When I’m Cleaning Windows

Up a ladder at the front of the house, bucket and leather in hand, I was not surprised to be addressed as George Formby by the next door neighbour, but with nothing noteworthy for me to peep at inside the house my mind instead wandered free and alighted on a couple of thoughts: first, my wife’s complaint that I do not clean the toilets fails to take account that quite a lot of what I was washing off the glass and white UVPC frames is actually fly faeces; second, my removal from every corner of every window of woolly chrysalis matter, at this time of year, could severely affect the moth population next spring.

Fleet Management

The Smart car has been in for repairs following an assault by a bus a week ago, its place in the fleet temporarily taken by a nice little Fiat Panda, but today, repairs completed, it was time to swap back, which meant giving my wife the Juke keys so she could get to work while I took those for the Panda, to be exchanged at the garage for the keys to the Smart, returning home ready to hand them over and get back those for the Juke, so that by the end of the day it had all become rather reminiscent of a 1960’s swingers’ party.

Geometry

Some people think they will never have any use for geometry, but if, like me today, you need to construct a cardboard steering wheel for a school make-believe pirate ship, it helps if you are handy with a compass and ruler.

He Ain’t Heavy

As the evenings cool the cats gravitate together for mutual warmth, with the black one often just plonking himself down in the bed on top of the white one, who just looks up uncomplainingly as if to say ‘he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother’; but at the end of the night it’s a two man job for my wife and me (too soft to disturb them) to pick up the bed and carry them through undisturbed to their sleeping quarters.

Cakes and Ale

Another literary heading, chosen to reflect a quiet day punctuated by the acquisition of some home-made cake from a neighbour’s Macmillan Coffee Morning fundraiser and the less philanthropic acquisition of some excellent real ale from the Blacksmith’s Arms, where we had our tea.

Ratios

My young student today was showing little enthusiasm for learning about ratios, somehow the relevance of mixing paint and baking cakes did not fire his imagination, however with prompting he did come up with a ratio more meaningful to him – the kill to death ratio in the Call of Duty video game; so that’s one to use in the future.

To The Lighthouse

The least said about the final leg of the Teesdale Way (6 miles from South Bank to Warrenby) the better as not even my low expectations were met by the dreary route, made worse by a footpath closure requiring 2 miles of path between the steelworks and the river to be replaced by 3 miles of the busy A1085 between the steelworks and the chemical plant, which kept the Tees exit to the North Sea well out of site until Coatham Sands, with its distinctive offshore wind farm, was reached; fortunately it was only another mile along the beach to Redcar where the excellent Seasons Café in the Beacon lifted my spirits with a wedge of citrus cake and a frothy coffee, a fitting reward for completing the 72 miles from Barnard Castle over the last twelve months.

Equinox

The transfer from the astronomical summer to winter is reflected in some fundamental domestic changes: the turning-on of the central heating to ward off the early morning and late evening chill; the return to Channel Four of late night live NFL, providing a stock of recorded sport to enjoy; and the change of favoured tipple while watching it, from chilled beer to a warming tumbler of Famous Grouse and Stones Ginger.

Deflated

While driving to work this morning I was taken aback to see a large red Virgin balloon loom large over the trees ahead of me; a couple of bends later it had shrunk somewhat, and by the time I cleared the tree line all that was left was a sadly shrunken skin alongside an upturned basket in an adjacent field, which only a couple of hours since dawn indicated a premature end to someone's flight.

Roast Dinner

My wife being a little under the weather it fell to me to produce a roast dinner, taking me a little out of my culinary comfort zone, but I just went for it and managed to serve up a presentable beef joint with roasted parsnips and potatoes, accompanied by peas, carrots, swede and gravy; one thing I did right was to sear the beef in hot fat, one thing I did wrong was not remove the batteries from the smoke alarm first.

Union Jocks

As the devolution dust settles, the Scots’ decision to remain in the Union is welcome, not least as the effect of cessation on the Union Jack, or more correctly the Union Flag, would have been disastrous, with the loss of the blue leaving it rather anaemic; I toyed with some alternatives incorporating the Welsh flag but fitting in that big dragon proved particularly problematic.

Working Week

Another split shift day brought an end to a busy working week that impinged on three mornings and two afternoons; it is all relative of course and pre-retirement these ten hours would have constituted just a normal working day at the senior management coalface.

