Christmas 2005

Location : The Dairy
Time : 2053
Drinking : Grolsch
Listening to : Roger Sanchez on my gorgeous new metallic blue i-pod mini, I'm in love, how did I ever cope without one of these ?

I paid a flying visit to Yorkshire over the 21st & 22nd, prior to working the 4 earlies over Christmas & I'm so glad I did cos Mummeh was on cracking form. I knew it was a good omen when I made my best ever time up there, 3.5 hours flat door-to-door. Didn't even need the usual concoction of Red Bull & Pro-Plus to keep me awake on the journey.

Arrived to find Mummeh's place looking beautiful in bronze & blue, very impressive given that she has single-handedly unpacked & arranged the house in a little under 8 weeks. Bloody well done you.

Retired to beesies after oohing & aahing over all the decorations & bemoaning the fact that they were all 'much better than mine'.

A fairly easy day followed, comprising of reading & a little light shopping. Not light as in volume but looking for a pewter standard lamp. Unsuccessfully as it turned out, however, we now know what we want having seen what we don't want.

Mummeh has, to my delight, a comprehensive range of mountain/mountaineering books & she's the only person I can visit & not feel guilty about spending an entire day reading.

After braving the biting cold we felt justified in curling up with the moggies to watch War of the Worlds. How naive we were. Mum disappeared into the kitchen, promising to return with a mug of tea & a warmed puff pastry mince pie.

She returned much more quickly than I had expected, looking visibly agitated.

It must be said at this point that Mummeh doesn't do panic. In all the time I've known her (quite a long time) I've never seen her hysterical.

'I don't know what to say' she said as she looked at me sprawled comfortably in an armchair.

Thinking there was a hiccup on the mince pie front I reassured her

'Don't worry if you don't have the puff pastry ones, shortcrust will be fine' I soothed.

'The only thing I can think to do is panic' was her reply.

Which threw me a little.

'Towels !' she suddenly commanded. 'Go get towels !'

I still wasn't sure why, but she said it in a tone which didn't brook argument so I raced up to the bathroom to fetch a sheaf of freshly laundered towels. I followed her into the kitchen wondering if we were expecting a happy event. To find the kitchen 3 inches deep in scalding water.

Turns out the hot water pipe under the sink had split.

I baled whilst she rang her insurance company to obtain the services of an emergency plumber.

I overheard one side of the conversation amidst the sounds of gushing water & scalding flesh.

'Hello, I have an emergency, my kitchen's flooding.'

'No - I don't know where the stopcock is, I've only lived here 2 months.'

'Yes - I appreciate that if I could turn the water off it would help but as I said earlier, I don't know where the stopcock is.

'No - I can't go look for it.'

'Because I'm on the phone to you.'

'You're going to put me through to the emergency line now ?'

'Who are you then ?'

'The call - handling centre ? Of course you are.'

'No, tomorrow evening is not acceptable for a plumber to attend.'

'Ok then, send one tomorrow evening, by then you'll have a huge insurance claim on your hands'

She was then put on hold & had soothing muzak played to her ... Handel perhaps ?

During the muzak & in a stroke of genius, she dialled Doreen from her mobile. You will of course remember Doreen from 'I measured it with my eyes' & other such classic quotes. I am rapidly becoming very fond of Doreen.

Doreen likes to do her own household DIY, she is also great in a crisis.

She arrived in less than 3 minutes & sailed into the kitchen with all the majesty of a galleon in full sail. Removing her shoes & rolling up her shirt she proceeded to grab the pipe & quell the flow. Mummeh had by now turned off the boiler meaning that although the water was still coming at full force, it was at least cold rather than skin peelingly hot.

As she grappled with the pipe she barked at me ...

'Stand behind me, pull that kickboard out from under the sink, put your face on the floor & tell me if you can see a tap.' It's testament to Doreen's force of character that I obeyed unflinchingly.

In the meantime Mummeh explored the croft which is a little room underneath the house containing the gas boiler & other such boring but necessary household bits & pieces. She turned taps this way & that, whilst enduring a cold shower, periodically enquiring if it had 'stopped yet ?'

Finally, some 35 minutes after it had begun, the water was finally staunched when Doreen turned an insignificant looking screw close to the pipe under the sink.

Sodden, the three of us surveyed each other dolefully. Putting an arm around Doreen's shoulder I said 'So, Doreen, how are you ? Happy Christmas by the way'

(Quick break from typing whilst I listen to Da Rude's 'Sandstorm' which brings out the Y-chromosome in me, whilst I'm listening to it I can't type, or do anything else for that matter)

Waving the plumber goodbye, (he couldn't find the stopcock either, which cheered us somewhat) Mummeh & I thankfully sank into position ready to watch War of the Worlds. Alas, it was not to be. Despite the video wheels going turn-y turn-y & the tv & video both being switched on, Tom stubbornly failed to appear on the screen. In a moment of inspiration we realised the tv was not connected to the video with the scart thingy - pah ! Who needs man-magic ?

