s been a quiet on The Oakstump, and this has been commented upon!! I’ve sort of got out of the Oakstump routine since our Welsh trip, and I blame the court system. Immediately on our return from Bala, I was immersed in preparing for a court case that I didn’t think was going to happen, and then the court case took place and then I had all sorts of things to catch up on.

From time to time the inefficiencies if the court system (sorry, Your Worships, I meant the alleged inefficiencies) makes the news, and I can only concur that the system is indeed horrendously inefficient.

I visit Leicester Magistrates Court four or five times a year to obtain a warrant to enter someone’s house to remove the sound system.

We arrive at 9.45am for a 10am hearing (because unlike the rest of the working world the court isn’t up and running until 10am) or maybe at 1.45pm for a 2.00pm sitting (minimum lunch break for Magistrates seems to be 90 minutes). If I’m lucky I get to present my case before the court hearings start. If I’m unlucky I sit through half an hour of solicitors telling the Magistrates why their case/client is not ready for a hearing, despite knowing the date weeks, if not months, in advance. If I’m really unlucky I have to sit through various hearings, which can be interesting from time to time. If I’m really really unlucky I sit through the gas or electricity company Bailiff applying for Warrants – address after address after address, debt after debt after debt, which the Magistrates have to individually hear to grant a warrant of entry to change the meter to a card-meter, which inflates the cost of gas /electric to pay the debt.

Anyway, “my” recent case was in Loughborough Magistrates Court (30 minutes by car from the office), since Leicester Magistrates (one minute walk from the office) couldn’t find time to hear the case.

Back in February we were having noise problems with a city centre bar at a time when the Police were having problems with assaults at the bar – mostly by the door staff. Since this was often on a Friday or Saturday night during the City centre’s “lively and vibrant night time economy” period, the assaults were often witnessed by Police, who then witnessed the offender being ushered back inside by other doormen, who consequently physically refused Police access. By the time re-enforcements arrived it was difficult to locate the offender. I was also barred from entry on the one occasion that I tried.

The Police applied to the City Council have the licence of the premises removed, and we supported the application since even breaking in to remove the sound system on two occasions had failed to prevent the noise (and prosecution is lengthy and expensive). After a five hour hearing in early April the licence was “revoked” i.e. removed.

Not surprisingly the bar appealed to the Magistrate’s Court – this was a no-brainer, since the bar can continue trading until the appeal is heard. The assaults continued, although at least they turned the music down. I was asked for my availability for the hearing, and I advised that I was unavailable during the dates of my Welsh holiday.

Two days before my holiday I was told that the bar had finally submitted papers, and could I write a full statement for our solicitors within 7 days, and allow time to meet our solicitor and barrister.  Err…. Dear Legal Department. I told you that I wasn’t available. And I’m not. Hence the rush to prepare for the case when I got back.

And so a few days later I presented myself at Loughborough Magistrates Court, along with 8 terrified young police officers and a couple of more relaxed older police officers. I was told by “our” barrister that I would be the last to be  heard  – on day two or three. Great. So that is two or three days of just waiting outside a court room. The case was delayed by over an hour because the barrister for the bar had to consult his clients. He’d had six months to consult his clients. If they had delayed appointing a barrister, that should have been their loss.

I was eventually heard on the afternoon of day two. I’d spent 2 days preparing for the case, almost 2 days waiting to be heard, and spent just 20 minutes being cross examined by a somewhat mediocre barrister.

There must be a better way of organising justice.

Oh yes – the Magistrates confirmed that bar should lose its licence.

It wasn’t until we got to Conway, and couldn’t find a pier, that we realised that we misread the web site. The pier was in Colwyn Bay, further along the coast. Since Conway is not far from Llandudno we decided to drive to the top of the Great Orme for great views and to stretch the dogs’ legs, before browsing the internet to locate the pier at Colwyn. We discovered that Colwyn pier had been scheduled for demolition in February, although was still there, and that Rhyll had been demolished many years ago. No wonder the website only included old photographs. The pier project was proving a bit of a failure. We headed to Colwyn Bay anyway, where we found the pier, fenced off and inaccessible.

We returned to Llandudno to photograph the pier from the top, and to go back up the Great Orme to see a wonderful sunset. Tia and I walked down the steep moorland slope to the beach, and nearly got lost trying to find our way back to the car park in the gathering gloom.

We had picked up a leaflet extolling the tourist spots of North Wales, a map with each venue marked by a numbered spot. We got into the habit of deciding where to go by Chantal choosing a number which I located on the map. We found a Roman Fort, an angular mound near Snowden just visible through driving rain. We drove down a long narrow valley road to an old chapel, now a tiny hydro-electric power station, which was inaccessible, although the adjacent river cascading down the hill adjacent to the pipe supplying the water for the power station was picturesque.

On some days we had to practice rain avoidance, either by settling down for a chilled time in the leaking “conservatory”, or finding where the sun was shining, and heading there. We went in search of sun, sea and sand, and found it in Liverpool, where we visited Crosby Beach, the home of Anthony Gormley’s “Another Place” exhibition, 100 life size iron men scattered along a mile or so of beach. Tia was not at all sure about men that looked like men but didn’t smell like men! We walked around Albert Dock reminiscing about our visits there when Claire was at university in Liverpool, but were disappointed to find that the various gift and art shops had mostly been replaced by chain restaurants.

On our last day we headed up to the Llyn Peninsular, once again to avoid rain in central Wales, rain, visiting small seaside resorts, after which we abandoned Satnav and use good old fashioned maps to find a single track road that led up into the hills, descending again to the coastal village of Trefor, with a small harbour busy with people crabbing. On our way home we stopped at a reservoir to photograph the sunset from the dam.

As is usual when we stay at our friend’s cottage we spent that day when we left earning our keep, cleaning the house, weeding and digging in the garden, and “bracken bashing”, using a long handled blade to beat down the bracken that invades the field at the front of the cottage. More photos in Our Recent Photos

Our first wet day in Wales, and so a day of just chilling at our cottage, and a chance to catch up on the Oakstump while Chantal catches up with her photo course.

We arrived early afternoon on Saturday – just one false start, thanks to having to return home after 10 minutes for forgotten dog leads. The cottage and surrounding glorious views were bathed in glorious sunshine, a great start to the holiday.

Our friend who owns the cottage has built a conservatory on the side, only accessible from the garden, and since by evening there was a cool breeze we decided to have dinner in there. I was enjoying a glass of wine in the conservatory when Chantal came in with dinner, grumbled that it was draughty, and closed the door. I went to return to the cottage for something-or-other, and realised that I couldn’t open the door. This was unfortunate, since the only door-catch was on the outside. When Chantal shut the door, the catch had fallen into the locked position, and we were trapped.

The windows were made of Perspex, which flexed when we pushed them outwards, but wouldn’t flip out of the frame. Part of the ceiling was also constructed from Perspex panels, but these were fixed in place with sealant and wouldn’t budge. We were stuck.

I was relieved to see that I had a phone signal, but who should we call? It seemed a bit over dramatic to call the Police. Instead I called Steve, the owner of the cottage, who I knew had a contact number for a local farmer who grazes sheep on Steve’s field in front of the cottage. Steve’s phone went straight to voicemail, and so I left a message asking him to call me.

I now tried the small Perspex panels below the ceiling, and one of them, conveniently above the door, popped out and fell onto the grass outside the conservatory, but the one foot square frame was three feet above the door catch. One of my jobs while here is to do some bracken clearing and by chance I had put the long handled blade, lent to me for the purpose, in the conservatory. By standing on a chair and reaching through the empty frame with the blade I was able to flip the catch open, and we were free.

That night when I took dogs out to garden to do what they do before they go to bed, I looked up to see the night sky. With little light pollution the stars were amazing and so, since it is also a good time of the year for meteors, I called Chantal to join me. Almost 2 hours later we were still taking photos, and saw several shooting stars, but sadly they were all camera shy

On Sunday we had a quiet day pottering around the cottage, and going down to the river below the cottage where the dogs and I took a short walk along the bank before sitting by the river in the sunshine while Chantal busied herself with her camera and tripod. Do you realise what a myriad of sounds a river makes as it gurgles, splashes, glops, hisses and plops over stones and around rocks?

We took a drive up to Caerau Gardens, a wonderful place 1000 feet up in the hills, but only about 10 minutes from the cottage. As well as a café with wonderful views that specialises in curry, there are acres of gardens to explore, complete with an adventure playground where, once we were satisfied that no-one was around, we each had great fun on a zip-wire!

Yesterday we drove to Lake Vyrnwy, a large reservoir, where we did a short walk (Lesia is only able to do short walks at the moment) down to a Sculpture Park below the dam – the sort of sculptures that you can be interactive with.

We came home via Bala, and Satnav directed us along a gorgeous single track road over moorland, through forests and along wide and wild open valleys – naturally we stopped for Chantal to take photos while the dogs and I enjoyed the view.

With a promising weather forecast we are looking forward to the rest of the week – we are here until next Tuesday!

We went  to Lucy’s  40th birthday party last weekend, along with most of the rest of the family, joining about 70 other folk in Chris and Lucy’s garden. Thank goodness the weather was kind – a perfect summer evening. Beer and wine flowed and there was a hog roast, and some people were even caught dancing.

There was a quiz, where the specialist subject was, of course, Lucy. It was an informal competition, teams formed by whoever happened to be sitting together. On our table we had one of Lucy’s close friends, and Bridget joined us – a formidable team. Scoring was as informal as the quiz, and so we weren’t sure how well we did, but we certainly didn’t disgrace ourselves.

A small group of guests with stamina were still chatting around the fire pit until 4.30am, but we retired at 1.30am, when we left with Bernadette and Dave, Lucy’s parents, who kindly provided us with bed and breakfast in the bungalow near Southampton.

On Sunday Dave took me back to Chris and Lucy’s, a half hour run, to collect my car and Andree, who had slept there, or least had tried to sleep. Apparently at 3am Andree was remonstrating with those still talking around the fire pit, clearly audible from her bedroom. Andree opted to travel back with Dave while I followed. The M3 back to Southampton was nose-to-tail, and thanks to cars swapping lanes I lost Dave but thought I saw him leave the motorway, and followed, only to realise, after I was committed, that Dave’s car was below me, still on the motorway. I was now heading for Bournemouth, and so left at the next exit. I couldn’t remember Dave and Bernadette’s address, and people that I tried weren’t answering the phone, but eventually Chris replied and provided the address. Thank goodness for Google Maps – I was only 10 minutes behind Dave.

We spent a contented couple of hours on the south coast, chatting to a sailor who explained how the tiny fast dinghies that we had seen rising out of the water were supported by a hydrofoil just beneath the surface. We enjoyed a coffee in the sunshine overlooking the Solent before returning to Bernadette and Dave’s for a fry-up before we headed home.

It was our annual Church “Walking Treasure Hunt” yesterday, following instructions to explore a local village while answering questions, some cryptic, some observational, as well as identifying the locations of a couple of dozen photographs. This year the treasure hunt took place in Rothely, North Leicestershire. For the second year running we paired up with Linda and Keith, friends from church, and for the second year running we won comfortably. We obviously have the perfect range of approaching questions from various angles. To get a flavour, we were directed through a churchyard, with the question “Did Bill supply these, and in whose memory?” Lots of gravestones and memorials, and even the wrought iron gates were in memory of well-loved parishioner, but none had a William or Bill connection. It was while walking around the outside of the church, looking for anything helpful written on the building, that I suddenly realised the Microsoft connection, and returned to the gates to note down the details of the well-loved parishioner.

News from Les (his e-mail posted with his permission!)

Friday July 3rd started out badly.

After suffering a bad night’s sleep I was informed that Ippany couldn’t find her passport, causing my heart to nervously skip a beat or two. After appropriate castigation and some delay she found the passport but we worried about the delay in getting to the airport

All problems solved until I realized that I had misplaced my car keys.  No point in flying to Newark without my keys and finding ourselves stranded in the parking lot at EWR! Eventually after repeated searches of my luggage, unpacking, repacking and unpacking yet again, Ippany found the missing keys in the most obvious compartment in my bag. Stupid me!

All problems again solved albeit we were now running late for the trip to Birmingham Airport.  Chantal quickly ate up the miles until we were on the M6 in slowing traffic. Slow became a crawl and Chan’s GPS directed us to take an alternative route.  After considerable delay we finally exited the M6 and traveled through what seemed like the back streets of Greater Coventry and beyond to find ourselves near the airport with just enough time to catch the flight. Rushing around seeking our boarding counter, with Pierre taking care of my luggage and preceding me by 50 yards with Ippany also way in front, we finally found the flight security guy who was checking documentation etc. prior to embarkation. No problem I thought, we still have 30 minutes before the flight leaves.

No such luck….I was not allowed to emplane (love that word. No its not a spelling mistake, I checked the dictionary) as my “Green Card” had expired in June. Holy crap!!!! Now we’re in really serious trouble.  Quickly discussed with Ippany and arranged to give her my car keys together with the EWR parking ticket so that she could drive herself home while I visited the USA Embassy in London and begged for documentation in order to fly home as soon as possible thereafter. The security guy took off with my expired green card while we debated what to do next. I was then called over to a counter where the security agent was on the phone with some branch of the USA immigration service who asked me my father’s full name, my mother’s maiden name etc.  Apparently I am well and truly embedded in the system as I was given permission to fly on our particular flight. Rush, rush, rush and fast-tracked through all the controls to just make the flight.

Nice flight, plenty of room with 3 seats for the two of us. Good service, decent food, good entertainment system etc.  We arrived 15 minutes early at EWR and quickly reached the immigration desk.  They were expecting me and must have been waiting for a grey haired octogenarian traveling with a 20 year old Anglo- Asian girl. Big Brother is alive and well! Next I was escorted to a backroom, with Ippany in tow for moral support, where a couple other “aliens” were also being grilled.  This caused some delay, but otherwise wasn’t too bad and my interviewer was kind of sympathetic and kindheartedly read me the riot act advising me never to repeat my cardinal sin.

Finally we arrived on the bus to long term parking and exited the airport for the drive home.  Beautiful weather, light traffic, 3 something in the afternoon…this is going to be a “breeze”.  After half an hour of fast moving things slowed to a crawl…visions of Birmingham.  Holiday weekend traffic!!!!! Stop and Go for the next 70 miles until we approached the North country.

Home at last. Lessons learned. Ruth and dogs happy to see us. All’s well that ends well. Went to work today for a rest!!!!!!

We had such a wonderful vacation making all the travails seem meaningless.

To Chantal and Neil in particular and to the rest of the family, Many, many thanks for making an old man so happy.

XXXXXX

It was the annual birthday bash for Matthew and Steven last weekend – but I don’t need to tell most of you that, because most of you were there!

This year was particularly special because Les and Ippany were over from the States, and Alan and Monica were over from Canada, we were joined by Emma, Monica’s daughter, and so we also celebrated Les’s 80^th birthday and Ippany’s 20^th birthday, all taking place this week.

We had exotic animals (to remind yourselves about how the animals were invited, scroll back to April 19^th post “It started with a tortoise and ended with a grumpy meerkat”), and well over 30 people enjoyed themselves in the garden.

For the first time The Oakstump Hotel was overbooked, and we had to send guests to the Enderby Annexe (aka The Meridian Hilton) and the Thornton Annexe (aka Keith’s home). At one point my tent was erected in the garden for Steven and Sherry, but re-arrangements were made and everyone slept indoors somewhere in the County.

It was a day best describe by pictures, not words. See “Our Recent Photos”. There were a lot of people, and so there are a lot of photos. We hope that you enjoy them all.

As I type Les and Ipps will be back in Gloversville, Monica is with Emma in Glasgow, and Alan and Andree are with Chris Tilley and the girls in Hampshire. We’ve had a nice week. We’ve had a couple of late nights chatting around the fire pit, and the Colonials have been down to Dorset to see Noel and Angela, before driving to London. Alan was not impressed with UK traffic. On Les’s birthday yesterday he opted out of travelling far, and so, at his request, we took the Park and Ride into Leicester. It was interesting seeing the city from the tourist point of view, especially with all the changes surrounding the Richard III internment earlier in the year.

Alan and Monica are with us for a couple of days next week, as well as going to London again (this time on the train!) before flying home on Friday.

I’ve put just a few photos from Spain in Our Recent Photos

I write this as we are flying from Barcelona back to East Midlands Airport. Due to circumstances to be described, there are no airport photos, and so he post will be liberally sprinkled with pics from the rest of the holiday.

It’s been a stressful trip home. At 12.45 I was enjoying a final Spanish beer in Terminal 1 of Barcelona’s El Prat airport, before heading for the gate to board the 1325 flight home. This was unfortunate because the flight left from Terminal 2. We realised that we were not actually in Terminal 2 when we discovered that the only flight leaving at 1325 was going to Turkey, which would have been lovely, but not quite as planned. During the next 20 minutes we sprinted across the terminal, periodically asking for directions from anyone who understood our dilemma, emerging into the arrivals lounge having not actually arrived from anywhere.