Split Shift

My two maths tutor sessions today were split by an inconvenient three and a half hours, too long to hang around but too short to get much done once travel time was taken into account, but at least the learners both turned up, an improvement on my previous two scheduled classes when I ended up looking at an empty seat and four walls for three hours – good for preparation but bad for motivation.

Bowes Museum

I had not visited the inside (as against the grounds where we go each December for the excellent Barnard Castle Christmas market) of Bowes Museum for ages, and then I had been encumbered by two young daughters who needed most of my attention to keep them engaged and out of mischief (I think a children’s treasure hunt fact sheet may have been involved), but today, attracted by the ‘Shafts of Light’ exhibition of miners’ art, I was able to give my full concentration not only to the featured work of Norman Cornish and his like, but also the permanent collection in the picture gallery, which includes a couple of Canaletto’s, a Turner and an El Greco; I had to browse the rest of the stuff (silver, ceramics, furniture, fashion, textiles, and toys, some of the latter worryingly familiar) quite quickly, but did linger to take a close look at the iconic (literally - it is the museums logo) Silver Swan, an eighteenth century working automaton, and then lingered a little longer in the comfortable café over tea and scones.

Travelling Books

I enjoy the occasional travel genre book (a few good‘uns that come to mind are: A ‘Short Walk in the Hindu Kush’, ‘Seven Years in Tibet’, and ‘Hunting Mr Heartbreak’) but today’s travelling books did the journey themselves, in the mobile library van, to which I made my first ever visit during its 45 minute stop in the village; time enough to peruse the limited but interesting stock and make a selection, the pick of which was the autobiography of Chris Hadfield, the astronaut who gave us his rendition of David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’ from the International Space Station – now that’s what I call travelling.

Well Oiled

For once the oil tank was low at the optimum time of year, allowing a big order at summer prices that should see us through to the new-year, and today the convoluted delivery arrangements worked like a well-oiled machine: clear the tiled hall of furniture, cover the carpeted area with old curtains (that probably cost more than the carpet), put in place the home-made buffers to protect the walls and doors as the oil pipe snakes through the house, clear a route in the garden and barn to get to the tanks, and afterwards do it all in reverse – such hassle being another reason why it makes sense to fill the tank and get us well-oiled for the winter.

Last Cut

The first cut may be the deepest but the last one was eminently manageable today as I gave the rather parched-looking back garden what should be the final mow of the year; the grass box collected more leaves than grass, but at least that helped me tell where I had been from where I yet had to go.

Shildon

Today’s FA Cup tie led me to Shildon, home of the railways but down on its luck in recent years, hitting the news a year or two ago when the last bank in town closed up and moved out, but on my way to the match I noticed a brand new Costas Coffee on the High Street, so things must be on the up at last; however I was not to be tempted and reserved my custom for the old tea wagon in the ground.

Driving Jobs

Two driving jobs today, but neither remunerated: this morning required a meals-on-wheels delivery to get my wife’s forgotten packed lunch to her place of work; at the other end of the day Dad’s Taxi was booked by the boy for a pick up from a party, which just after midnight should have been double rate, but that still came to nothing.

Grammar School

Partook of staff development today that included a session on good oral and written communication, in other words better English, concentrating on spelling and correct use of punctuation such as commas, colons and semicolons, in order (amongst other things) to make complex sentences clear and unambiguous; naturally I paid close attention but can’t think of when I may need to put it to use!

Beer Money

Having completed an audit for a local voluntary organisation, I handed the signed accounts over today; there is no fee involved - it would only be beer money – but the Treasurer was very grateful and gracious enough to present me with six bottles of artisan beers from around Europe, which in a way just cuts out the middle man.

Re Decorating

Applied a final coat of paint to the ceiling and woodwork in the utility room today as I reckoned the previous coat, applied 28 May, was probably dry by now.

Dinosaurs and Blackberries

On a fine day it was back on the Teesdale Way Path, starting at the Tees Barrage in Stockton, but the aim to get all the way to Redcar was ambitious and I soon moderated my plans to reaching South Bank station, which at least gave me scope to linger in a couple of unlikely spots: the Teesaurus Park was unexpected but weirdly impressive with an array of large steel fabricated dinosaurs tucked away amongst the trees, tough enough to withstand urban youth, if not their graffiti; the other unscheduled stop was in the industrial wasteland of East Middlesbrough on a narrow path between the A66 and the railway line, where I stopped to harvest a stretch of brambles, filling my (by now empty) lunch bag with squidgy blackberries necessitating the use of the last of my water to rinse my stained and sticky hands.