A quiet day followed in which the most energetic thing we did was to take a turn around Peel Park & to construct some kitty hammocks. Clancy allowed himself to be placed into the hammock & enjoyed it immensely because he is an boy. Hazel, who is an girl, feigned terror & leapt from the terrifying object which was hoisted a whole 30 centimetres from the floor. Recent reports indicate that she has found the courage to sit on the hammock when it is on the floor.

Henry & I headed off into the night, bound for the M1.

As I turned east-bound onto the M62 I received the following text from Mummeh.

'Want a giggle ? Have found stopcock. Ho ho ho'


And so onto Christmas day & early turn.

You would think people could manage without the Old Bill for one day of their lives. Apparently not so. This telephone call provided an illuminating glimpse into somone's married life.

'Come arrest me before I kill my wife'

Sure enough, when Plod turned up, he had smashed a slate chess board over his wife's head. I'm guessing he didn't get the X-box he was hoping for. And the really tragic thing about this call - it was made at 0730 in the morning.

I don't plan to work over Christmas again if I can help it.

After 4 days of earlies, and the obligatory copious eating & drinking I was seriously in need of outdoors time. After collecting Barley yesterday we headed off to my favourite park, Bushy for some very bracing r & r.

Look Mummeh, Bushy was blue & bronze too.










Today was neddy time.




Hannah had already been exercised when I arrived which left CB & Woody. The usual course of events with 2 horses to exercise is to ride CB who is very well-behaved & to lead Woody who is slightly less so. Just recently though Woody has been a little unpredictable. He possesses a sizable buck & has been using it of late. Call me daft but if he was going to muck about I figured I had more control if I was on board rather than leading.



We set off into the frozen Surrey woodland & as is always the way when one is expecting problems, both neddies behaved superbly. Milky pointed out that it may have had something to do with the warning I issued to Woody who tried to bite me as I mounted. It's true, I did threaten to 'kick the sh*t out of him' if he bit me, but I thought it was best if we understood one another from the outset.



Come on Barley


And in closing, these shots are for Mummeh, to back up what people keep saying about Christmas ... it's for the kids isn't it ?











I hope that wherever you are you've had a lovely Christmas & have a great New Year's Eve. I'll doubtless be watching drunken numpties on CCTV kicking the living crap out of each other.

Peace on Earth ? Quite possibly.

Peace in Kingston town centre ? Unlikely.


Cx

ps. Hello to Creaky - got your card thanks & the number from V, will call after nights.

Take one turkey


The Christmas market is flooded with celebrity cook books at this time of year.

Here’s my take on Christmas dinner.


Prepare sprouts, potatoes, carrots, place in cold water.

Consume one glass of champagne.

Take one turkey, wash, pat dry.

Heat oven.

Put turkey in oven.

Place oil for roast potatoes in hot oven.

Smell burning 20 minutes later.

Discard burned oil.

Place more oil for potatoes in oven.

Consume second glass of champagne.

Put potatoes into heated oil, reminding oneself to turn & baste them to prevent burning.

Smell burning 30 minutes later.

Turn & baste burned potatoes.

Baste turkey.

Put sprouts on to begin traditional hour- long simmer.

Place chestnuts in oven.

Remove burned potatoes from oven, cut blackened bottoms from each potato, salvaging non-carcinogenic bits.

Drop one potato, unheeded, to floor.

Step on same potato, barefoot, thus perfecting technique of mashing potato through toes.

Hurriedly lift right foot to inspect developing burn & simultaneously place left foot onto sticky lid of ‘pigs in blankets’ (dropped unheeded earlier)

Hop across kitchen floor, shaking left foot to try & discard lid, kick lone, uncooked chestnut underneath washing machine.

Hear loud explosion from oven.

Decide chestnuts are ready.

Put carrots on.

Begin to prepare gravy, reminding oneself to turn it down to simmer.

Smell burning 5 minutes later, discover gravy has black bits in.

Decide to sieve gravy to remove lumps.

Forget to place gravy receptacle in sink.

Sieve good gravy down plug, left with black bits & congealed gravy.

Drink another glass of champagne.

Serve meal & enjoy.

Happy Christmas,

Cx

Mummeh got me a tree !

It's here ; Forest: Nairnside, Inverness-shire, Scotland

Which means of course, I have to go find it now.

MilkyNZ, I haven't taken a piccy of my Christmas tree yet, so here's another one in the meantime.

I love trees - me (was that right MTM ?)



Off to Mummeh's for a short visit now, back soon.

Cx

This time last year I was utterly miserable

I had returned from a fantastic holiday in NZ with absolutely no intention of acknowledging Christmas in any way, shape or form.
In actual fact I was hoping to hide in NZ & not come back at all.

