Sunday Dinner

After three days on the road, eating on the hoof, being back at home meant looking forward to a nice home-cooked Sunday roast dinner; and that is what I got - at the Ship Inn at Redmarshall with three meats, Yorkshire pudding, veg and mashed potatoes with lashings of gravy.

Motorways

Since moving from the North West twenty years ago I now rarely motor down the M6 motorway from Manchester to Birmingham, but last night and twice today I covered the ninety long, dreary and crowded miles three times – to stay overnight at my step-mum’s, take her to visit my dad in hospital, then return her home, but well worthwhile to give them some time together; at least it made my later route via the M62 and A1(M) seem a positively pleasant run home, with relatively few cars out in the mist over the Pennines and up the Vale of York

Visiting Hours

A day characterised by killing time between multiple visits to the hospital began with tea and a bacon sandwich at Morrison’s supermarket before visit number 1, then with the ward closed for lunch I spent an hour sipping more tea on a bench in the grounds (“mild for the end of November” remarked one passer-by), returning briefly for visit number 2 to see my Dad off to surgery before going into Northfield where I got more tea and a Panini at Sainsbury’s café (and a couple of books at a charity shop), back in time for visit number 3 which saw him back on the ward, but for me lasted only until the next mealtime when I took the opportunity to revisit Sainsbury’s for some lasagne and a milkshake (having had my fill of tea), before returning on automatic pilot for the final visit number 4; fortunately I am good at waiting around and doing nothing provided I have a book and a newspaper puzzle page to work through.

Rubery Great Park

Rubery Great Park is the name of the fun spot in SW Birmingham where I am staying overnight while my old dad gets his bad leg looked at by specialists, and adjacent to the well-appointed Premier Inn are a range of attractions: cinema, bowling and bingo, in addition to a range of eating places, from which I plump for Frankie & Benny's - lively and noisy (especially with a birthday on the next table that requires Cliff Richards to issue congratulations at full blast), but good food for the price; once fed I resisted cinema, bowling and bingo and returned to the hotel to phone home, get a cup of tea, and watch TV from my bed.

Taxing Conversation

Experienced Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs’ approach to customer service today in trying to correct my tax code, which involved a ten minute “conversation” with an automated voice that insisted any problem was clearly nothing to do with them and if I looked at their website I would be able to understand where I was wrong in any assumption to the contrary; perseverance only resulted in the following message: “I am sorry there is no one available to deal with your enquiry at the moment. Goodbye”.

Safeguarding Adults

Spent a morning at a training session to give me the basic awareness of the types of abuse inflicted on some vulnerable adults – how to recognise it, and what to do about it (in my role thankfully just tell someone else) – which involved watching some revealing videos and hearing some disturbing case studies; and while such as these have led to inquiries, reports, legislation, guidance and invective from the government, where is the cash to back up such fine words and good intentions?

Abigail’s Party

An unexpected treat on BBC4 tonight with Mike Leigh’s ‘Abigail’s Party’, a classic comedy of manners, social sniping and cringing embarrassment from 1977 with a tour de force performance by Alison Steadman as Beverly, a character that seemed to reappear thirty years later, older and a little wiser, as Pamela, the mother and mother-in-law respectively of Gavin & Stacey.

Watts

I got back to the gym today after a two week layoff with a stiff neck, and eased my way back with some low level resistance settings on the machines, noting in passing that I was generating 35 watts on the rower and 55 watts in the exercise bike, both considerably less than that produced by the solar panels (even in yesterday’s November fog); a fleeting idea of using an exercise bike to boost the ‘feed In tariff’ was quickly scuppered by the calculation that I would need to pedal for four days solid to earn £1.

No Prizes

I rarely partake of raffles but having paid only £3 to get into West Auckland’s second round FA Vase tie against the splendidly named Shaw Lane Aquaforce, and seeing quite a small attendance, I thought the odds were worth a punt - and came up quite close, missing the second prize by just one number, which was closer than West Auckland who were four goals short of a win; and at tonight’s cricket club quiz we had lucky numbers come up either side of us, but again no prize – and not much success in the main event as we finished seventh out of nine.