We descended a level, located the exit doors, ran across several lanes full of taxis to board a bus for the 5 minute journey to Terminal 2. We ran left, found a sign for Security pointing back the way that we had come, and persuaded a Security official to allow us to queue jump before unpacking I-pads, phones etc and passing our bags through an x-Ray machine for a second time.

Our gate, 44, seemed miles away, and by now I was expecting a night in a Barcelona hotel and an expensive last minute flight tomorrow, especially when the signed route to gate 44 was blocked by closed glass doors. A lady in the adjacent duty free shop directed around an alternative route, and we finally arrived at the gate at the time that our plane was due to take off.

Passengers were still boarding. I would like to thank whoever, or whatever, had caused the delay at the aircrafts previous port of call, Dublin, which the captain apologetically explained as the reason for the delayed departure.

It’s been an interesting week. It was a “Scraggy Crows” trip to L’Ampolla, 100 miles or so south of Barcelona. Our friend Richard organised the villa – he has a sailing boat moored 10 miles away and is familiar with the area. The trip was almost cancelled – as he welcomed us to the villa, having driven from the UK and arrived in the area a couple of days before, Richard explained that 2 weeks previously the owner had suggested that we find alternative accommodation since the villa has no power. A temporary illegal connection was made, and the villa was habitable. On Wednesday the villa was disconnected to allow “official engineers” to wire up an official power supply. We were out on Richards boat when he got a text confirming that the wires were in place, but a separate visit was needed to connect the villa to the supply, and there was no way of knowing when this would be. The villa once again was powerless. The owner was investigating alternative accommodation, but we would be spending Wednesday night with no electricity.

It is always useful to travel with engineers – who else but an engineer happen to keep a generator about his person, or in this case on his boat? We were able to have several powered sockets via an extension lead, and most importantly could keep the beer cold.

On Thursday night we moved to a slightly smaller, but more comfortable villa about 10 miles away, where the power was from batteries and solar panels. Within a couple of hours we had defeated this by the combined use of an iron and washing machine, and the owner had to be summoned to undertake a “system reset”, essential since the water supply was electrically pumped from a tank. The supply “tripped” again on Friday, and since initially we couldn’t contact the owner, the generator was once again brought into service to provide water and some lighting. The owner arrived within an hour and diagnosed and fixed a loose connection. A further short interruption this morning left Chantal using a generator-powered hairdryer.

Despite all of the drama, it’s been a good week. We explored local villages, including a walled mountain village where Chantal and I left the rest of the party exploring the medieval streets while we climbed the steep and rocky track up to the castle ruins overlooking the town. There was lightning and thunder around us, and we could see rain sweeping towards us across the countryside. The storm broke as we reached the highest point, the only people there, but we were able to shelter in the ground floor of a tower until the rain stopped. More rain threatened and so we descended to join the others for lunch.

We caught the train the Barcelona, where we “saw what there was to see” from an open top bus, a lengthy circular tour thanks to traffic. We found that we needed to buy advance tickets to see the Sagrada Familia, the cathedral designed by Gaudi, and still unfinished. Advance tickets were also required for some of the Gaudi-designed houses that Chantal wanted to see. In fact it was a day of discovering how to plan and what to see on a future visit, maybe a long weekend.

We spent a contented day on Richard’s boat, sailing around the sheltered bay, and lunching at a restaurant that rose on stilts from the sea, accessible only by boat, or wading at low tide.

L’Ampolla is close to a wide estuary, with lagoons where flamingos settle. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds of them.  This was a photo opportunity not to be missed and so Chantal and I left the others around the pool and travelled to the far side of the estuary. We saw just one solitary flamingo. A Dutch couple that we met commented that it would have been nice to see just a few more. We did enjoy a drive along a wide sandy spit, followed by a long walk along a beach, before we got a call from Richard saying that a planned rendezvous for lunch was cancelled since we were moving villas that afternoon.

Our final full day was spent with the others on a hot beach – bit too hot despite cooling off periodically in the sea, and after a couple of hours we all retired to a beachside bar for a beer, and from there to a small restaurant in the local village where we had a relaxed lunch of tapa. Chantal had great trouble with the tapa options while on holiday, since she doesn’t “do” fish. On this occasion she found a dish based on black rice, but found it tasted fishy. It was pointed out that the black colour was from squid’s ink…

It had been a relaxing week, despite the electrical interruptions – maybe just a little bit too relaxing for me, but fun all the same. A few more photos will appear in “Recent Photos” in due course.

For many years Scraggy Crows have “camped” at Kinver Scout Campsite, beneath Kinver Edge in Staffordshire, staying in a log cabin at the top of the site nestled in a shallow valley with Kinver Edge rising up at the top of the valley. Chantal does not do “camping”, even in a log cabin, what with the communal sleeping and snoring, but this year she joined us, at least during the day, because she was offered alternative sleeping accommodation.

Traditionally after arriving on Friday night we have a pub meal, but two or three years ago we noticed that the standard of catering at the local hostelries had plummeted. We considered Italian and Indian Restaurants, or even fish and chips, and then not only did we discover Kinver Constitutional Club, we also discovered that anyone staying at the Scout camp site is an honorary member. With a varied menu and about 20 different beers on offer it is hardly surprising that we settle there on the Friday evening.

One of the Scraggies has recently purchased a narrow boat, berthed not far From Kinver, and so we spent the day on the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal, some walking and some cruising, travelling 2 or 3 miles up the canal before turning around and heading back, via a pub of course. It’s a leisurely and slow paced world on the canals.

On Saturday evening we had for a barbeque around a campfire.

After which Richard and I smoked our traditional pipes-of-peace – something we do from time to time, just to remind ourselves why we don’t smoke regularly

The following morning, after a hearty full English breakfast and reading the Sunday papers, we held both our monthly meeting and our Annual General Meeting on the veranda in front of the log cabin.

On our way home Chantal and I visited the Kinver rock houses, deep caves scraped out of the soft sandstone, bricked in, and occupied as dwellings on three levels, the last one being vacated as late as 1964.

Oh yes, Chantal’s alternative accommodation? She avoided the snorers by returning to the boat and spending each night on the canal. I avoided the snorers by sleeping outside under the shelter of the first floor balcony of the log cabin.

A rather belated post about our Northumberland trip in May.

It  takes four and a half hours to drive to Sea Houses where we were staying and so not surprisingly we arranged a break part way up – our neighbours  conveniently run the clubhouse at their son’s water-ski centre near Rotherham and have been asking us to “pop in” for years, and so we did, and were treated to lunch! Chantal even found a photogenic subject – a pair of swans nesting right next to the club house, ignoring all adjacent activity.

The cottage, when we finally got there, was lovely – an old 3 storey terraced house, thick stone walls, comfortable, well designed, with plenty of room. There was no garden – just a shared courtyard – but the owner, who came to welcome us, told us about a bridleway at the rear of the house, and we found a footpath across the fields –perfect for daily dog exercise.

Sunday was cool, windy and grey. We visited Berwick, which had looked much nicer on a visit on a sunny day several years ago! But as we explored the countryside on the way “home”, the sun came out as we turned a bend to find a wide sandy beach below us, almost empty, and Tia and I walked the length of the beach while Chantal busied herself with her camera, and Lesia chilled out in the sunshine.

On Monday I found a walk from Beadnell, a village just a couple of miles down the coast. After getting a bit lost in a caravan site, the route notes, carefully downloaded onto my i-pad, directed us across a field with cows and calves, which was traumatic even though we were not chased. We stopped to recover at a pub where the coffee was expensive and the beer not well kept. Chantal dropped her favourite woolly hat which was run over by a car. And then we were drenched and I entertained the local residents as I struggled to pull my over-trousers over my boots, pirouetting on one foot in an ungainly ballet in pouring rain. The sunshine returned as we finished the walk at a lovely little harbour, with 19^th century lime kilns

On Tuesday we planned a walk around the pretty village of Walkworth, overlooked by Warkworth Castle. As we approached the village the road was covered with ice following a heavy hail storm, which turned into heavy rain, and so we abandoned the walk in favour of a visit to the medieval castle, where fortunately some of the roof remained to give us shelter.

The heavy rained persisted as we explored the village, and we were forced to take refuge in a dog-friendly pub. We had no option but to remain in front of the wood-burning stove, eating pork pie and pickles washed down with a pint of the local ale (or fruit cake, local cheese and coffee in the case of Chantal), the dogs asleep at our feet. And then, since it was still raining, I had to have another half pint. So frustrating…

On Tuesday night we had visitors! Claire, Si Bess and Florence drove up from Leeds arriving at midnight with two very sleepy girls. All four girls, from Florence to Chantal, retired to bed, but after a long drive it was only polite to offer Si a beer, and so our bedtime was just a little later….

We had granddaughters, and so Wednesday was beach day! Luckily the weather had improved  and it was a warm, if not actually hot, sunny day. Chantal had cooked us all a full English breakfast, and Claire had saved the bacon rind for crabbing purposes. The first thing that we found in the shallows was a lumpsucker, a rather rotund and ugly fish that we caught in the girls’ fishing net and returned to deeper waters. The bacon rind was marginally successful, attracting some very small crabs out of the shelter of the rock-pool sea weeds, but we had the disadvantage of two large dogs splashing around and closely investigating everything that we were doing. Tia felt strongly that bacon rind was wasted on crabs and repeatedly tried to “liberate” it from the bucket used to transport the rind.

I tried to interest the girls in beach civil engineering. I had as much success as I’d had with Bridget and Megan in Oz.  To quote from “Melbourne – English Australia and Discovering Gold” in my Oz Blog (See Iceland to Oz above!) – “I had been looking forward to re-living times spent with Simon and Matthew digging canals and tunnels. However is seemed that girls don’t do civil engineering, and we limited ourselves to simple sandcastles.” This has now been confirmed. Granddaughters do not do civil engineering. Instead we had a walk along the beach, finally stopping under the dunes, an opportunity for Si to go dune-hopping, leaping down the steep sandy slopes, with Bess in tow. At least that is one thing that sons and granddaughters both enjoy.

Thursday was the day that Chantal and I had booked a trip out to the Farne Islands, and we were up early to catch the boat from Seahouses. The weather was cool and grey, with a gentle swell as the open boat chugged east on the half-hour or so journey to Staple Island, one of the outermost islands. We clambered out of the open boat somewhat precariously as it rose and fell with the swell, and we ascended the stone steps. At the top of the steps, were hundreds of puffins, all very confident, and close to the path. As some of the reviews said, it was difficult not to obtain good shots of the birds.

We followed a roped off route across the rocks to see a wider variety of birds, which, with the assistance of a nice young lady from the National Trust who had welcomed us onto the island, I identified as shags, guillemots and kittiwakes. And so there we were. Stuck on a rock. In the middle of the North Sea. For almost 3 hours. And it began to rain. And once you’ve seen one puffin/shag/kittiwake/guillemot, you’ve seen them all. And there was no toilet, and I really shouldn’t have had my usual morning mug of tea.

I paced around the somewhat limited route, sometimes with Chantal, sometimes without (it wasn’t difficult to find each other again) trying to take my mind off of my bladder. I tried to find a discrete spot, but even the deepest crevices were barely knee deep, and there were a lot of telephoto lenses about. It was a very bare and yet very populated island. To pass the time I photographed birds, birds, and birds, until Chantal and I settled on a rock (there was plenty of choice) for a picnic lunch in the rain.

A bloke passed us, apparently heading for the edge of the island, stepped over a rope, and actually disappeared! He reappeared just a few minutes later, and confirmed, after my optimistic enquiry, that regular visitors to the island knew a quiet spot to that compensated for the lack of more formal facilities. Sure enough, on the far side of the rope, steep slippery steps led to an unused quay, well below, and out of sight, of the rest of the island. It was with relief that I began the task in hand (as it were), but it was with horror that I saw an open boat full of tourists appear around the rocky promontory that sheltered the quay. You know those pelvic floor exercises that ladies are encouraged to do? I can confirm that, under certain circumstances, blokes can do them too….

Eventually, after a decade or so, our boat reappeared to rescue us from our voluntary exile, and take us to Inner Farne, although thanks to either tides, or other groups landing, or both, we had an hour to wait, and so circled the islands getting up close to the local seal population.

The Inner Farne Island was more hospitable with grass and shrubs and a little visitor’s centre and an ancient church and even toilets. After an hour on a boat and almost 3 hours on Staple Island the toilets were much more popular than the visitor centre – the only problem was Arctic Terns, which nested in the shelter of the buildings. We had been advised to wear hats, and now we found out why. Anyone walking along the path to the toilet was repeatedly dive-bombed by Arctic Turns, defending their nest, and they definitely made contact. My kangaroo-leather hat did an admirable job of protecting me, as Terns swooped by my head with a parting jab at my hat. Of course Chantal was delighted, and made me run the gauntlet several times for photographic purposes, even though I no longer needed to use the facilities, until both I and my hat had had quite enough, even though she hadn’t quite got the perfect shot.

I enjoyed our much more civilised time on Inner Farne, and time passed quickly before our boat collected us to take us back to the harbour.

We collected the dogs, and went to find Si Claire and the girls. They had also been on a sea trip – just an hour or so to see the seals (as far as I know they weren’t on the boat that took me by surprise on Staple Island) and were now on a beach at Newton-by-the-Sea, which not only boasted a fine beach, but also a fine dog-friendly pub, with local real ales and a landlady who owns a German Shepherd – we had to be reminded to stop talking dogs so that she could serve the rest of the party.

On our last full day Si suggested a coastal walk to Dunstanburgh Castle, inaccessible by road. The weather was perfect, the scenery gorgeous, the castle interesting – maybe more to me than younger members of the party, but there were lots of steps and levels in the ruins to explore. Afterwards we visited the nearby small coastal village of Craster, where once again Si proved to have an working knowledge of the local licensing trade, finding us a lovely pub with a garden that had views across the harbour to Dunstanburgh Castle. I would have liked to visit the herring smoke-house close to the pub, and maybe purchase a kipper or two, but unfortunately it was closed. Nevertheless the smoking of the fish continues, and the smell reminded of my days working on a fish farm, where we hot-smoked trout, and cold-smoked salmon.

On Saturday we were loath to part and go our separate ways, and so we visited Alnwick, just a few miles south and on both our routes home. We explored the town, where Bess and Florence were delighted to get a wave from Princess Elsa from Frozen (err….I’ve just had to Google “Who is the blue princess from Frozen”…), who was enjoying a drink in front of a pub – presumably part of a Hen Party. Claire and Si introduced us to Barter Books, the biggest second hand bookshop that I have ever visited – paradise for me! It was originally Alnwick Station, and has kept many of the architectural features. The “Barter” bit is because anyone can bring books in, and if accepted, will get credit against buying books in the shop. I had to be torn away from browsing for tea and cake in one of the “First Class Waiting Rooms” – now a tea shop.

I could have stayed there all day, but, after buying a medieval history book (a book about mediaeval times, not a 700 year old book) I was persuaded back out into the sunshine, where we had time to sit on a grassy bank for a chat before we all went our separate ways – us to go home (via the Angel of the North) and the Hands family to go and find one final beach.

More photos in “Our recent photos”

Maintaining our garden can be quite time consuming, and so we welcome any help that we are offered. Andree wanted to borrow our jet-washer for her slabs, and so we kindly allowed her to practice by cleaning our patio.  Obviously she was closely managed, as indeed am I whenever I do any tasks in the garden. All we’ had to do afterwards was to deal with the dirt that was lifted from the patio and placed on the patio doors….

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A post and photos from our Northumberland holiday will appear shortly!

I have survived a weekend in Wales with Chantal and Andree! Just the three of us in our friend’s cottage near Bala, but it actually went remarkably well, although it was an occasionally challenging journey there. Having asked my Smartphone to direct us off route to find us somewhere to eat, while Satnav was still trying to get us back on track for Wales, I ended up with four female voices all giving conflicting advice. Thank goodness the dogs kept quiet.

We arrived on Friday in heavy rain, but Andree was immediately impressed with the cottage and the views. Nevertheless we didn’t venture out, instead opening a bottle or two of wine (since I prefer red and the ladies prefer rose or white) and having a cosy relaxed afternoon evening in front of the wood burner.