It was no one thing causing me heartache, more a sequence of events which when taken together seemed utterly overwhelming.

My Gran had made her feelings towards me clear by failing to acknowledge me with a card for the 1st time. I had received some news which even though it shouldn’t have, had knocked me for six. My personal life was in turmoil. I was nursing painful links which were doing me no good. And I was strongly drawn to someone who was unavailable. If I told you I spent a lot of time listening to ‘O’ by Damien Rice you can probably surmise my mood.

The icing on this emotional cake was receiving a Christmas card from the mother of my 1st boyfriend – M. This in itself is nothing unusual, we have swapped cards without fail since I first met M, some 19 years now (god that’s scary to type) I was with M for 5 years & will admit to you lot that the last 18 months of our relationship were spent with me wondering how to tell his mother that we were over.

In the end, she wasn’t surprised at all – people always know don’t they ? And she cheered me up no end by saying that just because M & I were no longer, there was no reason for us to cease contact.

I’m rambling. The point being that usually she fills me in on a little of M’s news, you know the kind of thing ‘he’s engaged, he’s married, the 1st child’s just been born’ etc etc. The usual pattern of life. I usually receive each snippet of news with equanimity, pleased that a decent bloke is enjoying his life. Last year’s card was a little more detailed & included reference to his canny property investment, resulting in a North Yorks farmhouse, wife, 3 kids, a pony & chickens.

A PONY ? A PONY ?? WHAT ???

Hang on ? Wasn’t that meant to be me ?

All of a sudden (possibly because of the mention of a pony) I had cast myself as the wronged, badly-done to woman. This of course was nonsense. We weren’t right for one another & he was yearning for a family when we were both very young (We were both 21 when we separated after 5 years)

Had I received the card any other time of the year I think I would have read it & thought nothing more of it but arriving as it did when I was wobbly, it did untold bad things to my psyche.

Everywhere I looked, handsome couples were cosying up to one another whilst snowflakes fell on their cashmere hats & settled on their glossy eyelashes (alright I’m exaggerating but you know what I mean)

I recall standing, weeping silently, in Clinton’s like a total fool, reading all the ‘Blue Without You’ teddy bear cards. Those sodding things should be put where the likes of me can’t reach them.

Bill may recall a text conversation from this time, the week before Christmas.

Bill ‘Hello – how are you ?’

Me ‘Not good’

Bill ‘Can I ring you’

Me ‘No’

Bill (quite reasonably) ‘Why not’

Me ‘Can’t answer’

Bill ‘Why not’

Me ‘Don’t have the energy to talk’

Bill ‘Ok – tell me what’s wrong by text then’

Me ‘No point’

Bill ‘Go on, you never know, it might help’

Me ‘Well, my 1st boyfriend… 1986 … blah blah blah blah blah … etc etc … ad infinitum …pony … unavailable … lonely … hate Christmas … love New Zealand … pony … no life here … didn’t want to come home …life is going nowhere … everyone has someone but me … and I shouldn’t even care … but I do … 1st Christmas Gran has blanked me … etc etc etc

Bill

Me ‘Bill are you still awake ?

My overwhelming feeling was one of loneliness, which is odd given what great friends I have. When I told Weeny what a lousy time I’d had (afterwards needless to say when it was too late) she chided me by saying ‘I’m 5 minutes away, you need never be lonely’ and it’s true, she is. Thing is, the distance was irrelevant. My 3 closest girlfriends are all within a 30 minute drive. I don’t know about you but when I’m fed up I withdraw, convinced people won’t like me (not unreasonable, when I’m down, I don’t like me) I don’t feel I can face the world or people until I’ve staged enough of a recovery to at least wash my hair.

My plans for Christmas Day were to ride in the morning & spend the day at home alone. I told Bloo of my plans. Luckily for me Mr & Mrs Bloo wouldn’t hear of it. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would be spending the day with them in Fleet. Funny thing is, once I got there, the thought of being alone scared me & I ended up staying there for 3 days. I was totally & utterly spoiled, got very drunk & asked far too many personal questions of my hosts, all of which were answered in their usual good humour.

Me ; ‘So how EXACTLY did you two know that you were right for each other ?

It must have been with many a sigh of relief that they waved me off.

After Mr Bloo liberated me from the bathroom, where I had been trapped for 20 minutes.

Where am I going with this ? You may well ask. If you’ve stuck with me for this long you’re either interested to delve into another person’s psyche or you’re bored at work & have internet access.