Chicken in Raspberry Sauce

Tonight’s planned dinner of chicken in barbecue sauce hit an early snag with the discovery that the stock of Magners Cider was exhausted, a situation not wholly unconnected to my daughter’s presence over the summer, leaving just a few cans of Kopparberg available, which would have been fine if they weren’t flavoured with raspberry; however as the alternative was a walk down to the pub and back (the return potentially subject to considerable delay) I took the chance that the fruitiness would barely come through all the soy sauce, mustard and ginger, and slopped it in anyway – result A OK.

Pitch Invasion

I’ve seen a lot of football at a lot of grounds and very often heard players, referees and just the general play described, indeed addressed, as (although usually in cruder terms) excrement, but today at Darlington RA’s FA Vase tie we had the real thing on the Brinkburn Road field of play; thirty minutes into the game the referee’s attention was drawn to some poop on the pitch prompting him to halt the game and call for a club official to get out there with a scoop, but as the embarrassed groundsman hurried off to his shed an enterprising fan came to the rescue with his empty (plastic) pint pot to do the honours, a pitch invasion that for once sped up rather than delayed play.

Wolf Hall

Today I completed reading Hilary Mantel’s Man Booker prize winning ‘Wolf Hall’ (the excellence of which chips away at a personal prejudice against their judgement) which I found an interesting counterpoint to ‘A Man For All Seasons’, Robert Bolt’s play, studied for my O-level English Literature and so still ingrained in my brain; the latter portrayed Sir Thomas More as a bit of a hero and Thomas Cromwell as an upstart and a villain, whereas Wolf Hall shows Cromwell’s humanity as well as his ruthlessness and makes More out to be a bit of a pious hypocrite, which only goes to show that while history is written by the victors, anyone can have a go at historical fiction.

Baked Off

Apparently while 5 million people tuned in to watch the live England v Norway match last night, nearly twice as many watched the Great British Bake Off instead, and although I watched neither (preferring the delights of an FA Cup replay in Bishop Auckland) it was the Bake Off that was on the timer to record, however before I could settle down to watch it tonight, Radio Five Live started the sports report with an amusing mini-feature on the contrasting viewing figures which appropriately reflected the excitement generated; despite being well practised in the art of avoiding football scores in advance of Match of the Day, I was unprepared for a GBBO spoiler and failed to block out the name of this week’s evictee (fortunately, as it happens, no great surprise).

Charity Case

I dutifully put out my Great North Air Ambulance service charity bag for collection this morning, but it was still on the doorstep after lunch so, it being Wednesday when my wife is home, I suggested we take the bag to their depot/shop in the Newton Aycliffe industrial estate and call in for a coffee at the similarly located Jackson’s Café - I know how to treat a girl on her day off; she was game so we found the depot and while browsing (it’s no use just taking things to charity shops, you need to buy from them as well) we spotted a large suitcase similar to the one my daughter set off to Mongolia with but arrived there without (and is still waiting for), so we snapped it up foe just £2, “just in case” she needs a new one.

Pens

I like to write with a nice pen and I have a couple of favourites: one was acquired while searching the Disney store in Orlando circa 2000 for a souvenir that was neither useless nor tacky, it meeting both requirements as its Mickey Mouse credentials were well disguised within a stylish design that housed a Cross biro; another, which I’ve had even longer, is a Papermate that I bought due to its then revolutionary ability to defy gravity and write uphill, even upside down; however they are both high maintenance and today buying a refill for each left me with little change from £10, but at least I can fondle Mickey’s ears or write on the ceiling whenever I like.

Normal Service Resumed

Home alone today, which with the new academic year commencing will be the norm, and appropriately enough normal service was resumed with a bit of housework – washing, hoovering (ceilings not floors), mopping (that was floors) and shopping – around which I dipped into all four books currently on the go; the feeling of transition and annual renewal persisted as I received a regular set of annual accounts to review, as well as this term’s schedule of tutoring work, and all of course as Life is a Sentence rolled over into its second year.