On Saturday morning the views were still a bit grey and misty, although were enhanced by a vision of the Mother-in-Law without her teeth. We drove to Barmouth, where we parked up and walked with the dogs to a café/ restaurant where we love to sit outside overlooking the estuary, and have a meal and beer while watching the world go by. I was advised that it was too cold to sit outside, and so I left Andree and Chantal to secure a table inside while I returned the dogs to the car a few minutes away, walking back to find the Ladies still outside. A decision had been made that it was too cramped and claustrophobic inside. After a long and indecisive discussion, which did not involve me, there was an eventual agreement that we could explore Barmouth and maybe pick up some fish and chips or a sandwich. The sun had emerged, and so  I returned once again to the car for the dogs. By now I was on “Hello” terms with people sitting on benches and at outdoor café tables between the restaurant and the car.

I returned to find that Andree was puzzled because this was not the Barmouth that she remembered from caravanning days, and it was clear that she knew the north of the town, the side closest to the caravan field where she and Jake stayed over several years. We decided to drive to Taly-Bont, the village where Andree and Jake had stayed, and so again headed back to the car with the dogs. During my car-restaurant-car-restaurant trips I had spotted a beach-side café with a large dog-friendly conservatory, and the Ladies must have been hungry, because there was quick agreement to pop in for a snack – the food and service met with approval from all of us.

As we drove to Taly-bont Andree was looking out for a particular pub overlooking the sea, where she and Jake had enjoyed a lager, and I think that she had an idea that we could pop in for a drink for old times’ sake.  Andree suddenly shouted “THERE!” and I did a sharp right turn, to the surprise of the 4-wheel drive vehicle behind me. The pub had been repossessed 3 weeks previously.

Andree pointed out the field where she and Jake had enjoyed many holidays, and we drove down to the beach, where Andree and I walked with the dogs along a path through the dunes while Chantal photographed the sea, returning back along the beach, to the delight of Tia who loved the wide open space.

That evening we enjoyed an excellent and well earned (I felt) meal at the local pub close to the cottage.

On Sunday we went to Betws-Y- Coed, where Chantal and Andree spent two hours happily browsing and not buying anything. Andree nearly purchased a set of nice coasters, a wedding present for her neighbour, but in the true spirit of Browsing, she didn’t buy it. The longest browse was in an outdoor clothing shop, where fortunately I was able to settle comfortably and contentedly on a chair and read my latest e-book using the Kindle app on my phone.

We retired to a pub for a well-deserved pub lunch and had time to stroll down to Swallow Falls before returning to the fray, this time for serious browsing-with-buying. Chantal and Andree spent over an hour purchasing 2 items in an outdoor clothing shop. I got into trouble because I wandered outside with my camera while Chantal was in the changing rooms, and consequently I didn’t hear her calling to ask for my opinion. Apparently the shop assistant asked a few men in the shop whether they were called Neil, and he greeted me with relief when I returned, clearly matching the description that he had been given.

Monday dawned damp, but soon turned warm and sunny. We went to a garden centre to buy shrubs for the cottage garden, the requested re-imbursement for using the cottage, and both Andree and I succumbed to the temptation to buy plants for ourselves.

Back at the cottage we enjoyed lunch outside enjoying the sunshine and views – this had been the plan for every day, but Welsh weather intervened. We cleaned the cottage, mowed the (large) lawn, and stopped for a break to visit a recommended tea room in the hills behind the cottage. It was up a long narrow road, but was well worth the trip, with superb views over the surrounding hills to Lake Bala. We were the only customers, and happily chatted to the owner, promising to return in August, our next trip to the cottage.

We returned home on Monday evening, leaving late enough for the roads to be quiet. More photos in Our Recent Photos

We had all four granddaughters and their parents stopping over last weekend. The main objective of the weekend was a trip to Curve theatre to see a performance of “Frozen-with-extras”, the hit Disney film, but in this case with pre-film entertainment, a “goody bag”, and, most importantly, singalong words displayed on the screen. It was my own fault. I spotted the event in the Curve brochure, and suggested to Chantal that all of the girls would love it. I had visions of a weekend with my granddaughters, but with an evening of peace and quiet on Saturday night while Granny took the girls to Curve. Granny had other ideas and bought me a ticket too. Chris and Lucy went to the cinema, but Claire and Si joined us.

The pre-film entertainment was, well, entertaining, but I got a bit confused during the first few minutes of the film, failing to follow quite how the main character froze every person she touched, and I was spotted briefly snoozing, but there are times when one must just accept the magic, and once prodded awake, I enjoyed the “where-has-Princess-Elsa-run-away-to? We-must-rescue-her”” plot, and even found myself shouting to encourage Sven-the-reindeer to run faster. The girls all enjoyed themselves – all four had dressed up as one of the two princesses, as did all the other girls of the same ages in the audience, and I had concerns that we might lose ours amongst the all of the others. Nevertheless we managed to get all four tired girls home safely.

Sunday dawned very wet, and a family dog walk was abandoned in favour of a couple, of hours at Leicester’s New Walk museum, via Sainsbury’s coffee shop and Pets-at-Home  since the museum didn’t open until 11am. The museum was surprisingly child friendly, with an opportunity to crawl through tunnels to pop up in the middle of a display.

We returned home for a family lunch, collecting Andree on the way. As sometimes happens on such occasions the kitchen table overflowed with guests, and a garden table was brought into service for the girls.

By afternoon the sun came out, and we managed a local dog walk around Croft Hill and quarry, although only Lucy and me managed a full circuit! We finished the day by toasting marshmallows around our fire pit before the Hampshire Tilley’s headed home. Claire, Si, Bess and Florence stayed for an additional night, leaving to have lunch with friends on their way home.

More photos in “Our recent photos”

A long story, but stick with it (with apologies to those who have already read it on Facebook or 365  – recycling words!). It started simply enough. I was contently gardening at the front of the house, when two of our neighbours pulled up, on their way home from a walk in one of the greener parts of Leicester, where their attention was drawn to a tortoise, wriggling in the slimy mud by a river. Our neighbours rescued the tortoise, which was now nestling cosily on a lap in a warm van. They weren’t sure what they were going to do with the tortoise, and I suggested an internet search of images of tortoises and terrapins. It didn’t look very tortoise-like to me. I updated Chantal  on the local gossip as I carried a tub of weeds  to the compost heap, and was greeted with an exclamation that she’s always wanted a tortoise (thankfully not easily purchased these days) and she was off down the Lane, returning a few minutes later, tortoise in hand. It didn’t take much Googling to discover that Chantal was now the proud owner of a red eared slider terrapin, not a tortoise as desired. Chantal briefly suggested releasing it into our local river, but I pointed out that this would not be good for the local aquatic life, and in any case would probably be illegal. Back onto Google, and after a few phone calls, we not only found someone who rescues reptiles, but found that he actually lived in our village. Result. We delivered the terrapin, who would reside in a heated outdoor pool with several mates, and it transpired that this chap is fully licenced to rescue a variety of native and non-native wild animals, using them for educational demonstrations at schools, charities and at parties.  Most animals are kept in a building a few miles away, but some were in his back garden where we were introduced to racoons, meerkats, a potbellied pig, an orphan lamb, and a tame red fox, domestically bred as a pet. Presumably whoever bred him didn’t realise that there is a limited market for foxes. Most of the animals were used to being handled, but I should have listened to the reason that one meekat was left in a cage – a hormonal female in a bad mood. I stroked her through the bars, and she sank her gnashers into my knuckle.  Having been patched up, we took our leave, but not before making booking  for some snakes, exotic insects, meerkats and maybe a fox to make a brief appearance at a family party in June. Shhhh…….don’t tell the grandchildren.

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We had a lovely long weekend with Ros in Yorkshire last weekend – a perfect mix of food, wine and lots of dog walking, to offset the calorie intake, we travelled on Friday, possibly the warmest day of the year so far, and managed to fit in two dog walks between meals, the first a stroll along the valley below Ros’s house, through woods carpeted with wood anemones and occasional isolated early bluebells, with lush deep green wild garlic leaves descending from the path down to the river. The path also eventually dropped back down to the river, crossing it via stepping stones at a point that has always been a favourite family spot, where at least two generations of dogs have splashed in the shallows, and Simon and Matthew have had their photo taken on a particular low branch every time that we visit, a visual record of their early years.

The evening walk was at dusk, still mild, with bats flying around us catching insects, the first that we have seen this season.

On Saturday afternoon we went to Bess’s 4^th birthday party in a church hall in Farsley, less than half an hour from Ros’s, where about 20 (or at least that’s what it felt like…) children enjoyed a bouncy castle, food, pass the parcel, and party bags, and we did what we could to assist. Afterwards we went back to Claire’s for a cup of tea and cake and a chat while two tired granddaughters slept. We returned to Ros’s for a dog walk, and then what has become a sort of tradition when we visit – a meal at an Indian restaurant in the village.

The weather forecast for  Sunday was not good – hours of wind and rain, and so we planned an early pre-rain dog walk, and a day of just “chilling”, reading the Sunday paper, Ros and Chantal doing photographic stuff, and me trying to work out how to produce an editable word document on my i-pad, despite all the obstacles placed in my way by Apple. In the event the rain only lasted a couple of hours, but we stuck with our plan for a relaxed day anyway, and the sun had emerged by the time by the time that we took the dogs for an evening walk

Ros’s ex, Pete, who we haven’t seen for ages, joined us all for Monday morning’s dog walk, again through the woods, and afterwards Pete and I managed to find a few minutes for a bit of gardening in Ros’s garden, removing a few shrubs. Later we took the dogs for a windy moorland walk near Shipley Glen, followed by a pub meal before Chantal and I had to pack before driving home.

Weekends with Ros are always relaxed affairs, and this was no exception.

Happy Easter to you all! Hope your Easter Day is as nice as ours has been.

I (naturally) went to church this morning for a lovely uplifting service, with children enjoying an Easter Egg hunt around the Church during a service that celebrated the empty cross, with lively cheerful hymns and everyone helping to bring the empty cross at the front of the church to life, by decorating it with flowers that each of us had been given when we arrived at church earlier. Andree also went to her church in Whetstone for an Easter Day service, before coming here for Sunday roast, and entertaining us with some of the many story’s from her varied life. My Dad had also been invited, but had already accepted an invitation to dinner with his friend Edwina. I hope that I’m as sociably popular at 87!

Friends Ann and Colin have just popped in for a cup of tea and chat, and we’re off to our friend’s Hilly and Lou later for an impromptu cheese and wine evening where I suspected that Hilly and I will be discussing parent management….

Hope all of you  (in the UK!) have great Bank Holiday Monday.

A week since my birthday, but I do like to drag my birthday celebrations out for at least a week, what with the day itself, a day out with Chantal, and serving scones jam and fresh cream to all at work. Actually, I haven’t done the scones bit yet – now that we are hot-desking and sharing a large open plan office with other Teams, the cream-cakes-for-the-office etiquette hasn’t really been established.

The day itself fell on a Saturday, and so for the first time in a while family were able to celebrate with me on my actual birthday. The usual pattern is a walk, a pub lunch, and an Easter Egg Hunt for the children.  When I say “children” I am referring to Matthew, Simon and Kate, and niece Megan, with an age range of 18-29. A couple of years ago I decided that they must be too old for an Easter Egg Hunt. I was advised in no uncertain terms that one is never too old for an Easter Egg Hunt.

The “kids” may enjoy the Easter Egg Hunt but this year they showed little enthusiasm for the stroll across the fields to Thurlaston, just a couple of miles away. Megan joined Pauline, Rob, Tia and me for the outward bound trip, but Simon, Matthew and Kate joined  the Old Folk, Dad and Andree, (and Chantal who is obviously not old) and drove to the pub, the Elephant and Castle in Thurlaston.

The Elephant and Castle serves traditional pub grub, but all home cooked, and we all had a good time (well I think that we all did – I certainly did!), before Pauline, Rob and I (with Tia) walked home – Megan had decided that one way was quite enough for one day.

The Easter Egg Hunt took the “kids” along the path down to Croft, where earlier I had hidden Cadbury’s Cream Eggs at locations identified by clues that just needed a bit of observation. All six eggs were recovered, one with difficulty being submerged under ivy, and additional eggs were earned by establishing the distance back home via the top of Croft Hill. Well, they had to earn the calories.

On Monday Chantal had a day trip to the Peak District in Derbyshire, following a walk from Walkingworlds.com, which I had just subscribed to, a short walk of just 2 miles (with Lesia and Chantal taking part, distance had to be limited), but which took almost 2 hours, thanks to stops for photographs and to enjoy the view. It was a pleasant stroll though, with a mix of moorland, wooded valleys, and a riverside walk, and, after fretting that the walk was taking too long, I was relieved when we found a pub that served excellent food all afternoon.

 

On the way home we visited our friend Meryl, who bred Lesia, and who was very pleased that Lesia had achieved the grand old age (for a German shepherd) of 11. We stopped quite a while chatting over a cup of tea, surrounded by attentive German Shepherds, before coming home.

So that’s my 30^th birthday out of the way…..

What a week it’s been in Leicester! Even those on the far side of The Pond will be aware that the “mortal remains” of King Richard III were interred at Leicester Cathedral this week. The national and international reaction has far exceeded expectations, as have the number of visitors to the City and County.

On the Sunday at the start of the week the coffin containing the bones was taken from the University of Leicester, where they have been since they were discovered under a City Council staff car park in 2012, and was transported in a cortège out into the County to Fen Farm, where it is believed that King Richard was killed in the Battle of Bosworth in 1485, and then through Dadlington where many of those killed in the Battle of Bosworth buried. The hearse and other vehicles in the procession subsequently passed through Bosworth village and then on to the Battle of Bosworth visitor centre located at the spot where, until artefacts were found at Fen Farm in 2010, it was thought that the battle took place. A brief service took place at most of these locations. The cortege travelled back to Leicester where the coffin was transferred onto a horse drawn cart at Bow Bridge, the medieval entrance to the City (and still a main thoroughfare) which Richard passed over on his way to battle, and over which his body was carried afterwards for burial in Greyfriars Priory, the location of which was lost after the reformation. That’s the history lesson over.

We decided to go to Dadlington, just 20 minutes away, to see the cortege, aiming to arrive a couple of hours before the coffin arrived. Just as well that we did – cars were already queuing for the car park at a school in an adjacent village, and we had a half-mile or so walk to Dadlington. We had plenty of time to walk around the crowded village, identifying the processional route and establish ourselves at a suitable location, opting for a place on an embankment at the edge of the churchyard above the lane where the cortege would enter the village. Actually we each had separate locations – even with over an hour to wait there was only room for Chantal in the churchyard, and I stood on the other side of the hedge, precariously balanced on the steep bank above the lane and just below Chantal on the far side of the hedge. While waiting for the cortege I listened to its progress on local radio using my smartphone, updating Chantal and those around me.

The local roads were all closed to traffic, and a lone cyclist toiled up the hill towards us and into the village, along the lane thronged on either side with waiting spectators looking for entertainment to pass the time. He was warmly applauded and cheered, as though he was Bradley Wiggins heading for the finishing line at the end of a race. He quickly got over his embarrassment to wave at the crowds as he cycled passed.

Eventually a beacon was lit, the church bells started tolling, dogs started barking, and we could see the vehicles of the cortege approaching along the country lanes in the distance, disappearing briefly before reappearing around a bend, escorted by Police motorcyclists and led into the village by two mounted knights in armour. The hearse, behind the knights, was followed by the cars bearing the dignitaries. The cortege was greeted with just quiet applause as it passed, with many people throwing white roses, the symbol of the House of York, onto the vehicles.

There was a brief service on the village green, but thanks to the crowds we couldn’t get near to this, although were able to see the cortege leave the village again on its way to Bosworth.

Apparently 500 people were expected at Dadlington, with maybe up to 1000 if the weather was nice, which it was. 5000 people came to the village to see the cortege pass through. Its not surprising that once the procession had left there were long queues for the hot dogs/ice creams/beer tent and the local pub was packed. We joined the hordes of folk heading back to the car park, and returned home to watch the coverage on Channel 4 of the cortege entering Leicester and arriving at the Cathedral. The streets were packed.

We had hoped to visit the Cathedral to see the coffin “lying in State”, but with queues around the block, and up to four hours to wait, I abandoned the idea. Chantal and one of her colleagues visited shortly after the Cathedral opened for the day early on Wednesday, and queued for 45 minutes to view the coffin.

On Thursday there was the main service if internment, a high profile affair featuring the Archbishop of Canterbury and Benedict Cumberbatch – something for everyone! Tickets had been allocated after a ballot – we hadn’t applied, although on reflection I wish I had done – as they say, you need to be in it to win it, and I would have liked to have attended. I happened to be passing the end of the Lane leading to the Cathedral on Thursday lunchtime, and popped down just to see what was going on, arriving just as the congregation were leaving, and key people were being interviewed close to where I was standing, including Philippa Langley who led the search for the remains but I had my own bones to search for, for the dogs, and was shortly on call, and consequently I didn’t stop.