I model myself on The Lovely Angie when it comes to organisation. It is Angie who sends the hand-written thank you notes, Angie who pops photos of her kitties in the post to me for no good reason, Angie who finds funny newspaper clippings including dogs or neddies, Angie who forwards the weekly funny Round Robin e-mail (that will stop now, come to think of it, now that she’s going to be busy with flowers all day)

And crucially, the first Christmas card I ever receive is always from Lovely Angie. I’ve always promised myself I would be more like Lovely Angie if only I had more time. Which is ludicrous, I have more time than anyone I know. I’ve always fallen woefully short on my self-imposed comparison.

But.

This year, by the 11th of December & I had posted all my packages and all my cards. Please read that line again – go on, indulge me – I’ve never been able to write it before.

Yesterday I went to the Post Office, lovingly wrapped packages clutched in my sweaty grasp & reluctantly handed them over to a man who assured me they were safely bound for distant shores (10,000 miles away to be accurate).

The feeling of well-being I have from knowing that everything is done cannot be over-estimated. I know I’m easily pleased but let’s remember you’re reading about a person that enjoys vacuuming with a Dyson purely to see the chamber fill with dust.

In the next week I have something to look forward to every day.

Tomorrow = Day off, hunting for sheepskin kitty hammocks (don’t ask)
Some outdoors time
Evening = Christmas drinks & a meal with our lovely Guv’nor.

Tuesday = Riding during the day.
Evening = Olympia horse show in the evening.
For me Olympia is Christmas.

Wednesday = Early turn.
Evening = Cinema to see ‘March of the Penguins’

Thursday = Early turn.
Evening = with Lovely Ang.

Friday = Early turn.
Evening = Ice-skating & candle-lit Carol concert at Kew Gardens.

Saturday. = Day off. Haircut.
Evening = Work Christmas do at v.posh hotel.
I shall be very well-behaved.

This year I am working Christmas Day, Boxing Day, The Day When Briggsies were born, New Year’s Eve, New Years Day & the next 5 days after New years Day & do you know ? – I don’t mind at all. Apart from the financial renumeration that comes with working 5 Bank Holidays the difference is this year …

…I’m looking forward to Christmas.

If, for any reason you’re not, my thoughts are with you.

Cx

Eric Tanner QGM : Barrister & Solicitor

Lifeboat crewman, butcher's apprentice, copper, farmer, kennel hand & I've probably missed a few along the way ; Eric's a bloke who can turn his hand to pretty much what he fancies.

I recall a conversation with Michelle when she was spending the night with a group of girlfriends. Talk turned to their partners & the girls asked each other 'If you weren't with your partner, which of your friends partners would you choose ?' Each woman went for Eric & it's not hard to know why.

This is a man I once caught unawares, on his knees, air guitar clasped firmly to his loins, thrashing out a rendition of Clash's version of 'Little Donkey'. He had given it his all to entertain his daughters & I rather sneakily stood in total silence at the doorway until he finished. I then said quietly, 'So this is what you lot get up to when Michelle's at work is it ?' I don't think I've ever seen anyone laugh as much.

It's the same man who passed his exams in England to be a barrister & solicitor only to be informed that NZ didn't recognise his qualifications. So he set about taking them again. And again. Until he passed. Hooray.

I recall Eric sitting at the dining room table, concentrating amongst the noises of family life, muttering to himself, 'I don't understand any of what I've just read ... what the hell ... ?' I used to go off to work thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have the dedication Eric had.

This is a man who shoots possums in the nude.

A man who stands with a gooey smile on his face watching piglets cavorting but who will calmly & efficiently slaughter that same piglet and turn it into a link of sausages (the proper twirly, looped up ones & everything.)

A man who turned to me after the fire brigade left after putting out the fire that I started which nearly destroyed his family's home & livelihood & said 'Don't worry - It'll make a great blog entry'

A man whose most oft-used refrain when things get sticky is 'When I was a merchant seaman...' I didn't realise until knowing Eric for a whole year that this was a wind-up & he'd never been a merchant seaman.

A man who loves his Inky-Stinky gundog (who isn't - a gundog that is)

A man who 'can't squat' .

When Eric came to Old Boys last year he drove my car for a couple of days. My insurance company wanted to know what he did for a living. I explained that he worked for the council, assisted with registering dogs, controlling strays, offering advice to errant owners and so on. 'We'll put kennel hand shall we ?' said the pimply school-leaver on the phone. It's typical of Eric that he guffawed uproariously when I told him & now refers to himself in our conversations as a kennel hand.

In one of our rambling conversations (is there any other) Eric once told me that the Diana fountain in Bushy Park had strong ties to his family. Knowing that Eric's folks are comfortable I assumed he meant that they had in some way contributed to the build or sponsored the design. 'How are you linked to it ?' I asked naively. 'We always stand in front of it to have our photos taken' he laughed.

I resolved to get a picture of it next time I visited the park.

My opportunity came last Tuesday on a clear & golden December evening & I got these shots for you Eric.

This first one is the classic calendar shot



But I prefer this one, in which the swans are quite clearly showing what they think of their statue.