On Friday the week concluded with a “Leicester Glowing” event, 8000 flames in front of the Cathedral and forming sculptures along the Lane leading to the Cathedral, together with a “pyrotechnics” show. I stayed in Leicester until dark and went to see this, and it was impressive, and very very busy. Since I had to cycle home I left before the pyrotechnics, but still enjoyed the show of flames, and the lively atmosphere along the Lane.

 Throughout the week there have been talks and guided tours connected to the internment, and I would have liked to have gone to all of them! If only we were retired.

There has, of course, been loads of discussion on the office and pub about whether such time and effort should have been spent on King who reigned for just two years, and who, by all accounts, was ruthless in gaining the crown, with a fair sprinkling of murders, including, allegedly, the Princes in the Tower. The general view is that this should be viewed in the context of the time, when Royalty was ruthless, or they ceased to be Royalty. And in any case, when it comes to tourism, Leicester needs all the help it can get….

News that is somewhat past its use by date, but worth a brief mention. Leicester was fortunate enough to benefit from a clear sky for the solar eclipse a week or so ago, and so Chantal and I joined several others from the office to take half an hour or so “time-off-in-lieu” and went outside to see what we could see of the spectacle. Chantal and some of her colleagues ascended to the rooftop level of a nearby car park, obviously hoping to get a better view by reducing the 149,600,000 km distance to the sun by 40m or so.

Me and colleague stayed at ground level, where I located a convenient tinted window of a solicitors office to see the reflected image of the sun – I’m not sure what those in the office thought of two people apparently closely examining the office ceiling through the window.

The light was certainly somewhat eerie during the eclipse – sort of pre-dusk, but still with a vague glow – what, at the end of the day, you would call “gloaming”. To be honest, if you didn’t know about the eclipse, you would have probably just blamed a dark cloud over the sun.

I managed to see the reflected eclipse in the office window, although in practice, thanks to secondary glazing, what I was seeing was reflection of a reflection. We were glad that we made the effort though.

I got a call from Kate on Saturday. She asked if I was at work and if not, did I have a few moments to talk? Maybe she should have asked if I was sitting down. She proudly announced that on Saturday morning Simon had proposed!

Kate has known me for pretty much as long as she has known Simon (although not as well, obviously…) and so has an idea of what to expect. Despite this she said yes.

We are absolutely delighted and its me kept smiling ever since. Wonderful news.

We visited Claire and the girls in Leeds on Wednesday, and since Si was working at home for much of the day, we saw him too, which was a bonus. Our journey had been problem free, apart from the tedium of the never- ending 50mph limit through the motorway improvements, but I was ready for a cup of tea when we arrived, which also gave an opportunity to read the girls a story before we all went out.

Claire and Si’s home is surrounded by woodland and footpaths – Horsforth, the village on the edge of Leeds where Claire and Si live, is similar to many similar areas around the outer areas of the City, having a distinctly rural feel with stone walls and streams, or I suppose becks, running along interlinking wooded valleys, and so, although you are never far from roads and buildings, you can escape along footpaths running through the trees.  We took the dogs with us, and Claire took us on a dog-and –granddaughter walk along just such a footpath just minutes from home, which wound its way along the valley, intersecting with other paths, and eventually ascending to the top of an embankment above a busy road.

If we had continued the path would have turned back into the woodland and led to another area of Leeds, but lunchtime approached, and earlier Claire had popped in to a pub close to the start of the footpath, and confirmed that it was both child and dog friendly. I heartily recommend The Bridge, Horsforth, a very friendly establishment with real ales from Leeds Brewery, and the largest selection of pies on a menu that I have ever seen. I sampled the ale, but resisted the temptation to enjoy a pie – Claire was cooking dinner later. Instead we all opted for something a little lighter, but nevertheless all wandered home suitably content and replete

The girls were tired – Florence napped in bed, while Bess had a lie down on the sofa, and was soon fast asleep, giving us an opportunity to fit a cat flap into Claire and Si’s back door – oh, all right, technically Chantal fitted the cat flap, ably assisted by me and Claire, after which, when Bess had woken up, we spent a happy hour or so helping her with a Scooby Doo jig saw.

By late afternoon it was time for dog walking again, and Si joined us with the girls for a dusky dog walk in the woods just seconds from Claire and Si’s front door, returning with time to feed the dogs before Claire fed the rest of us. It was a nice relaxed chat around the dinner table (the tired girls were allowed to watch TV) before we headed back south.

The Journey home was almost problem free. Motorway signs advised us that the M1 was closed at junction 23A, 3 junctions north of Leicester. Satnav advised us that the M1 was closed at junction 23A and recommended an alternative route along the A42. It was not until we were committed to exit at J23A that we realised that the M1 was not, in fact, closed at J23A – presumably some road works had just been completed and the motorway re-opened, and, since this particular junction does not have the option of re-joining the southbound M1, we did an extra 15 unnecessary and grumpy (in my case) miles, arriving home later than expected. Nevertheless, it had been a lovely day. More photos in “Our recent photos”

A reminder to all who keep precious photos or other important docs on a PC or other device. Back them up! I keep all my files on an external hard drive to speed up my PC. Two days ago I thought that there may be a problem when my PC couldn’t find my screen saver photos on the hard drive. Sure enough the PC assured me that there was nothing on the drive, and I needed to format it before the PC could use it. All my photos and docs had apparently disappeared.

However this was merely an inconvenience since I back up onto a separate hard drive regularly, possibly Simon’s influence, and I last backed up less than a week ago. Consequently I haven’t lost anything. I have now temporarily backed up the back up onto my PC until I get a new hard drive.

And so, if you are not already doing so (Chantal doesn’t!)  take note and back up! I use Synctoy, but no doubt most of you with a decent internet speed would use a cloudy thing.

William Holoweckyj, son of Ian, Chantal’s brother, and Svitlana, was baptised Russian Orthodox Style last weekend, or rather, since it was a Russian Orthodox affair, when we thought that Ian and Svitlana were bringing William to be baptised, in practice John and Photinia brought James to be baptised. All of the main characters in a Russian Orthodox event are re-named, for the purpose of Church ceremony, after a saint who is related to their date of birth.

We had planned to travel down to London with Andree, but unfortunately Andree was poorly, and so just the two of us travelled down from Rugby to London with Virgin, evicting the couple who had settled comfortably in our booked seats. The person sitting in Andree’s seat was allowed to stay. Unlike our trip to Ian and Svitlana’s wedding when we missed our train, this journey was smooth and uneventful, and we were soon in Knightsbridge, close to the church where the baptism was to take place, meeting up with Steven, Sherry and Daniel, together with Steven’s flatmate Graham, in time for a pub lunch and a pint or so of London Pride.

Ian and Svitlana, accompanied by their friends Olya and Joanne, joined us after phoning to find out where we had settled, and shortly afterwards we walked the short distance to the Russian Orthodox Church where Ian and Svitlana were married last year. At the time of the wedding the Church itself was being renovated, and so the wedding was held in a Chapel at the back of the Church. The renovation was complete and some of  us went inside for a look – it was very impressive, colourful and bright, but the baptism was in the Chapel at the rear – I have a sneaking suspicion that this may have been because a significant proportion of the guests were, in the eyes of the Russian Orthodox Church, heathens, what with being Methodists, Anglican, or even non-believers.  Having said that, maybe I’m mistaken, since if this was the case, presumably Steven wouldn’t have been allowed to be a Godparent, although his influence was diluted by Olya as the other Godparent, and a member of the Orthodox Church.

In many ways the service was similar to the wedding, lasting about an hour, although in this case, surprisingly, Ian and Svitlana actually had minimal involvement, since the Godparents stood centre stage throughout, Steven holding William/James during the entire ceremony, apart from the immersion by the Priest. Everyone stood throughout, and the ceremony and readings sung or chanted in both Russian and English by the priest, the same priest who married Ian and Svitlana, the cross was signed over all William/James, and Olya and Steven, and the thurible was swung (the smoking ball thingy on chains) with abandon, broadcasting incense laden smoke. A naked William/James was lowered by the priest into the font and liberally splashed with Holy water, and anointed with oil, and, as during the wedding, the participants paraded around the chapel.

Afterwards we all walked in warm spring sunshine to a small Lebanese restaurant, where Ian and Svitlana had booked a private room at the back, and soft drinks, tea and coffee, and a buffet of a variety if sweets and savouries were served. It was a lovely relaxed atmosphere as we all chatted. Olya told me that the parts of the baptisms service read in Russian was actually in a particularly old form of Russian, that even she had difficulty following – a bit like an Anglican service using the King James bible, I suppose.

We all just had time for another pint of London Pride back in the pub where we all met, and I was persuaded to join the other blokes drinking a Jaeger Bomb, something I haven’t imbibed for years, before Chantal and I headed for Euston to catch the train home, leaving the others to continue celebrating. More photos in “Our Recent Photos”

A quote by Douglas Adams, from a Radio 4 programme yesterday;

“Anything invented before you were born is just Stuff. Anything invented between then and the age of 35 is new and revolutionary and you can probably get a career in it. Anything invented  after you are 35 is against the natural order of things…”

How true

We spent today in London for William’s baptism – more of that in the next day or so.

Chantal had a traumatic experience while travelling on the Victoria Underground line. The carriage was busy, and she was standing with me at the end of the carriage, minding her own business, when something unexpected happened. Another lady stood up and offered her seat to Chantal. In London folk rarely give up their seat, up if they do, it is to pregnant women and the elderly. Chantal isn’t pregnant…..

It was a very kind and thoughtful gesture, and Chantal graciously declined the offer (we were only on the train for a few more minutes), but there were mutterings about how she must be looking just a little mature these days.

We had a gorgeous dog walk this morning – a tad breezy, but otherwise sunny and mild. It really felt that spring is in the air. We walked down to Croft, which is quite far enough for Lesia (and Chantal) and so they turned back to home, while Tia and I continued on a longer circuit. We met a couple of Briards, which I always thought was a type of sweet bread with bits of chocolate, but turned out to be a large hairy dog.

As we headed back home we crossed the road and re-joined the path that headed back up to Thurlaston Lane, Tia promptly picked up a scent on a path through trees parallel to, but a couple of meters from, the main track and started running at speed away from me, something that she hasn’t done for a while. I called her back but after being given a dog treat she set off again, nose to the floor, once again following the adjacent track through the trees until told to wait.

On her third run she sprinted over a low mound of earth, and to my surprise Chantal suddenly appeared, suddenly standing up from behind the mound, after squatting to photograph wild flowers. She confirmed that she and Lesia had followed the adjacent path through the trees – Tia had been following Lesia’s scent, hence the enthusiasm to find her “soul-mate”

Tia and I once again left Chantal and Lesia to head home along the least strenuous route as we climbed Croft Hill, busy with families and dog-walkers in the pre-spring sunshine. It was glorious on the top, with clear views and a brisk breeze to blow away the cobwebs.

On Sunday morning almost 30 years of my history, and a little less of Chantals, disappeared in a cloud of dust when New Walk Centre, my place of work between August 1985 and June 2014, was demolished.

I remember my first day clearly, having blagged my way into a technical job about noise, with no experience other than spending 30 minutes in the adjacent public library  looking up a few key acoustic words in a text book. After several years in the hard grind of retailing at Waitrose, the City Council was a relaxed and friendly affair. Between my interview and starting work,  I received a payrise, an extra two days of annual leave, and two week of paid  paternity leave (Simon was born two months later).

For most of my time at New Walk Centre I thoroughly enjoyed my work – pay was good, conditions were good, and the work was enjoyable. I suppose that the pay and conditions aspect started to crumble at about the same time as New Walk Centre.

We had known for some years that the building was becoming structurally unsound, and about three years ago red tape demarked areas on each floor that were not strong enough to take the weight of paper files, and these areas were kept clear of all furniture, a policy rigorously enforced. The ongoing process of becoming paperless was accelerated, and a scanning company and shredding company were kept busy.

Deadlines by which we must evacuate the building and move elsewhere came and went, as potential alternative workplaces were proven unsuitable. Eventually an absolute deadline of June 2014 was set, when the building’s insurers announced that they would no longer insure the premise. The weeks leading up to the move coincides with my two Team managers each being on maternity/paternity leave (separately!), and I inherited the task of managing the move.

After proposals to move us to various building across greater Leicester, we ended up just 20 feet from New Walk Centre, a newly refurbished office, where we had to get used to “hot-desking”, having no personal desk, and fetching all our belongings, both work and personal, from our locker each morning. The Noise Team have always worked well together, and we have all settled in comfortably, making the most of the encouragement to work at home on at least one day a week.

I was working last Saturday night, but with New Walk Centre, 20 feet from the office, due to be demolished 8 hours after the end of the shift, we were evacuated to “City Hall”, the plush, but corporately bland, Council HQ, our own office having been closed down and sealed up earlier in the day.

We had toyed with the idea of going to Leicester to watch the demolition on Sunday morning, but since we didn’t know how close we would get, and in any case after a late night I wanted a lie in, we opted to watch it on the internet instead. It was still quite a social occasion, as we exchanged texts with colleagues also watching from home, or, in the case of one member of the Team, from the Control Room (he was instructed to be there in case of excess dust and noise, although what precisely he was supposed to do with inevitable excessive dust and noise was beyond him).

At 10.00am, preceded by 15 minute and 5 minute warning sirens, the explosives detonated, and we watched as our professional home of almost three decades collapsed in on itself before disappearing inside a huge plume of dust. We could hear crowds cheering, but we were surprisingly sad. It had been ugly, tatty inside, and unsafe, but it had been part of who we are.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58T1vlrKzQs ((you will probably need to copy and paste link)

Our office remained closed on Monday due to debris blocking the route away from the fire exit (some worked at home, other decamped to other offices), but on Tuesday I saw the 2-3 storey high piles of rubble that had been New Walk Centre. Fences less than 20 feet from the building were intact, and only one window of the many surrounding buildings, all evacuated on the day, had been broken.

  
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For months we have had an outstanding invitation to visit Simon and Kate to enjoy Kates cooking (Kate always cooks superb meals for us when we visit) followed by an evening of board games – an activity which all four of us thoroughly enjoy. I use the word board games in its loosest sense – many favourites can be played from the comfort of the sofa, from where we started with Linkee, essentially answering four questions and finding the link between the answers, but since the winner of each round is the first to shout out the link, players have to be fast of thought. Simon and I lost abysmally to Kate and Chantal.

This was followed by an even faster game, shouting art answers to somewhat ransom questions in just 5 seconds, where once again I came fourth, before we retired to the dining table for a game of Dobble, which is in fact several games using a pack of round cards resembling coasters, and finally triominoes, the only game which I won.

The evening passed too quickly before we had to head home, partly because we had left the dogs at home, and partly because Claire had arrived from Leeds, staying overnight before helping Keith with the decoration of his new home in Thornton, just a few miles away.

We went to the cinema yesterday, planning to see Selma, the film about Martin Luther King, but despite the fact that this has been promoted extensively over the last few days it doesn’t appear to have travelled up the M1 to Leicester yet. We checked other options at our local cinema. At 4pm we could see 50 Shades of Grey. At 5pm we could see 50 Shades of Grey. At 6pm we could see 50 shades of Grey. Indeed practically on the hour every hour we could see 50 Shades of Grey. We didn’t want to see 50 Shades of Grey (or so I was told), but since this occupied most available screens we opted for an late afternoon viewing of  The Theory of Everything, about Stephen Hawking.

Before the cinema trip we spent a romantic Valentine afternoon with Andree in Curry’s electric store in Fosse Park. After months of persuasion, I have agreed to the purchase of a larger better quality TV, and Andree has decided that she needs a new washing machine. After seemingly hours with a Sony rep, Chantal, I mean we, decided on a particular Sony model, only to find that none were available to take away. Curry’s offered to deliver one once new stock was delivered, but this would cost £25 delivery.  In that case, I said, we are looking for £25 discount to compensate. They wouldn’t offer this, and so we ended up ordering one from John Lewis, saving £50 in the process.

After great deliberation Andree chose her washing machine, chose a delivery day, came home, changed her mind, and returned to Curry’s with Chantal today to buy another.

We were now running late for the cinema, but I wasn’t worried – after all The Theory of Everything has been out for a while, and everyone else would be watching 50 Shades of Grey, wouldn’t they? They weren’t. They had either stayed at home, or decided to watch The Theory of Everything. From the seat booking monitors at the ticket desk we could see plenty of available seats in all screens showing 50 Shades, but not only were there no VIP seats available for Theory of Everything (at our age we like our comfort) but we ended up having to sit almost under the screen.

The film was excellent. I had previously opted out of seeing it after reading reviews and deciding that it was a bit of a “Chick Flick”. At the time we went to see Woman in Black, and both fell asleep during the film. On this occasion The Theory of Everything kept us both engrossed from beginning to end.

Being of a romantic disposition, I bought Chantal a big bunch of flowers for Valentines Day, presenting them the evening before when I got home from work. Did I get grateful thanks and a big sloppy kiss? did I get a declaration of undying love? No. I got “Those colours don’t go together.”

Good job that I bought chocolates as well. They were a success.

Dad’s birthday next Wednesday – 87 and still going strong! Since it is a midweek birthday, the family met to celebrate last night, enjoying a meal at the Elms pub in Lutterworth, as has become traditional for Dad’s family events.

Afterwards most of us went to Dad’s for tea or coffee and birthday cake – despite a large pub meal including a substantial pudding, we all managed a slice of birthday cake, cooked by my sister Pauline, and decorated with an impressive firework-candle, which set the smoke alarm off

Most of the family were able to come along – Matthew coming over from Rushden, Simon and Kate from Wigston, and my sister Pauline and her family from Kettering.

It was the Scraggies Christmas “do” last weekend – we always have our Christmas meal, or whatever we choose to do, in January – the food is better (the venue won’t be working at full capacity), January needs cheering up, and in any case most of us have a few pre-Christmas Christmas dinners already.

We decided to book the upstairs venue room at the Stoney Stanton pub where we meet each month, and have a casino-themed evening – appropriate dress was encouraged. A friend from work offered to lend me a bow tie, and insisted that I borrow his tuxedo as well. I somewhat reluctantly accepted his offer, but lost my nerve at the last minute, just before leaving home. I could not bring myself to walk through a village pub on a Friday night in a tuxedo and bow tie. A bow tie, white shirt and jacket would have to do. I needn’t have worried – we travelled with neighbours and friends Chris and Richard, and Richard wore a tuxedo. The bar staff were impressed with our dress anyway, customers in the busy pub barely noticed, and those that did presumed that we were a wedding party!

We were served an excellent buffet starter, followed in most cases by fish and chips (well, it was Friday, and one must not take the casino theme too far…), and then the gambling started.

The pub provided a DVD of horse races for betting purposes, but we opted for a DVD of somewhat random races, with a commentator quoting the odds before each event. We bet on sheep racing, fridge racing, a crazy cycle race, and cheese rolling, by which time we were losing the will to live, and commenced the main event of the evening.

Richard had brought a roulette wheel, complete with instructions – just as well since none of us had bet on one before. Now I’m not a particular enthusiast of gambling – some may recall my accounts of the most tedious evenings in my life spent in American casinos, surrounded by mind-numbing slot machines. Roulette, on the other hand, was fun. I know, I know, the principle is the same – you spin something and bet on when it will stop, but the roulette wheel had lots more betting options to play with, especially since we all started with £300 each.

Now I have to admit to having received a bit of coaching from Simon, who has, on occasion, dabbled in small scale on-line gambling. During our previous weekly lunch his recommendation was simply to keep gambling on the rolling ball stopping at either a red or black slot, and keep increasing the bet. I did, and kept winning. I also bet smaller amounts on other options, none of which delivered success. Chantal had a random strategy, trying any option that appealed at the time, and she lost everything.

For the last spin, we agreed to put all our remaining cash, other than notes, on the board, betting everything. I was one of just two of us holding cash as notes, which at least meant that I wouldn’t be bankrupted. I must admit that I did hold back some high value coins as well. The wheel was turned for one last time. It slowed and slowed, and finally stopped on the single green slot. The bank got the lost, and mist people, including Chantal, lost £300. I, on the other hand, came out with £700, a healthy £400 profit.

Now, before you all get excited, and look forward to a sumptuous family meal in a restaurant at my expense, I should explain that we had to return the money from whence it came – toy money from a board game of some sort, with poker chips for lower denominations. Otherwise you wouldn’t have found me betting 25p each time, let alone the £250 bets that I was placing. Playing with real money would have been far too stressful.

Matthew moved into his flat the day after the baptism in Leeds. I travelled down to Bedford to help Matthew and two of his friends to load up a van, and my car, with his goods and chattels from his bedroom in his Aunt’s house, where he has been staying, before following the van to Matthews new flat at Rushden, Northamptonshire.

Matthew has bought a second floor flat, which meant lugging various items of furniture (he has accumulated quite a few items considering that this is the first place that he has owned) up four flights of stairs, including half-landings. Matt found the whole thing a bit stressful, and I did get told off for dropping a drawer – thank goodness it wasn’t damaged.

Matt’s friends are very practical, one an electrician, and the other installing broadband, and so they were very useful putting flat-pack furniture back together, as well as dealing with electrical and communication issues. They were very enthusiastic, and at one stage Matthew kept them out of mischief by instructing them to put up and decorate his Christmas tree.

Matthew’s flat has two bedrooms, one with en-suite, and a sitting room with kitchen area off. Being second floor, with an outlook down a road, rather than overlooking flats, it is a lovely bright flat.

Shortly after Christmas, once Matthew had settled in, Chantal, my Dad and I went to visit the new flat, which was already very homely. We had a very nice pub lunch in Higham Ferrers, a rather upmarket village next to Rushden, and went for a walk around nearby Swanick lakes, Dad managing quite well, despite a stiff knee, walking with the aid of a stick. Mathew and I were so busy chatting that we left Chantal and Dad behind. I received a phone from Chantal during which she made an enquiry with respect to my location, queried why I had continued walking when she had stopped for photographic purposes, and gently suggested that maybe I should return and join her, since we were supposed to be enjoying the day together. I did as commanded, and since light was fading, we headed back to Matthews flat for a cup of tea, but not until I once again toiled up the stairs at the end of an item of furniture. Matthew had purchased a large wooden chest on e-bay for use a coffee table, and it was still in his car. I’m getting too old for this removals business.

Time for a bit of catching up. In December, just a few days after Chantal was released from hospital after her bout of pneumonia, we travelled up to Leeds to see Bess and Florence baptised. It was a Catholic baptism, just extended family rather than being part of a service at the Church. It was quite a short and simple service, although including a few personal words from the Priest. I was a bit surprised to hear that this was the first time that Claire and Si had met the Priest, this being evident when, thanks to him sitting next to Claire, the Priest assumed that Steven was the father of the girls, which would have been a bit of a surprise to us all.

The solemn occasion was lightened somewhat when, as the full Baptism party of parents, children and Godparents were all standing at the front, Claire stepped backwards, and promptly tripped up a step, resulting in Lucy having a fit of the giggles. The Priest coped admirably.

The girls each got a baptism candle, to be lit on special days, which, as far as I can recall, were specific Saints days and other special occasions in the Catholic Calendar. A note for Claire and Si – we Methodists often suggest lighting the candle for a short time on birthdays, which over the years encourages curiosity about the candle, and maybe questions about the baptism. Of course this where the Godparents come in to explain.  Plenty of support there – Chris & Lucy, Steven & Sherry, Duncan & Mimi, Daz and Viccy can all expect a phone call….. Actually Bess nearly lost out when it came to Godfathers. Chris was one of her Godfathers, and his first duty was to bless her with the sign of the cross. He blessed Florence instead, but following vociferous objections from the congregation, he turned and blessed the correct Godchild. Florence got a bonus blessing.

Afterwards it was back to Claire and Si’s to party, a real houseful, with a lot of food.  I was driving us home, but still managed just one beer, although I didn’t mind, because there was a pie. A wonderful pie. In fact two wonderful pies.  It seems that Christine, Si’s Mum, and Maureen, Si’s Aunt, always make homemade pies for his birthday, and they kindly obliged for the baptism, with a meat and potato and a cheese and onion pie. Si, you really must invite me up for your birthday more often.

Megan had been a bit under the weather for a day or so, but at the party was happily running around with the other children, until she got breathless, and retired to bed, surrounded by worried parents and grandparents. Lucy decided to call the out-of-hours health helpline “111” for advice, and the doctor (or whoever makes an assessment over the phone) talked to Lucy, talked to Megan, and recommended a precautionary trip to outpatients at Leeds General Hospital. There are times when Mum, who knows a lot more about her offspring, and in any case is actually with the child in question, knows best, and Lucy decided that a precautionary keep-Megan-quiet-and-keep-an-eye-on-her was a better approach. Megan has been prescribed an inhaler in the past, and Si’s brother Daz kindly fetched his inhaler from home for Megan to use, which quickly helped with the breathing.

I remember the occasional “out of surgery hours” health crisis with Simon and Matthew, including in Yorkshire when staying with my sister, and at other times when the local doctor was not the one with whom the boys were registered. On each occasion we either had a prompt home visit, or were invited to the surgery to see the “emergency GP”. I’m not sure when doctors decided that illness should only occur in office hours and that anyone inconveniently poorly outside office hours would need to visit hospital, but I do feel that this approach is somewhat un-professional. After all, if a bar is stopping the neighbours from sleeping at 2am, I have to be there to assess the situation. Mind you, I’m much cheaper than a doctor

Anyway, Megan was soon playing with the other children, but was not allowed to run around.

It would have been nice to stay longer to chat with Si’s family, and maybe hope for some more pie, but we had dogs to collect, and Chris and Lucy decided that Megan needed an early night, and so we headed south by late afternoon, leaving the Yorkshire contingent to party on.

More photos in “our recent photos”

After a friend told us about a “good deal”, we have invested in a “Bluetooth” Bose speaker. As I type, Chantal is re-living her youth, playing John Denver via Spotify on her i-pad. It’s all cheerful stuff. John has just advised us that his farmstead is like an old friend, sung in a dirge like style that implies that the “old friend” is about to be reprocessed. Maybe this is the reason that he subsequently pleaded with his father not to get drunk at Christmas, because he didn’t want see his Mamma cry. It’s all Blue cheered me up no end. Maybe I’ll counter it with some Soar Pilot, a wonderfully lively band discovered on a “One Show” Burns Night special last week, who combine drums, electric guitar and bagpipes. Brilliant.

We took the aged ones out today, and I am pleased to say that they behaved themselves quite well. Both my Dad and Andree have visited Curry’s separately in the past week, Dad for a camera and Andree for a TV, neither were impressed with the service, and so today we took them to that icon of retail quality and service, John Lewis. Lucy would be proud.

We used Park and Ride from Enderby, which we would pass on the way to Leicester anyway – free parking and just £3.50 for a group ticket to Leicester for all four of us. Bargain. Buses leave every 15 minutes, and one was boarding passengers when we arrived, so no waiting in the cold wind. The bus was almost full, but Dad and Andree settled into the seats reserved for “elderly and infirm” near the front, leaving Chantal and I to sit further back in peace, watching Dad and Andree put the world to rights between them.

Chantal doesn’t “do” buses, except on top of a London double decker. She had to sit amongst The Public, that great body of common and disease-carrying folk, and there were dark mutterings every time someone coughed or sneezed, as Chantal grumbled that she could already feel the onset of pneumonia that was by now inevitable. She was relieved as we pulled up at the bus terminus 20 minutes later.

John Lewis was a short walk from the bus stop (in distance, but today not necessarily time), and we made our way through Highcross shopping centre to the Temple of the Gods of Retail, John Lewis, taking the lift to the third floor where, fortunately, TVs and cameras resided cheek-by-jowl.  Dad and I went to browse cameras, soon finding the favoured model, but with just one camera-orientated assistant available on the shop floor, it took 20 minutes to discover that “having a play” with a charged and ready-to-use camera was not an option. It seemed that the John Lewis service was no better than Curry’s, although the assistant, once available, redeemed the situation by being particularly helpful, and even acquiesced to Dad’s suggestion that he throw in a free memory card to compensate for the wait.  Dad purchased the camera.

Meanwhile Chantal and Andree were having a similar experience, unable to find an available assistant from the TV section, but eventually being served by someone from another section, but who had recently worked in a TV shop elsewhere, and so was very informative.  Andree soon had all of the information that she needed to make her mind up, but decided not to do so anyway. She and Chantal will be re-visiting Curry’s tomorrow.

The experience left us all desperate for tea (in my case) and coffee (for everyone else). Fortunately the restaurant was also located on the third floor – perhaps it is accepted that purchasing expensive electrical items will be stressful, and tea and cakes need to be readily available. Dad and I soon selected our cakes. Chantal decided that she was on a diet and so definitely would not have any cake, but chose a large slice of “millionaire shortbread”. Andree wasn’t hungry, and so definitely would not have any cake, but ate half of my cheese scone.  I should point out that I offered it – she didn’t steal the item from my plate.

And so, suitable fortified we headed back to the bus stop, where once again a bus was waiting to take us back to my car. We did actually all quite enjoy the afternoon.

Yesterday Andree wanted to go with Chantal to Woodlands Garden Centre, a few miles away, to buy a jumper in a sale. Woodlands Garden Centre is not, of course, a garden centre. Like many other garden centres it is, in fact, a retail outlet with a garden centre attached. I decided to go along, since I wanted to browse the sweaters in Mountain Warehouse. After all the expedition wouldn’t take long, maybe  an hour and a half, and we should be back in time to walk the dogs in daylight.

I should have known better. My selection was made in 10 minutes, plus a few minutes for wife-approval purposes. Andree quite impressed me, choosing her jumpers from the adjacent Woollen Mill shop in less than 20 minutes. In the meantime Chantal browsed, and found some great all-in-one snow suits for Bess and Florence, perfect with winter weather forecast (and it can be grim Up North).  Chantal picked a couple of suits off of the rack, and asked whether I thought that they were the right size, and whether insulated suits would be suitable, since there were no lighter weight versions. I wish she wouldn’t ask me things like that. How would I know?

I suggested phoning Claire, and Chantal had the bright idea of “Face timing” Claire, a sort of video link for Apple enthusiasts. Thus it was that I was soon standing in the middle of a busy store, with a bright red snowsuit suspended from one hand, and a bright blue snowsuit suspended from the other, being “filmed” on an i-phone, while Chantal and Claire (on speakerphone) had a loud conversation audible throughout the store, giving instructions on how I should best display the aforesaid items for best viewing on the “video link”, while other shoppers did their best to browse around me without getting in the way.

We had just duly made our purchases, well in time to be home in daylight, when Andree said those words that blokes dread. “I’m just going to pop into the shoe shop…”

Women never, ever, “pop” into a shoe shop. They settle in a shoe shop. They browse in a shoe shop. They almost-but-not-quite make a purchase in a shoe shop, and then re-examine their options in a shoe shop. I explored the rest of the shopping areas at length, periodically returning to the shoe shop to confirm that no purchase had been made yet. I sat in the shoe shop and played with my phone. I watched a trailer of the film “Woman in Black”. I browsed the BBC news web site.  Andree never did buy any shoes. Chantal bought two pairs.

We eventually got home 3¹/₂ hours after leaving. We set off with the intention of buying 2 jumpers. “We” actually bought 4 jumpers, 2 snowsuits, 2 pairs of gloves, 2 pairs of shoes, 2 sets of Christmas tree lights, 1 Christmas decoration, and 3 bags of Bonios. We looked at, but never actually purchased, a lot of shoes, a second Christmas decoration, bird feeders, bird food, Christmas cards, cheese, wine, bananas and a cactus.

It was dark and raining by the time we got home. Next time I’ll stay at home and polish my CD collection, or iron my socks, or paint the garden fence and watch it dry.

First post of the year – almost 2 weeks after the last post. I don’t know where the time goes. Well, actually, I do. You know those labour saving time saving information technology devices that allow you to keep in touch while on then move? Well, that is what has been taking my time.

First there was the Christmas I-pad. A sturdy well-built well designed piece of hardware, ideal for keeping that virtual window on the world wide open. Unfortunately it has an odd idea that it knows best, when it clearly doesn’t, requiring that the user does what the tablet wants, rather than the user giving the instructions. I want to drop and drag files onto the tablet, but it tut-tutted and made me go via i-tunes, entering a password each time. I want to link directly to BT web mail. The tablet tut-tutted, and made it clear that its own e-mail software linked to the iCloud was preferred, making it difficult to sync with my inbox. I want to edit word documents downloaded from Dropbox. The tablet tut-tutted and is still refusing to let me do this. Of course my battle with my i-pad has been time consuming. The score to date is about 6-1 to me – the single score by i-pad being the editing of word documents, which still defeats me.

Then there is my new phone. I have been waiting for my contract to expire in order to replace my Samsung that refused to keep its charge, despite the purchase of a new battery. EE quoted £33 p.m. plus a significant up front cost for the HTC phone that I wanted. O2 offered £28 p.m. and no upfront charge. EE generously offered £31 p.m. and halved the upfront cost, and said that they really really couldn’t improve on that. I said thank you for your good service over the years and goodbye. Thanks to being on hold, being cut off, going back on hold etc. this had pretty much wiped out a Sunday afternoon, and I decided that contacting O2 could wait for a day or so. The following day EE phoned me and offered £26 p.m., a free phone, and double data allowance. I am now the proud owner of an HTC M8 One. Or is it an HTC One M8? Anyway, unlike i-phone users, I won’t be referring to my phone by its brand name. “Hark – is that my HTC one M8 ringing? I must answer my HTC one M8 at once. Oh – they’ve rung off….”