Congratulations Eric and well done Michelle for taking on such a busy year to give Eric the time he needed to study. Once again you two have proved your stickability.

Cx

Time to get the electric blanket from the loft

Make a cup of tea, get yourself comfy, this is going to be a long one.

So much for updating twice weekly.

Where were we last time ?

I think I had just been to Yorks to help Mum move at the end of October.

Firstly, with reference to the title, the electric blanket was placed reverentially on the bed a couple of weeks ago. There are some people who claim they like to get into a cold bed & warm it up gradually. There is a name for these people - sick.

In conjunction with the electric blanket the spare duvet was coerced along with the existing one into the duvet cover. The entire thing now has a weighty quality ensuring no movement in bed is possible. Going to bed has now become a religious experience. The best thing about blankie is that I can still leave the bedroom window open because I like the fresh air on my face but the rest of my body resembles a small nuclear explosion.

At the beginning of November, on this man’s recommendation, the MilkMan & I went here



on the shores of Windermere. On Mum's advice I've always favoured the North end of the Lakes for summer visits but Windermere in November makes perfect sense.

We were treating ourselves to a few days r & r to make up for working Christmas & New Years. The place was old, the furnishings exquisite & the service discreet & professional. What bliss to eat a meal in a venue where the staff don’t interrupt every 20 minutes to ask ‘if everthing’s alright ?’ If it’s not – I’ll tell you, how’s that ?

It was marvellous.

We did some of this.



Note MTM, walking pole & compass just to irritate you. Pole, not stick.



Is it lunchtime yet ?

We climbed one of these.





Those of us who didn’t know where we were had to do this.



Those who did, could afford to relax & do this.



All in all, the break in the great outdoors made me feel like this.



Shiny, happy people.

Anticipating a grim return journey on the M6 we stopped at the services & I introduced Milky to one of my passions – talking books. Ian Rankin was the author of choice & the particular book was ‘Blood Hunt’. I really enjoyed it & I know Milky did – he’s never been quiet for that long before.

After a quick turnaround I found myself in Dublin for the weekend, celebrating Cocky’s birthday with her sister Helen & 7 more friends. With some good fortune we found ourselves in the gorgeous Bewleys Hotel, Ballsbridge





Briggsy, Pam, Cocky, Rae.



(I remembered the name Piggy !) We were 10 minutes away from Lansdowne Road on a weekend when Ireland were playing the All Blacks at home. Dublin – a city never short of people looking to enjoy themselves was further enriched by thousands of happy Kiwis.



On the Friday night we headed out to explore & found ourselves at a Cuban restaurant beginning dinner at 1015 pm. I discovered that night that I do like Cuban cuisine but don’t like mango margueritas. I will happily admit to being very pleased to see my bed.



If only all hotels had feather pillows, feather duvets & crisp white cotton bedding the world would be a happier place. I’ve never slept in feather bedding before but have since written to Santa.

This guy travels with me wherever I go, it amused me no end to find the maid had placed him thus.



On Saturday we did what every visitor to Dublin has to do & hopped on a tour bus to go to the Guinness factory. I last visited a couple of years ago for Lovely Angie’s birthday but it’s well worth a second visit. The building itself is lovely, lots of girders & glass,



the exhibits thoughtful & interesting & I had a gorgeous seafood chowder here.



We then went to the stunning Gravity Bar



which offers unrivalled 7th floor, 360 degrees of Dublin but (get this Ang) left after one complimentary pint & headed off to the shops. I can safely say the shops, or at least the ones we found ourselves in) were awful … a seething mass of humanity & clothes in displays which as Helen put it ‘resembled waterfalls’ due to the churning mass of human hands grabbing at them.

Those of us who were exhausted (me) headed back to the hotel for a very quick 20 minute nap. Feeling hugely refreshed I met up with the others in the hotel lobby



Lynn, Helen, Cocky, Rae, Lynn, Avril, Briggsy

& at Avril’s suggestion we headed off for a cocktail at the next door Four Seasons Hotel. (50 million euros to build according to a local cabbie) This happened to be a stroke of genius on Avril’s part for the Ice Bar in the Four Seasons was simply gorgeous. Only the prices & our booking at our Thai restaurant Diep Le Shaker (or the ‘People Shaker’ as Cocky insisted in referring to it all weekend) put us off staying the entire night.



Pam, Avril & Cocky in The People Shaker

After a delicious meal we set off into Dublin looking for fun. I forget the name of the first pub we went to but we knew it was going to be lively when the cabbie said ‘Are you sure ?’ Turns out it was too packed to get inside so we stood freezing outside quizzing the locals & trying to find somewhere to dance until the early hours. After a couple of false starts our guide John turned up trumps & led us to a very swanky club which is allegedly Colin Farrell’s club of choice.

None of the people we spoke to the next day could understand how we had come to be admitted to this very exclusive club. Delving into our alcohol-smudged memory banks we re-called that we had entered by a fire-escape & not the main entrance thereby avoiding the extortionate entry fee. Result.

Easily the best thing about visiting Dublin this time was the total no-smokng ban in public. I didn't realise how much smoke ruined a night out until I woke up on both Saturday & Sunday mornings wondering what felt different. The it occurred to me - no smell of smoke in my hair & on my clothes. I didn't have the hangover I deserved on either morning either, which makes me think smoke must be a contributory factor to feeling rough.

Ireland has very wisely embraced a total no-smoking ban whilst here in England our government has opted for a half-arsed 'no smoking where there's food being served' ban. I speak from first hand experience when I say the pubs & clubs in Ireland are doing a roaring trade, so any of this nonsense about pubs going out of business is just that - nonsense. I also know of several friends who say they only smoke after having a few drinks, if they weren't allowed to, that would help hem too (I'm aware that sounds fascist - never mind.)

I digress, back to the night out, I had a fantastic night cavorting & assume everyone else did too ?

After a good breakfast the next morning we headed off to our respective parts of the world agreeing that next time it would be Prague for Rae’s 40th.

On my next set of rest days I fulfilled a long-held ambition & dragged Milky off here







to the Natural History Museum. I wasn’t disappointed. Emerging from the tube at South Ken had me slack-jawed. I turned to Milky & demanded

‘Have you been here before ?’
‘Yes – why ?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me how utterly gorgeous this building is ?’
‘I was seven’ – he replied calmly.

The inside lived up to the promise of the exterior. I'm with Murray in finding natural objects more fulfilling to photograph than man-made ones. On this occasion though I'm happy to contradict myself. Everything about this building sums up what's laudable about English heritage & culture.



We got there shortly after opening, stayed until closing & still didn’t manage to see everything. My personal favourite was the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition. £6 seemed a little steep until I saw the exhibition. Dozens of photos were displayed on wall-mounted back-lit plinths & in a smaller seated hangar-type enclosure a display of the best images from the last 20 years were running on a loop to a background of recorded natural sounds like cicadas & loons. Entrancing.

We left the building at dusk, which was a great time to appreciate the ice-rink. The trees around the rink had been draped in lights & they reflected off the rink like huge strings of shimmering pearls. A lovely day.

Nights is easily my favourite shift, partly because the work is more interesting, partly because the management don’t appear, but mostly because nights is when I have Barley. This means my routine is as follows … Leave work, take Barley for a 20 minute run in the freezing cold, go home, switch on electric blanket, make Weetabix with hot milk, get into toasty bed at 0700, get up at 1300, ride between 1400 & 1600 then back to bed by 1800 for another hour’s sleep. Riding with Barley adds a whole new dimension to the pleasure. The horses exercise Barley in a way I never could & there’s nothing finer than seeing Barley running flat-out alongside the horse. Speaking of which …

Happy Birthday Barley.



7 years young as of 26th November and only today a lady saw her whilst we were out riding & said ‘Ah he’s lovely, how old is your puppy ?’ People always think Barley is a boy ? Barley's present was a chicken dinner - it didn't last long.

Horses make life good.



I have ridden 6 days from the last 10 & each day has been different. Some have been misty & still.





Others have been clear & sharp. This was the sunset I was treated to coming off Mickleham Gallops on my favourite boy CB. This alone was worth getting out of bed for.



Thursday was blustery & dark. I love riding in the Winter, somehow it’s more cleansing & I’d rather wrap up against the cold than try & keep cool. I rode the mercurial Hannah. She has been off work for a while after a nasty fall & I entered her stable today with the warning from Kerry ‘Sorry she’s so wet, I had to hose her off after I found her sweaty from galloping around the field.' Hmmm.

We set off into the dark, oppressive, blowy Surrey woodland & my legs soon ached from hanging on as she spooked at every gremlin, real & perceived, lurking in the hedgerow. Such was her mood that 3 times she spooked at Barley who was dressed in a fluorescent coat.



How she could pretend to be surprised at a dog who could be seen for 5 miles I really don’t know. I found myself singing to her to calm her nerves (& mine). I often sing if I’m nervous whilst riding. Horses are very perceptive & can tell when a rider is holding their breath. Singing forces me to breathe in & out. Today’s chosen classics were ‘Rivers of Babylon’, ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Land of Hope & Glory’. I can’t think of a single compilation CD on which you would find those 3.

I have returned from every ride this week feeling calm, happy & physically & mentally invigorated. A small price to pay for losing a few hours sleep. I cannot urge everyone strongly enough, whatever ails you, go outside, do things with animals. That reads badly. You know what I mean.