The delivery of the phone was an issue. EE texted to advise of a daytime delivery, with a collect-from-the-DPS-depot as an option. The depot is a short detour from my home route, and so I opted to collect. The next day I got a text advising that it would be delivered within 15 minutes, and then another text advising that no-one was in. I knew that. Thats why I opted to collect. And so I had to wait ages at the depot for the driver to return to base.

The phone is wonderfully intuitive to anyone used to a standard PC or laptop, but has far too many options to explore. What exactly is Google-Now? Do I need it?

The phone allows set up using a PC, including “personalising” the phone. I tried to drag the “William Tell Overture” (or the Lone Ranger theme, depending on your generation. Dum diddle dum diddle dum dum dum etc etc) from my PC, as I did for my old phone, but the file type was unsuitable, and so I found a version on the web to download, but as soon as the download started, my AVG anti-virus software started whimpering that it had detected some sort of Adware or something similar. The download wouldn’t stop, and so I deleted it when I could, and re-opened my internet browser to continue with my phone setup. Instead of the reassuring BBC News home page I got a spoof Google page, with an image of a waving Asian lass who, apparently, was trying to phone me, and all I had to do was click on the link and she would make my dreams come true. Bugger.

A 2 hour AVG full system scan failed to find anything malicious, but clearly my home page had been hijacked, and nothing I could do would change it. I eventually had to delete and re-install my browser.

And so you can see that my life has been full of unexpected time consuming IT related issues.

Anyway, we hope that you all had a great New Year. We did what we have done for the last few years – we walked up Croft Hill to see the New Year in from the top, this year joining about 20 others to watch the fireworks around the entire horizon, On New Year’s Day we had our annual High Noon clay pigeon shoot at our friend’s farm. Thanks to windy conditions most clays lived to fly again (we pick up the unbroken ones from the ploughed field in front of the “trap” that launches them). Chantal doesn’t shoot – she just joins us for the post shoot BBQ, hence you have to have a picture of someone else.

Happy New Year from us both, and we look forward to seeing all of you in 2015. Still got some catching up to do on The Oakstump – baptisms, new flats, horse shows and Christmas pics come to mind. Watch this space.

It got busy at The Oakstump on Boxing Day! Chris, Lucy and the girls arrived for lunch, joining Steven and Sherry, and later, while I was out on a dog walk, Andree, Ian, Svitlana and baby William. I had to leave just as the party was getting going, and before Claire, Si Bess and Florence got here, travelling down from Leeds.

Simon and Kate collected me and we drove to Kettering for our annual Boxing Day family meal with my sister Pauline, brother-in-Law Rob, and niece Megan, together with her boyfriend Matt. We left as rain was turning to snow, which got increasingly heavy, but turned back to rain by the time that we got to Kettering. ”My”  Matthew (as opposed to Megan’s boyfriend) had driven over from his new flat in Rushden, but for the first time Dad wasn’t there, since he was still  in Baildon, near Bradford, with my other sister Ros.

We chatted, exchanged presents, played games, had a lovely meal (since I wasn’t driving this year I enjoyed a glass of wine or two) and had a musical interlude – music in the loosest sense of the word, as some of us did our best with kazoos and a swan whistle. Unusually, I hadn’t brought my camera, but had brought my new i-pad to show Rob – I wasn’t very impressed with its photographic ability.

We headed home late, with the light rain turning back to light snow as we headed east long the A14, and the roads around Croft were covered with a thin veil of snow bisected by black tyre tracks, and the less trafficked Thurlaston Lane was sprinkled completely with frost and a dusting of snow.

Our house was till busy when I got in – Sherry, Bridget and Megan had all retired to bed, and the Holoweckyjs had gone home, but everyone else was up, finishing a game, and I got a big hug from Bess and Florence.

Saturday dawned frosty and sunny, with a covering of snow, and we all drove to Bradgate Park, meeting Keith in the car park. The plan was a walk along the surfaced path through the park, with granddaughters on their bikes, but the ice and snow proved just a bit too precarious for young cyclists, even when equipped with stabilisers on the younger girls’ bikes, and so we all walked instead. This at least meant that we could leave the busy bustle of the path, where much of the County population seemed to be walking off their Christmas excesses, and we climbed up to the higher ground above the path, giving Chantal‘s lungs a post pneumonia work-out, which almost proved too much, as I assisted her up the last few feet. It was a wonderful winter walk, the frosty snow glistening under a clear blue sky providing lots of photo opportunities for both scenic shots and family groups.

As we descended towards the ruins of Bradgate House I realised that my left coat pocket was empty. This was unfortunate because shortly after entering the park it had been full of Tia’s lead. Chantal had walked ahead, and so Si and I, together with a leadless Tia, retraced our steps in the hope of locating the lead before the loss was discovered by Chantal, whose lungs had recovered sufficiently for her to have reminded me at length that losing dog-leads is a bit of habit of mine, and maybe I should take more care of them. We failed to locate the lead, and returned to the family, meeting Chantal who had been informed of the loss, and, after a bit of tut-tutting, she and I once again retraced the route,  eventually reaching the area where we had climbed away from the path, and which myself and Si had searched methodically and diligently 20 minutes earlier. Chantal took the easiest route back down to the path, using her tripod as a walking stick to steady her descent, and in less than a minute she spotted the lead lying in the bracken. There were dark mutterings about me and Si having had a mere “man-look” for the lead as we re-joined the path to catch up with the rest of the party…

Back at home Simon and Kate joined us all, and it was a rather noisy and lively early evening, with four excitable granddaughters, as well as a few loud and boisterous adults!

The family drifted away over the evening, starting with Keith Steven and Sherry heading for Leicester station at 5, and finishing with the Hands leaving at 8ish, but not until the girls had enjoyed bath time in Grannie and Grandpa’s big corner bath, and a tired Florence finally gave in to sleep after a busy day

The house was awfully quiet after everyone had left…

We’ve eaten chocolates, nuts, jelly babies and Christmas dinner, we’ve imbibed beer, wine, sloe gin and the occasional soft drink, we’ve played games and at least two of us (four if you include the dogs) have been on a couple of longish walks. The company that remain are slumped in front of the TV watching “EastEnders”, and so I have retired to the study for some peace and quiet, and, more importantly, to wish you all a very Happy Christmas.

Matthew, Simon and Kate joined us for dinner last night, on Christmas Eve, before Chantal went to meet Steven and Sherry’s train from London.  We all had a lovely evening chatting and playing “Best of British” board game. Personally I was enjoying carols and suitably festive music on Classic FM in the background, but my radio went strangely silent within minutes of Chantal returning with Steven and Sherry…..

Matthew stopped over, and he and I went on a dog walk this morning before we all opened presents. Matthew left just before dinner to visit a friend in Peterborough, Dad is in Bradford with my sister Ros, Ian, Svitlana and baby William are with Andree, and so just four of us gathered for the traditional beef and turkey at lunchtime – a wonderfully stress free number as far as Chantal is concerned.

Simon and Kate joined us for more present opening and a game or two this afternoon (they have given Chantal and I another version of UNO – we must have six varieties of this game by now!

Father Christmas has been generous – we’ve had lots of presents, some consumable, some playable, and I’ve had a lovely Christmas jumper from Bridget and Megan. Father Christmas generously subsidised an i-pad for me, and despite the limited time to play with it, I’m starting to get to grips with the Apple Alternative Technology.

Tomorrow the granddaughters arrive in force, all four of them, and as they are bringing their parents with them, we will have a houseful for a couple of days, although I will be leaving them all in the afternoon to visit my sister and her family in Kettering – Simon has volunteered to drive, and so I will be able to enjoy a glass of wine or two!

I was hoping to add a couple of photos to this post, but as they were taken on various i-phones, and no-one seems sure how to make the i-phones talk to my PC, the photos will have to wait for now.

We hope that you are all having as nice Christmas as we are. Seasonal Greetings to All!

It has been a while since I posted on the Oakstump, what with a pneumonic wife, and all of the stuff that went with it to keep house/dogs/work happy, and then Christmas preparations.  I’ll be dribbling out random posts as and when I get an opportunity and as and when I remember what we’ve been up to. I bet you all thought that the Oakstump is for your benefit, whereas it is in fact an aide memoir to remind us what we did, and when.

As an example , Ian and Svitlana have received a wedding anniversary card from us, just 8 months after the wedding.  We were in London with friends, seeing the Horse of the Year show, held every December. Our friends recalled meeting us at Euston Station after last year’s event, just after we had missed the train following the wedding.  We promptly diverted from our plans and sought out an anniversary card and first class stamp.  It wasn’t until we received a puzzled text from Ian that our friends realised that it was after a spring half term trip with their daughter to visit London museums that they met us at Euston.  We should have consulted the Oakstump.

Chantal is on the road to recovery, although still gets tired easily. Just for the Oakstump archives, since most of you were updated by e-mail while Chantal was in hospital, she was admitted to hospital after a chest infection became suddenly painful in the evening. We called “111”, the NHS non –emergency number, and a doctor called Chantal  to assess her, and promptly made a 10.30pm appointment for her at the Leicester Royal Infirmary in the city centre. She was eventually seen at 11.30 for a full and very thorough examination, and the doctor expressed concern that the pain had started quite suddenly, a possibly indicator of a clot on the lung, and made us an immediate appointment at Glenfield, Leicester’s specialist heart and chest hospital.

We arrived at Glenfield at about 12.30am, and, once we had located the clinic among the deserted corridors, Chantal only waited a few minutes before being given several preliminary tests, including an x-ray.  We then had to wait for a consultation with a doctor, either in a waiting area, or TV room – naturally we opted for the latter, where I promptly fell asleep in an armchair in front of a James Bond film.

At 2.45am a nurse (or some other medical person – I was a bit bleary) came to see us to tell us that it would be a while before a doctor was available, and so she had found a bed for Chantal. I was pointedly advised that it was a women’s ward, and so maybe I should go home? I did, and as a result was sleeping soundly while Chantal was being examined by consultants at 4am, and again at 4.30am.

Naturally I phoned Chantal as soon I was awake – she was waiting for test results, and she optimistically suggested that I visit that afternoon just in case I could bring her home. She phoned again as I was shopping, and I panicked when I thought that maybe she was asking me to come straight over to pick her up. I knew that my chain saw was in pieces on the kitchen work surface (on lots of newspaper, obviously) since I had just taken the chain to be sharpened. Instead Chantal was calling with a list of items to bring – she would be in hospital until at least Monday.

Most of you know the rest from e-mails – recovery was slow, and Chantal was eventually allowed out the following Wednesday, about 10 days ago.  During her stay I visited daily, joined by Matthew on one occasion, and we explored the hospital corridors, watched TV in the “patients lounge”, and generally chatted as I was given house-and-cat-keeping instructions.

It’s been good to have her back at home. I need to be managed…

It was the annual beer and pie festival at the Elephant and Castle in Thurlaston last weekend, always a favourite event. The landlord served about a dozen real ales poured straight from the cask, together with a couple of ciders and a couple of perrys, and there is a choice of six different homemade pies to choose from. Not surprisingly it is always an excellent evening, and once the first few ales have been sampled it is very entertaining. We just sample half a pint at a time, but with beers of up to 6% and one Perry, favoured by Chantal at 7.5%, the atmosphere becomes very relaxed and jovial. Seven of us gathered this year, arriving early on Saturday evening just in time to get the last table – the villagers must have been queuing at the door before opening.

On some years we have walked the couple of miles or so across the fields to the pub, and on at least one memorable occasion we walked in the snow of a clear and cold frosty night with sharp stars overhead. Not this year though. I had “surveyed” the route earlier in the day with Tia, and confirmed that it was distinctly soggy in places, with an inch of liquid mud along one unavoidable track. Fortunately some of our friends live too far away to walk or cycle, and so we were offered a lift and both able to enjoy a drink or two…

Richard and Chris kindly invited us back for coffee, and it was nice to continue chatting around their wood burner. We are lucky to have so many local friends to share such events with.

Some friends and I went to see Jools Holland at De Montfort Hall on Thursday.

Absolutely brilliant.

It was an evening of jazz, swing, boogie and blues, with even a hint of classical and some ska, all seriously foot-tapping stuff, with people dancing in the aisles (but not me….I don’t do dancing at weddings, and so I certainly don’t do dancing when I’m out enjoying myself) and singing along (I did catch myself singing, in the loosest sense of the word, a couple of times).

Joss Stone made an appearance for a couple of numbers – I’m not a fan, and I continue not to be a fan, but fortunately this brief break from the music that we had come to hear was brief. Ruby Turner sang some excellent lively numbers – I have never come across her before, a big lady with a big powerful voice perfect for the numbers that she sang. I will be looking out to see what she does on her own.

The highlight for me was part way through the performance, after Jools “requested permission” to remove his jacket and braces for easier access to the piano. What followed was quite a lengthy piece, with Jools’ left hand boogying away at the top of the keyboard, while his right hand beavered away at the other end to produces a lively bass beat accompanying the saxophones, trumpets, guitar and percussion of the band. This piece seemed to include all of the styles that Jools and his band play, morphing from jazz to blues, via swing and ska, and this was where a classical piece, which I recognised at the time, but have naturally forgotten, sneaked in, all performed to a fast lively boogie beat, loud, brash, lively and totally joyful.

If this piece had been played at the end, I’m not sure that the audience would have been satisfied with just the two encores that were performed. I’m sure that we will be there when Jools next performs at DMH, and next time Chantal has said that she might join us!

 As most of you will know, we are supporters of Hinckley Rugby Club, attending games regularly. Once a year to be precise, when our friend Richard’s company sponsors a match, and in return enjoys a table at the pre-match dinner. Richard not only kindly invites his close friends to join him at this meal, but also pays the bar bill (which, incidentally, decreases in inverse relationship with the increasing average age of the party…).

We had time for pre-dinner drinks as the chef prepared a about twenty large joints of lamb, and large dishes of roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, and vegetables. Chantal and our friend Lou opted to share a bottle of some sort of pink fizzy stuff, sensibly taking it outside before launching the cork.

The rest of us opted for beer, before settling down with wine as soup was served, and subsequently one of our party set to work with the carving knife, as we helped ourselves to the veg. Most of us cleared our plates, but we did manage to fill a couple of doggy bags, enough to enhance Lesia and Tia’s meals for a couple of days. And then it was time for the cheeseboard accompanied by port.

Excellent.

Oh yes – the rugby. Almost forgot. We all went out to watch, and Hinckley beat a Staffordshire team 22-7.

This was my second rugby match in a week. Kate’s Mum and Dad invited me to see Leicester Tigers play the previous weekend – Kate’s Uncle was unable to go, and so they had a spare season ticket. The seats were up in the most modern stand (which is all seating… should it still be called a “stand”?) with an excellent view, good for less experienced fans like me since it was easy to follow the game. It was a game of penalty kicks, with a 21-21 score after a last minute penalty by Tigers. According to the regular fans it was a boring match, but I thoroughly enjoyed it!

I was listening to Classic FM in the car yesterday, as I often do, and they played Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor. Some of us of a certain age cannot hear the dramatic opening introduction of this performance without being transported back to a Saturday night (or was it a Christmas show?)  a few decades ago. This is the piece that Eric Morecambe played, playing all the right notes. But not necessarily in the right order….

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7GeKLE0x3s

Classic comedy. With apologies to the younger generation who may not think so.

“Regular readers” will have read the post about the last visit by the Hampshire Tilleys, and seen the photos of the girls and us sitting on a log. Last week, a week after we took the photos, I took the dogs along the same routes, and passed the log again. It was taped off.

And there was a notice at the gate

Good job it wasn’t a windy day when we were all there the previous week…..

I don’t usually duplicate 365 posts, but I thought that I would today.

Poppies for Remembrance Sunday, these poppies growing amongst the stubble in the fields behind our home.

Later this morning Chantal and I will walk down to the village with Tia (Lesia is too old to sit in the cold for an hour) to join in the outdoor Service of Remembrance, standing, along with a few hundred others from ours and surrounding villages, on the grassy embankment that descends from the pub to the road, with the War Memorial and Garden of Remembrance on the far side. This year, the centenary of the beginning of the First World War, the service will be particularly poignant.

I was brought up in a small market town not far from where I live now, and as a Scout I paraded annually at the Remembrance Parade (wearing as many layers as possible under my uniform shirt for warmth in what was often a cold wind at the War Memorial). When the names of the fallen were read out in alphabetical order, the surnames were repeated over and over again, because many individual families had lost sons, fathers and uncles. Many of the families ran (and still run) local businesses and the names were familiar to me, linking past losses to the present time. We remembered them, and still remember them, as we do those who have fallen in more recent and current conflicts.