5 days off now :)

Cx

Moving on up

I had been telling Mum for the past couple of months that I could definitely help her move on the 28th October and so, amazingly, given all the vagaries of the moving process Mum swung it for that day. Only for my tiny brain to comprehend that if I did it on that day it would be straight after night duty & on no sleep.

Should you ever decide to help someone move on little sleep, please, allow me to save you some time & just repeatedly slam your hand in a car door – it’s easier.

I left a very busy control room at 0200 on Friday morning, handing over to the Silver Fox who was busy guiding a prisoner through the drink drive process in custody. ‘Blow, keep going … keep going …keep going.’

I allowed the sounds of a night time nick in full swing to fade behind me as I piled into Henry & set off towards the M1.

After an impressive performance from Henry we arrived, delay-free in North Yorkshire at 0700. Declining Mum’s offer of tea & breakfast I flopped into bed & was asleep at 0720. Mum knocked on the door at 0815 to inform me the removal men would be arriving at 0830. If you’ve done nights you’ll know how I was feeling, if not, imagine going to work after a 24 hours long haul flight.

After persuading the moggies they would be happier in the bathroom, I started wrapping all the vases & pots in bubble wrap & lashings of packing tape. I thought it showed commendable confidence in me that Mum let me tackle the ‘fragiles’ then it occurred to me that at that stage of the game she didn’t care what I was doing as long as I was doing something. Meanwhile, after initially saying she wouldn’t have time to clean, Mum went from room to room, packing, cleaning & directing operations.

The removal men duly appeared, bluff, cheerful youngsters who worked solidly for the next 11 hours. They even remained on speaking terms whilst manoeuvering a wardrobe down an angled staircase, something which reduces me to a paroxysm of ‘inanimate object’ rage.

With scarcely a backward glance we left Mum’s cosy stone cottage & headed off for pastures new. Mum had described her new house to me on the phone but hadn’t really done it justice. The previous owner had left it in a condition where she could unpack & not have to do a thing.

He had left expensive light fittings, matching lamps, paintings, mirrors & wooden carved kitties. Going one step further there were a row of neatly labelled envelopes on the window sill, containing all the keys for the house & directions for ‘bin day’ as well as the mobile number of the local window cleaner. As if that wasn’t enough, upon entering the kitchen Mum found teabags & milk so that we could get on with the most important ‘moving-in tradition’.

What a gent, & not even gay, as he was moving out to live with a woman. Take a bow Mr. _______

The house is bright & airy & despite being in a less rural location than the last one, makes up for it by having commanding views over the hills towards the city skyline.

As Mum observed, the view is so far-reaching that ‘you can see the weather before it arrives.’

The best thing about the house was it felt like ‘home’ immediately, something evidenced by the cats who, upon being liberated from the bathroom, promptly walked around exploring. If you have cats, you’ll know that the moving process usually reduces them to slinky, nervous, wild creatures who will move from room to room on their bellies. Clancy & Hazel marched around, talking loudly, tails held aloft, checking & approving each new pile of boxes.

At 8pm we headed down to Doreen’s, aware that we were starving & intent on abusing her hospitality.

‘I measured it with ma eyes …’

Mum has often told me about Doreen & I knew I was in for an experience. It’s at times like these I wish my blog came with sound. Doreen is Maltese & has lived in Yorkshire since 16 so her accent is the most startling mix of rolling Mediterranean consonants & flat Yorkshire vowels.

If you’ve seen ‘League of Gentlemen’ Doreen’s speech cadence is very similar to that of Papa Lazarou.

She regaled us with stories from the moment we arrived to our departure & eyes twinkling she would frequently ask us ‘You taking the pee from me or what ?’

In the candle-lit gloom of her front room, she motioned to a piece of furniture & asked Mum if she liked it. ‘I can’t see it’, was Mum’s response, so Doreen put the ‘big light on’. Once we could see the piece in question Doreen explained that she had bought it at auction. She then found she could not fit it in the corner of the room she wished to because her bay window seat was too large. ‘S’ok though, cos I jus sawed through my window seat to make it fit.’

‘But Doreen’ I asked somewhat naively, ‘didn’t you measure it before you bought it ?’

‘Aw yeah’ came the breezy reply ‘I measured it with ma eyes.’

My other favourite was when she told us how, whilst watching tv one evening, she became aware the security light in her back garden was going on & off. Sneaking a look outside, she saw her neighbour cleaning her fence in the dark. She was activating Doreen’s security light by waving her arm in the direction of the sensor.

Using her front door to remain unseen, Doreen crept into her garage & the next time the security light was off she flicked the main power switch off with the explanation …

‘She’s not using ma bloody electricity to do her cleaning.’

Mum & I left, & headed for home, giggling in the dark & occasionally saying to one another …

‘I measured it with ma eyes.’

Excellent.