The Hampshire Tilleys stopped over last Friday night on their way up to see the Claire, Si and the girls in Leeds. The Friday stop was just dinner a sleepover, although there was time for a story.

Of course when the Granddaughters’ visit I have to be active and awake even before my morning tea, breakfasting and entertaining the girls, who won’t allow me to be my usual morning-grumpy self.

The family stopped over again on the way back home, arriving late on Sunday, but not leaving until Monday lunchtime, and so the girls were able to join us for a dog walk.

The girls decided to build an obstacle course, using, it seems, every available outdoor toy from the garden shed. They then retired to the study to write the instructions for the obstacle course using my PC and laptop (and the document saved for future use):

“Other Activities listed below:

• Hula hoop-try new tricks and test what you know
• Wheel barrow-be the first person to collect all the objects from the other side
• Swing –swing as high as you can
• Dodge ball-dodge the balls and catch the others
• Strap catch-catch the ball on your strap”

After dinner Megan and I attempted the obstacle course, under the strict instructions of Bridget, but unfortunately we were only half way through the activities before Daddy called out that it was time to go home. Which left an awful lot of toys in the garden to be tidied away. It’s what grandpas are for…..

Four years since Mum died, and so my family gathered at the Elms pub in Lutterworth for what has become known as Mum’s, or Gran’s meal. Matt travelled up from Bedford, but since he is busy preparing for his final exams he wasn’t able to stop over as he usually does. Simon and Kate brought my niece Megan, who is now studying medicine at the University of Leicester, and Dad brought his friend (and my ex-mother-in-law!) Edwina, along with her son Martin. As usual we had a lovely meal before the older folk in the party went back to Dad’s for coffee. A pleasant evening, and what has become a nice tradition to remember Mum on this anniversary.

A couple of months ago my petrol mower refused to start. Since it was a cheap-and-cheerful option that has been doing sterling service since we first moved in, I decided that it was time to wait until the end of season sales and treat myself to an upgrade. I found what I wanted at our local horticultural specialist, where I bought my chain saw, and who offer excellent service.

I arranged to collect it last Tuesday, after it had been put together, filled with fuel, and fully tested by the specialist retailer. The very nice lady there went through the operation of the machine with me (not particularly complicated, but it was all part of the service), and placed the manual in the grass box so that it wouldn’t get lost, before helping to lift it into my car.

I was keen to play with the mower as soon as I got home, and within minutes of unloading the mower from my car, the front lawn, overdue for a cut, had a nice smooth and level cut. I removed the grass box, now full of grass cuttings, to empty it. Then I remembered where the nice lady had put the manual…..

It could have been worse – I might have found it in the compost heap in several months’ time.

It was Simon’s birthday on Friday (29!! Where did those years go??) and so on Thursday night we joined Kate’s family, and several of Simon’s close friends at the Sharnford Arms – a Chinese restaurant attached to a pub just 2 or 3 miles from home. Simon and Kate are spending the weekend in Norfolk, hence the early birthday celebration.

Matthew was stopping over, before travelling down to Cornwall with friends on the following day, and so he was also at the meal. We had a really nice time, catching up with everyone’s news. We meet Simon’s friends at least a couple of times a year, and it’s nice to see them all, and keep up to date with their news, although I manage to keep track  at least to some extent thanks to me and Simon meeting weekly for lunch in Leicester.

It was a second full meal for Matthew and I – we had lunch at my local pub, walking down there with the dogs, where we lunched as lightly as we could, and so managed to find room for the second meal of the day.

We really do seem to be a family that lunch! Seems a good plan to me. A much better idea than Facebook…..

I’ve posted some photos from Canada in “Our Recent Photos” – I’ve tried to avoid those that have already appeared in the blog. A selection of Chantal’sphotos will be added in due course!

I’ve also moved the Canadian Blogs, which are now in chronological order in one post in “From Iceland to Oz”. This is a duplicate of the individual posts that were on the main site below, which I have deleted.

We spent a day with the Hands in Leeds last weekend – my first visit to their new house in Horsforth.  Andree joined us, and thanks to an early start we arrived shortly after 10am. Already Si and Florence had been to Saturday morning ballet, and Bess and Claire arrived back from a shopping trip shortly afterwards.

The new house is bright and cheerful, with a small garden, and with networks of paths through woods just a minute or so from the front door, which meant that dogs could come too! After a cup of tea, we explored the woods with the dogs, returning home via a circuitous route, and then headed off for a pub lunch. Claire was cooking a meal later, and so I was under instruction to have a light lunch. I abandoned the favoured large pie, half filled with beef, and half with chicken, and as instructed, opted for a much lighter meal. Mince and kidney suet pudding.  Well, at least it was a smaller portion than the pie would have been. We were able to eat outside, where Bess played in the play area, and Florence slept close by in the car. After 2 weeks of fizzy IPA in Canada, I was pleased that a nice local West Yorkshire cask ale, Saltaire Pride, was available. Chantal drove me back to Claire and Si’s.

We settled the dogs in the garden with a bone each, and sat down to play with the Bess and Florence, and to catch up with the family gossip. Tia had other ideas. She wanted to be with us, and so barked. And barked. And barked.  Once it was clear that she wasn’t going to settle, I once again set off with the dogs to explore yet more paths in the woods, returning to the house an hour or so later to find Claire cooking, Chantal and Si gardening, and Florence playing happily in the garden.  Bess had opted for the traditional post-pub lunch activity of a snooze. With company in the garden the dogs settled down with their bones, and I joined in with the task of pruning a very high and very prickly Pyracantha hedge.

By dinner time it was cool enough for the dogs to settle and sleep in the car, and we had an excellent roast meal. Afterwards it was clear that the girls had had quite enough of grown up chatting, and, quite rightly, felt that it was time for them to participate. Well, I am afraid that Grandpa Coops did get a little bit silly, aided and abetted by Grannie Chas and Daddy, what with clowning around, and making some most peculiar noises when the granddaughters pulled his hand, and everything got quite excitable. Its what grandparents do, you know. Wind up the grandchildren just before bedtime, and then go home….

We did have time for some storytelling, and to sing some good old fashioned nursery rhymes, with the assistance of Grannie Chas (Si admitted that he didn’t actually know some of the tunes!) before we headed back south again after a lovely day. See more photos in “Our Recent Photos”

While we were in the bathroom yesterday, getting ready for to travel up to Leeds for a day with the Hands, I complemented Chantal on her perfume. Turned out to be toilet descaler, about to be liberally dispensed in the appropriate place.

Maybe it’s not surprising that Chantal doesn’t often waste perfume by applying it just for my benefit.

Claire Si and the girls visited us last bank holiday. I know that this news is a bit belated, but I have been waiting for a selection of photos from Chantal. I am still waiting for a selection of photos fom Chantal, but since we are currently on our flight to Canada, I have nine hours to spare and catching up on Oakstump posts helps to pass the time.

The Hands arrived late on Sunday evening, and so Bess and Florence went straight to bed, allowing the grown-ups to catch up over a beer or wine. Om Monday morning we awoke to heavy rain, typical weather for an English Bank Holiday. This had been forecast and so I sought advice from a colleague with a young daughter, and so after breakfast we headed to a recommended soft-play area in Hinckley, although not until Grandpa Coops had read the girls a story. Grandpa Coops loves reading stories, and all four granddaughters humour him by allowing him to do so.

The play “apparatus” was quite extensive in variety and quatity, and the girls happily enjoyed themselves for over two hours while we grownups enjoyed a cup of tea and a cake at an adjacent table. We were fortunate to coincide the visit with a McMillans Coffee Morning fund raising event, and consequently “refreshments” were included in the admission price.

The venue also had a limited menu, aimed at children, but with adult portions, and so we dined there. Now it may surprise you to know that I have never tried a fish finger sandwich, and so this was an opportunity to do so. It was perfectly acceptable, but I woulodn’t travel far to find another one.

After lunch the girls had to be prised away from the play area – Florence was due for a sleep. There was still time for playing before dinner, after which the family headed back to Yorkshire. It was a lovely Bank Holiday –who cares about the rain?

We went to the theatre last Wednesday – to Kilworth House, the open air theatre at South Kilworth, about 20 minutes from us. It was Chantal’s first visit, but I have been before. The theatre is well established on the tour circuit, with an excellent reputation, and, apparently, it goes down well on an actor’s CV to have performed there, and in consequence many West End plays transfer to Kilworth.   It probably helps that the theatre is in the grounds of a 4-star hotel.  Theatre goers can enjoy a picnic in the grounds before the performance, as I have done before, but since this was a weekday evening this wasn’t an option on this occasion.

The theatre is not actually open to the sky – a canopy shelters the audience, and a separate canopy covers the stage, but nevertheless it can be a bit draughty. During an evening performance, as this one was, the audience can see the daylight fading, but since you are engrossed in the play (hopefully), you don’t really notice. In this performance, set in inner city America, it was a bit incongruous to have “noises off” when the local population of rooks cawed noisily as they settled into their night-time roost.

We went to see Sister Act – some of you may have seen the film starring Whoopi Goldberg. We thoroughly enjoyed the performance (not in the photo above – no cameras allowed!) although the general opinion among our group was that it wasn’t the best performance seen at the theatre. Nevertheless it was a nice evening, and most surprising, Chantal didn’t get cold, and I didn’t need to borrow one of the blankets offered by the theatre.

The Holoweckijs were up here for a few days last week, staying with Andree. On Friday night Daniel stopped over with us – I think that for a 12-going-on-13-year-old endless baby talk is of limited interest, and he was glad to be dropped off with his aunt and uncle. Daniel definitely takes after his father. He talked continuously from the time he said goodbye to Ian through to 11pm, when Chantal and I had to tell him that we old folk didn’t have his stamina, and we needed to go to bed. Don’t misunderstand me – there is no way that Daniel is boring! We heard all about his school, his friends, and his new flat, and it was very interesting!

On Saturday we all went on a dog walk across the fields at the back of our house. The combine harvester has been at work the previous day, and was parked up by the gate – the dew on the remaining wheat meant that there would be no harvesting until later. Chantal photographed the combine, and I photographed Chantal photographing the combine until she shouted “Get Out of my Shot!!”, and Daniel and I retired hurt to go and taste the nutty grains and see the flour inside, of the wheat which was still standing.

Daniel and I left Chantal to her photography, together with Lesia who is now on short walks, and   we walked with Tia to the next village, where there just happened to be a garden centre café offering fizzy drinks and ice cream (and a pot of tea and scone for me, and where Daniel showed me how to balance a half-full coke can on one edge so that it swings round to show the wind direction. Life is just one long learning experience.

The rest of the Holoweckis, including Andree, joined us for a BBQ later on Saturday. It was the first time that we had met William Holoweckyj,now 10 weeks old.  Chantal commented that it was a bit cool, and so I decided that it might be a nice idea to light the fire pit, and then we could have toasted marshmallows for pudding. By the time the Holloweckis arrived, the fire pit was lit and burning nicely, and Chantal was ready to cook on the bbq. It was when Chantal started cooking that the trouble also started. Chantal complained at length that smoke from the fire pit was going into the house, and so I closed the patio doors. Chantal then complained at length that smoke was getting in her eyes, which seemed to be the case no matter where the fire pit was located on the patio.  In the end I gave up, and Ian and I carefully lifted the burning fire pit down into the garden.

I went down to the end of the garden to chat to Andree and Svitlana, and both asked what on earth I had done to my hair and eyebrows. I had singed them while carrying the fire pit – I had been down wind. I was the only thing toasted – we never did get to toast the marshmallows.

We’ve finally dragged ourselves into the 20^th century (21^st century would be a bit ambitious) and purchased a gas BBQ. Chas spotted it in Aldi; a bargain at fifty-something pounds, and being Aldi it is likely to be reliable and good value.

A couple of Sundays ago, after a day of gardening, I decided that it was time to take the BBQ out of its box. It was 6pm, and we wanted to be ready to barbeque by 7. I emptied the box, carefully laying the parts on the garden table. And a garden seat.  And another garden seat.  As more and more parts emerged from the box, it became apparent that maybe cooking at 7pm could be a little optimistic, and so Chantal ceased her weeding activities to give me a hand, and in particular to assisted with the interpretation of the instructions.

We were provided with a helpful diagram, and initially all went according to plan, as we constructed what was essentially the skeleton of a barbeque, complete with wheels. It was when we got to building the top half that the trouble started. We had to bolt the tray where the cooking is done to the top of the legs – to be more precise the bolt had to be inserted into two small holes at the top of each leg. The only holes that seemed to be available were two large holes further down each leg. We soon located the smaller holes – facing the wrong way. The only solution was to dismantle what we had done, turn the legs through 90 degrees and rebuild.

Two hours later we had a fully functioning barbeque, just as well since we were both starving – all we had to do was connect the gas bottle. Since our hob in the kitchen runs off a gas bottle, we have two bottles – one in use, and a full one as spare, and I brought the spare one to the barbeque and went to connect the gas pipe, only to find that our bottles were larger than normally used, and designed for a different regulator to that supplied with the barbeque. Chantal would not entertain my proposal to cut off the BBQ regulator, and attach our spare large one, despite me assuring her that it would be fine.

We gave up, and I took the dogs for a walk while Chantal warmed a previously cooked chilli in the microwave.  By the time I got back, the sun was sinking in the west, and it was distinctly cool, and so we dined indoors instead of al fresco.

On Monday Chantal popped along to our local hardware store to buy a smaller gas bottle with the appropriate regulator-fitting.  “Why don’t you cut  off the BBQ regulator, and attach your spare large one?” says the chap in the hardware shop,  “It will be fine!”. “That’s what my husband said.” mutters Chantal, and that is precisely what we do, and we enjoyed a first class BBQ in the evening sunshine.

Incidentally, to whoever supplied the Strongbow at the June family do – thanks. It goes well with a BBQ.

We have also bought a new shower, complete with easy-fit fittings, perfect for the DIY enthusiast. We employed a plumber to fit it.

It was the Leicester Music Festival at Leicester Tigers ground last Friday and Saturday, and I was monitoring throughout.

It was quite a small affair. The event had a target of 15000 each day, but less than 5000 people attended on Friday, and 7500 on Saturday. Hardly surprising – the mix of performers was so varied that Labyrinth fans paid £50 to listen to a lot of Katie B and Sam Bailey, and kids who wanted to watch Saturdays, Union J, or Diversity had to be ushered out of the stadium before Tiny Templar or Professor Green started swearing at them. Old folk like me who quite enjoyed Billy Ocean, UB40, and (although not in my case) Kool and the Gang had to listen to an awful lot of rubbish from folk that we hadn’t heard of.

So what was my role? Well, it works like this. Tigers rent the ground to the promoter but Tigers employ consultants to monitor noise and to instruct the sound engineer to reduce the volume to prevent a breach of the licence. The trouble is that there is a second sound engineer in the “sound tent”, who works for the performer, and whose job is to increase the noise level for maximum effect. Although engineer 1 is in in overall control, engineer 2 is generally the most assertive, likely to “persuade” engineer 1 to step away from the controls.

My role, accompanied by a colleague, was to provide guidance for the Thursday night sound check, and take measurements both in the ground and at various residential locations outside of the ground to ensure that the volume specified in Tigers licence is not breached. With an assertive consultant my job is easy, but in this case the consultant and his team were very nice, but not particularly assertive.

The trouble started with Billy Ocean’s engineer. The consultants had provided us with a 2-way radio, and when the noise level breached the limit I knew that instructions were being ignored in the sound tent. I arrived there to find that engineer 2 (for Billy Ocean) had threatened engineer 1, who told us all (as best he could over the music) that this was a micky-mouse event and he was not going to risk his neck just to adhere to a licence.

I decided that some intervention was required, found a quietish spot to phone Tigers Management, advised that the licence was being breached, and suggested that maybe they should “have a word” in the sound tent. The Tigers events manager was suitably assertive, threatened to pull the plug, and the volume was reduced. We had the same scenario with the rapper Professor Green (which we expected), and Kool and the Gang. Surprisingly the engineers for Tiny Templar and Labrinth, both big names in the modern music scene, were very professional and worked with the consultant. Modern performers have grown up (career wise) in a regime of noise restricting licence conditions. I suspect that outdoor events were less common when the older performers started their careers, and in any case sound systems at the time were probably incapable of providing the power and low frequencies of modern systems, and so sound engineers had a free-reign.

On the whole I enjoyed the event. It was two long hot days, monitoring from 11am to 10.30pm. We did a lot of walking, especially since I was also monitoring a smaller festival of local bands on a park half a mile away. On the Saturday we walked another half mile and back to find some sun lotion when my arms started to burn (the nearest pharmacy only offered a £15 tiny bottle of factor 50 baby lotion!), and yet another half mile to the office to change the sound meter battery. And of course the monitoring involves walking in an out of the ground, and around monitoring locations.