On Saturday after a good sleep we did some gentle unpacking, made one room box-free & took Barley for a leg stretch around Mum’s local park. It was a memory-fest for both of us ; Mum muttering to herself ‘& that’s where George, David & I used to go’ whilst looking at the shelters around the pond whilst I remembered sulking when being brought home from the circus at the same park because I had lost my beaded purse.

By all accounts I was a thoroughly unpleasant child to take anywhere, sulking because I didn’t want to stop playing to go anywhere in the first place, then sulking on the way home because I didn’t want to leave.

After a non-hassle heated up meal we lit the fire on Saturday evening & had a thoroughly pleasant time re-hashing family history. Or to put it more accurately I read one of Mum’s Everest books whilst Mum talked at me. Only joking Mum, it was a lovely evening. One by one the animals crowded around the fire until they were all prone & gasping & we agreed it was too hot & turned the fire off, much to the their dismay.

Sunday morning saw us moving pots & tubs from Doreen’s garden after another quick leg-stretch at the park & at midday I headed off for home, via Rutland to see Malcolm, Justine & the new arrival.

I arrived in Rutland at 3 & after a swift hello to baby & Malcolm, Justine & I were just in time to catch the end of her horse William’s jumping lesson. William is being exercised by a young girl whose name escapes me but she’s doing a great job with him & William looked a treat, full of energy & going beautifully on the bit.

On the journey back from the stables Justine & I discussed motherhood & everything that Justine said confirmed to me that I’m not ready now, if ever, to have my life disrupted to that extent. I know after 4 weeks of disrupted sleep it’s exhaustion speaking but Justine’s précis that ‘her life has been hi-jacked’ sounds a little too scary to me.

After a quick dog-walk, a cup of tea & a catch up on news, I left them in peace & headed for Surrey.

It says much for our roads that the journey which took me 3.5 hours at night time took me 7 hours in the daytime to get back. I wasn’t happy. It was with relief that I opened the door to the flat & dumped my luggage. Looking around I was amazed by what I saw. The flat which I had left in disarray at 0200 on Thursday was now immaculate at 2100 on Sunday ?

My mind struggled to explain what had happened. Tidy, cleaning burglars ? Seemed unlikely. The truth came out after a chat with Milky. Over the weekend we had talked on the phone & hearing lots of noise at his end I had asked him what he was doing ?

‘Just filling a sink’ came his reply & I envisaged him washing up at his place. ‘Would you mind not doing it until we’ve finished talking ?’ I asked him ‘I’m struggling to hear you.’ I felt like the world’s biggest bitch as it dawned on me that I’d asked him to stop cleaning & tidying my flat & he’d never said a word.

On Tuesday we headed off for some badly-needed outdoors time. Leith Hill was beckoning. I lived there some years ago & feel it’s pull at this time of year when I need to be with trees. Autumn has been spectacular so far & because we haven’t had a frost yet the trees have kept their leaves. Temperatures don’t dip below 16 in the daytime & last Thursday we hit 22 which isn’t bad for June, let alone October.

We walked all around the hill, accompanied by a mad, galloping Barley, or Barley Pie-Thief as she shall henceforth be known after stealing my lunch. It was a wonderful day, I could feel the mental kinks being ironed out & I revelled in happy memories of Gaynor & our walks there.



Trees are good



Do you want that pie ?



Colours to ease the soul.



Secret flat-cleaner & Pie thief


We rounded off the evening with a dinner in a delightful old country pub & then headed off for the M25 to take Barley home.

On Wednesday evening the girls came to mine for food, drinks & a catch up. The whole gang were in attendance, Weeny, Trudes, Cocky & the Lovely Ang aka Artichoke Lady & we calculated the last time we had all been together was 16 months ago last July at the now extinct Barn Dance. Cocky & I also realised that since I moved in, she hadn’t seen the flat, so it made sense for my place to be the venue.

I escaped any responsibility or effort by serving up heated party food. I reasoned that I didn’t want to be in the kitchen whilst they talked, otherwise I might miss something. Serving champagne distracted them from noticing that I hadn’t cooked anything.

We had several reasons to celebrate ; Weeny’s new job & Lovely Angie resigning from her job in which she ‘makes obnoxious French people wealthy’ amongst others.

Lovely Ang has taken the brave step, prompted by health concerns after her very frightening DVT episode to resign from her well-paid but stressful job with ridiculous travel to take up floristry. It says much about her that after only three Saturdays at a florists, they have offered her a full-time job. She cheerfully admits that she will find the huge difference in pay daunting but is adamant that her health comes first. Well done you.

And that’s about everything, Stan’s just texted me to say Murray’s told him to get on my case about not writing, so Murray … this one’s for you hippy.

On the agenda

Hotel in the Lakes early next week,
Dublin for Cocky’s birthday at the end of the week.

Have a great time, whatever your plans are.

Michelle – Get well soon.

Cx