It was certainly an educational couple of days. I had only heard of six of the 19 performers/bands in the festival, and of those six although I knew the songs, I would not have been able to attribute them to the artiste. I surprised myself by actually enjoying Tiny Templar, and I was briefly caught bouncing around to the Labrinth finale – in each case the engineers kept the volume down, and so we were able to return to the stadium and watch the show after just a short sound check. Since each was the last act we also had to be near the engineer’s tent in case it over-ran the licence deadline.

And then there was the language. Not that of Professor Green, but the language of youth used by my younger colleague. When he announced that Tiny Templar would be “Banging” I set the sound meter to display lower frequencies. It appears that “Banging” indicates that the singer is particularly talented and appreciated. “Wicked” was around when my kids were younger, and I was aware that this had evolved into “bad”, but describing a band that is exceptionally good as being “sick” was new to me. I did try this new language, stating that I had enjoyed Tiny Templar, who was so banging and bad that I was sick. This didn’t seem to be quite the approved vernacular for the occasion.

Although I quite enjoyed the event, on the whole I would rather have been in my own garden with a cold beer.

We visited the Hampshire Tilley’s last weekend – the main object of the trip was to see the girls annual ballet show, but obviously, with assistance of Bridget and Megan, we fitted in a lot more.

We both took the day off on Friday, to arrive in Chandlers Ford in time to meet the girls out of school. It was my job to drop the dogs off with our dog-sitting friends, and as I left Chantal remarked that we needed to buy some flowers for Lucy, and so on the way back home I stopped at the local village Co-op where there was a fine display of carnations for sale. Chantal was not answering either her phone or the house phone for advice on colours and so I chose the two heathiest bunches. They did not meet quality assurance approval by The Management – wrong flowers, wrong colours and just not good enough, and so when we headed south, it was via the Co-op where Chantal persuaded the lad at the check-out to give us a refund, and he had had to summons the manager to explain, in front of a lengthening queue, that the customer had been told by his wife that he had changed his mind, or words to that effect. So embarrassing.

We had an uneventful journey, stopping in Eastleigh to buy more flowers, and had time for sandwiches and a cup of tea with Lucy before we all walked to the schools to meet the girls.

Megan’s schools was the first stop, where the children stayed with the teacher until they had spotted their mum or Dad. Megan scanned the large group of waiting parents and suddenly grinned and shouted “There!” pointing to us, and being allowed to run to us to give Grannie a big hug. Next stop was Bridget’s school, where once again children were looking out for parents, and this time it was my turn for a big hug after Bridget spotted us and sprinted across the playground.

The next visit was to the school lost property office, and then to Bridget’s classroom in a fruitless search for a lost cardigan, although it was nice to see where Bridget spends her school day, and to briefly meet her (very young!) teacher. Megan was not impressed by this distraction, announcing “Hurry up – I’ve got some resting to do!”. Megan’s idea of “resting”, when we got home, did not, actually, involve resting. It involved the trampoline, grandpa and a skipping rope. I soon demonstrated my poor skipping skills, especially while bouncing on a trampoline, and we continued with the more traditional bouncing-as-high-as-possible, until I pleaded for rest, and eventually insisted on it.

By now Bridget had finished creating invitations for her forthcoming birthday event, on the computer in the study, and joined us outside, where the girls decided that Grannie and Grandpa’s faces were in need of improvement (in my case they were probably right), with the aid of face-paints . Megan painted rainbows onto grannie, before changing her mind and starting a more abstract design, and eventually settling on turning Grannie into a cat (at least that is what I think it was). Bridget was more consistent, spending time creating a Dalmatian, applying a thick layer of black and white paint over my wrinkles.

The girls were somewhat excited, which made arranging tidying up before bedtime, and settling them down with a bed time story a little challenging, and Grandpa had to be quite firm and fierce at times…. I was ready to sit down and relax over our evening meal once the girls were in bed.

 On Saturday we took the girls out for the day. I had been told we had been going to “Pepper Pig” theme park, and I had visons of a relaxing day watching the girls on children’s rides, while I enjoyed sitting in the warm sunshine. I was conned. The girls refer to Paultons Theme Park, about half an hour from Chandlers Ford, as “Pepper Pig” because this was the part of the park that they originally visited. They are now tall enough for the big rides, and so instead of a nice relaxing day, I was swung out of my seat on the pirate ship, dropped from a height on the Jumping Bean, catapulted down gradients and around sharp bends on the roller coaster, and got spun around while rising and falling, both forwards and backwards, on The Dragon (which made me distinctly queasy), as well as a few more gentle rides.

I quite enjoy roller coasters, or the pirate ship, but am not a fan of anything that spins, and so was not too disappointed when Megan proved too short for The Edge, a sort of giant spinning roller coaster. Megan, on the other hand, was very disappointed, having convinced herself that this would be the first visit when she would be tall enough, and it really wasn’t fair that Bridget had an extra ride. When Bridget and Grannie decided on a second ride, Megan and I headed for the Cobra roller coaster, which we had both enjoyed before (when Grannie sat behind us shouting “This is horrible, this is horrible…..”).

We picnicked under the shade of a tree, and went on most rides at least twice, if not three times, postponing the log-flume until late in the day. We got very wet. It was a hot day, and the girls, who had bought swimming costumes, spent almost an hour in the water park, a play area of cooling fountains and water sprays.

We had time for one last ride before the park closed. Bridget chose The Edge again, and so Megan and I headed back to the Pirate Ship, quite a walk, arriving just in time for the last ride of the day.

Sunday was the day of the girls Ballet School show in Southampton. Lucy applied the make-up at home, and they left mid-morning. Chris served the rest of is a fried brunch, and we followed Lucy and the girls an hour or so later, with Keith who had travelled down earlier. The show was in a theatre at Southampton University, and everyone at the dance school attended by the girls took part – about 200 in all, aged four to sixteen, with brief contributions by adults. The performance was a musical, “Batteries Not Included”, basically Toy Story with dancing, music and songs. It was brilliant, with all sorts of dancing, including tap and modern dance, as well as ballet. Lucy had booked front row seats – perfect. We were joined by Bernadette and Dave, Lucy’s parents, and of course by Lucy once she had got the girls ready for the show.

Megan made her appearance at the end of the first half of the show,and Bridget in the second half. Megan was a cup cake at a birthday party, and Bridget was an ice cream or so Grannie tells me – I thought she was a helper to one of the main characters. I think that I was so busy watching her dance that I didn’t see what she was. Megan appeared first, and by chance was dancing almost directly in front of us. She quickly spotted us, and smiled, but it didn’t distract her from her performance. Bridget’s position was a little to the side, but I think that she noticed us. I wondered whether I would recognise my granddaughters – they looked so different and grown up with their hair tied back and wearing make-up. I needn’t have worried – I spotted each straight away. I am convinced that the scenes with Megan and Bridget elicited the loudest applause – it certainly did from where we were sitting.

Afterwards the girls joined the rest of us for a picnic on a grassy area outside of the theatre, and we had a chance to catch up with Bernadette and Dave. Lucy and the girls had to leave us to prepare for the next performance, and we all left for Chandlers Ford a short time later and thanks to the coincidental World Cup final we had a quick and quiet journey home. Photos in “our recent photos”.

Our neighbour who organised the open gardens event last week invited all of the participants to her home last night, for tea, refreshments and cake in the garden, as a thank you for our efforts. Not surprisingly the conversation revolved around our community on the Lane, and neighbour Terry told us that when he moved onto the Lane 40 years ago, the Lane was known as Widows Lane, because of the number of ladies on the Lane who had outlived their husbands. The conversation then moved on to a cheerful prediction that the Lane could become Widows Lane again in the foreseeable future, and discussion of who the widows would be, and when, which naturally involved a comparison of the ages of the households along the Lane.

Apparently there is only one elderly person on the Lane, a gentleman of 90, and in fact most of our neighbours along the Lane are classified as “young” because they have only been retired for a few years. Those of us still working were not under consideration, since we are clearly barely grown up.

On Thurlaston Lane 70 is the new 40.

We joined four of our neighbours and opened our garden to the public last Sunday, in aid of Heart Link, a local charity that supports the heart unit at Leicester’s Glenfield General Hospital. I think that the neighbour who organises the event either had treatment there a few years ago, or has a relative who was treated there.

Since we had the annual family “birthday bash” the previous weekend (and we were the only participants in the event that are still working full time) I took Friday off for garden tidying purposes. It took two long days to reach what I felt was an “adequate” standard. We have recently purchased a jet-wash, which made a wonderful job of the patio, but I learned not to jet-wash any path with mud between the stones. After trying to clean the small crazy-paved path that runs behind the plants at the side of our garden I was covered from head to toe in mud, as were all the surrounding plants, which were still specked with brown during the open day. Oh well, it was a learning experience.

As well as being open for “inspection” each garden has a stall or similar to raise extra funds – plant sales, bric-a-brac, raffle, ploughman’s lunches, cream teas, and in our case gift cards. Chantal produced professional-looking gift cards from photos taken in and around our garden, suitably presented with an envelope and cellophane packaging, and sold 89 of them, all profits going to Heart Link. We weren’t sure what would sell, and so we printed four of each of about a dozen designs. We found that birds, particularly a robin, cows on Croft Hill (I took that one!) and a photo of our cat Muffin, with her big blue eyes, outsold all of the flower images, apart from poppies, and Chantal was kept busy printing and guillotining to keep pace with demand.

I think Chantal must have taken the photo of her card display above (with Andree and her friend, who spent most of the day with us and our neighbours) before the gardens opened for the day, since the garden was busy with visitors from shortly after opening at 10.000am, until just before closing at 6pm. After two days of intensive gardening I told Chas that the actual open day would be a relaxed affair, just sitting in the sunshine watching folk wonder around the garden, but I had forgotten how much people like to chat. It took me two hours to eat the ploughmans lunch that I brought back to our garden from three doors away. And of course Chantal was busy keeping the greetings card display stocked up.

The event raised almost £2000, no doubt most from lunches and cream teas, and we must have had several hundred people visiting. For much of the day cars were parked in all directions along the Lane, the line of parked cars stretching out of site towards Thurlaston. It wasn’t until the end of the day, just before closing, that Chantal was able to go and visit some of our neighbours’ gardens. She returned to recommend that I pop up the road to see Baz and Sue’s new fishpond. Well, Baz offered me a glass of wine while Sue showed me around the garden, and then Mike from the top of the Lane arrived and we had another glass of wine, and then all four of us had a glass of wine while drawing the raffle, before I wandered contentedly back down the Lane. It was perhaps just as well that, after a warm and sunny day, the heavens opened just after I got home, and we had a torrential downpour, forcing me to have a little sit down while waiting for the rain to stop before I walked the dogs.

(My greeting card contribution – cows on Croft Hill)

It was the annual birthday bash a couple of weeks ago – Matthew and Steven almost share a birthday, give or take a day or two, at the end of June, perfectly timed for a mid-year family get together, just 6 months after the other annual family event, at Christmas.

Christmas generally takes place over a week, as folk come and go to fit in with other family celebrations, but the summer event is a one day affair, with the whole family coming together at the same time – just as well that it is generally warm enough for the gathering to spread into the garden.

This year rain threatened, and then delivered heavy showers, and we erected the gazebo on the patio, over the patio doors, with people making use the kitchen, study, patio and garden, and in the case of the children, one of the bedrooms, depending on what the sky was delivering. If I recall correctly, there were 20 of us, including 4 granddaughters. Unusually I had two mother-in-laws in attendance – Dad brought Edwina, Lynn’s mum.

Chantal served a large bowl of chilli and a large bowl of lasagne on the garden table set up under the gazebo, quite snug during the gusty showers. The rain stopped in time for the children to play in the garden, ably assisted by the grown-ups, while Chantal cooked a barbeque. Kate supplied some excellent puddings, including my favourite – cheesecake. As the shadows lengthened we lit the fire pit, all sitting around it on the patio, chatting, and toasting marshmallows on a stick.

Claire, Si, Bess and Florence travelled back to Yorkshire in the evening, but not before all four girls had enjoyed bath time together, while some of us continued to enjoy a glass of wine around the fire pit.

The Hampshire Tilleys were still with us on Sunday. Chris went off on a bike ride, while the rest of us went kite flying in the fields behind our house.

Photos in “Our Recent Photos”

A week or so ago my niece Megan celebrated her 18^th birthday with a family Clay Pigeon shoot, a most unusual event to celebrate ones coming-of-age, but a celebration of which I heartily approved. I spent a significant part of my youth avoiding parties (and indeed a significant part of my adult life) but if my friends had had the imagination to celebrate in this style, I would have been happy to have joined in to celebrate it with them.

The family, which in this case was Megan and her friend, my sister Pauline and brother-in-law Rob, Simon and Kate, and Chantal and of course me (Matthew was celebrating elsewhere at a stag weekend) met at Sibbertoft, not too far from any of us. The location was essentially a grown-ups playground, with quad biking, tracked vehicles, archery, hovercraft, and on this particular weekend a display of vintage commercial vehicles, as well as the clay pigeon shooting, which was tucked out of the way at the edge of some woods.

    After signing in, we headed to the shooting area for instruction, and then spent a happy couple of hours (or in one or two cases happy once they had got over the stress of firing a real gun) firing at clays being launched from various directions after whoever was shooting had loudly commanded “Pull!”.

We each had 25 shots, taken 10 at a time. The first 10 were fired at clays launched diagonally across the field in front of the gun. For the second 10 shots the clay was ejected vertically from behind a grass bank, simulating a startled bird flying vertically upwards. The bird need not have worried – its chances of survival would have been pretty high. For the final 5 shots, the clay skimmed across in front of the gun, and had to be tracked before being shot.

None of us really disgraced ourselves, and Simon proved to be a natural, smashing quite a high proportion of the clays launched for him.  The time went really quickly for all if us, and for me it interesting to see a professional set-up after many years of the annual New Year Shoot at my friend’s farm.

More photos in “Our Recent Photos”

Last Sunday Simon and Matthew very kindly treated us to a meal out for Father’s Day – very generous of them, since they also treated their Grandpa and his friend Edwina, and naturally Kate was there too. Matthew arranged it, booking us a table at The Shires, a village pub/restaurant in Peatling Parva, just a few miles from home.

The restaurant offered a carvery or a choice of courses from the menu, and on Kate’s recommendation we all selected a starter from the wide choice available and I was certainly impressed by my deep fried brie (as usual I went for the healthy low calorie option). Most followed this by visiting the carvery although Matthew and I decided to choose from the menu – rump of lamb in my case.

A brief digression from the meal; there are certain meats that are often my preference when eating out, because they are not served at home, such as lamb (too fatty), duck (Chantal once owned a couple) and game, because for some reason flying free…flying free…flying free…DEAD is cruel when compared to being herded onto a lorry, transported for miles in noisy scary conditions, standing for a couple of hours in a strange  place with the smell of blood before being dispatched. If you have access to a butcher who buys from locally sourced and slaughtered meat, buy your meat there if you can afford it. We have friends who keep sheep and pigs on a small-holding and take them to a local butcher, with his own small slaughterhouse, using their own sheep trailer. Minimal stress. Chantal won’t buy this meat either. She has seen the animals, and consequently considers them to be pets…. That was a long digression.

Anyway, back to the Father’s Day meal. We all thoroughly enjoyed our meals, and none of us could manage a pudding. In fact few of us could manage the main course, and there was quite a lot of meat left over, which the restaurant obligingly packaged up for us in sealed containers to be taken home and frozen into smaller portions for the dogs, who are still enjoying meaty breakfasts a week later.

Simon and I had another meal together on Tuesday. Simon suggested that, as a change from our usual weekly lunch, we would have breakfast at the recently opened Frankie and Benny’s in Leicester’s Highcross shopping Centre. Naturally I opted for the Full English, whereas Simon chose Muffins, which actually turned out to be bagels, either which seem to be unnatural breakfast companions. The breakfast was perfectly reasonable, although another sausage would have been nice. Since Frankie and Benny’s have an American theme I should have known better than to order tea, which arrived as a tea bag on a piece of string, suspended in tepid water. For my second drink I ordered coffee. Fortunately the background music, which also had an American theme, circa 1960, was mostly drowned out by hammering and sawing from shop fitters in the adjacent unit. However we had a lovely time, enjoying each other’s company (at least I enjoyed Simons’ company – I assume that he enjoyed mine) and a substantial breakfast before returning to our respective offices.

The office syndicate has a won a share of the last Euromillions Lottery rollover!

£2.80.

Berween 50 of us.

Thats scuppered our early retirement plan.