Connected

A week after the solar panels went up they were finally connected as 70 metres of armoured cabling was threaded round the perimeter of the house and garden, through five walls, on its way from the barn roof to the main distribution board at the front of the house; by the time it was all done darkness has fallen so the only power flowing was going the other way as the simultaneously installed lighting in the barn was switched on to see what was what in there.

Money Laundered

A few weeks ago, at a presentation night at Sedgefield racecourse, I used the only banknote in my wallet, a twenty, to pay for a round of drinks costing less than a tenner, but when I returned home and emptied my pockets I found only small change, leading me to curse first the barman for short-changing me and second myself for not even noticing; however tonight, out for a meal with friends, I noticed a rustle in the breast pocket of my freshly washed and ironed shirt, eased out a wan, rather flat, folded over, ten pound note, and silently mouthed an apology to the racecourse barman.

Books for Boys

Visited an interesting exhibition at the Palace Green Library at Durham University linking the World War I centenary with literature produced in the preceding decades (both in Britain and Germany) aimed at developing the ‘right’ moral attitudes and encouraging an adventuresome spirit in the future foot-soldiers of the respective empires, made possible in Britain as the 1870 Elementary Education Act vastly increased child literacy and provided fertile ground for the fiction of RL Stevenson, John Buchan, H Rider Haggard, Arthur Conan Doyle, Erskine Childers and the like, and of course for the seminary ‘Scouting for Boys’; the old volumes on show were attractive to see but untouchable in their glass cases, with the most unexpected exhibit being Baden-Powell’s camp fire blanket (more of a biblical robe) complete with prototype badges sewn by his (literally Lady) wife.

Auld-fashioned Football

A rare Auld Enemy encounter these days, but Scotland v England was, in my youth, a regular and meaningful fixture, especially when I was living north of the border in the seventies, and two of them spring immediately to mind: in May 1972 I was at a hostile Hampden to see England win by a single, scrappy (Alan Ball?) goal, and in February 1973 I was in a roomful of Scottish students watching on a black and white TV as England ungraciously marked the Scottish Football Association’s centenary by beating their hosts 5-0; tonight’s televised game brought another England win in a game most remarkable for its display of some old-fashioned British football values – fast pace, proper tackling, no diving, no feigning of injury – combined with some modern one-touch play that brought some top class goals.

Scaffolding Mystery

Last Wednesday, while no-one was home, scaffolding for the solar panel installation inexplicably appeared in our inaccessible back garden, and today, job completed, it similarly disappeared while I was out at the shops; how they got in and out remains a mystery.

Xmas Cometh No. 2

A week nearer Christmas and the stores’ mini-feature length adverts are in full swing with the John Lewis effort featuring the boy and his penguin the pick of the crop being both clever and touching; I had some animal welfare issues with the penguin but apparently it is just very good c.g.i. that that puts it on the bus and in similarly unlikely locations.

Journey’s End

In early 2011 I began the ‘along the library shelf’ reading journey, aiming to select and read a library book from 26 authors new to me whose surnames began with each letter of the alphabet, in order from A to Z, and after four years I have finally completed it; overall it has been successful in introducing variety in my reading in terms of genre (venturing into historic / period fiction, horror and biography), authors (in particular encompassing a higher proportion than normal – 11 out of the 26 - of female writers), and perhaps most telling, in geographical setting (going well beyond the staple of the UK and USA to include West Africa, Argentina, China, Japan, the Middle East, Hawaii, Mongolia and Iceland), so successful in fact that I may just start over and do it again.

Ups and Downs and Ins and Outs

A day spent mainly in as the solar panels went up and the rain poured down on the poor installation guys, to whom coffee went out often to keep their spirits up; it meant I couldn’t get out to shop, so tea was brought in from the Indian take-away, which went down a treat.

Ivy

The erection of scaffolding to the barn, ahead of tomorrow’s installation of solar panels, provided a small window of opportunity after finishing work this afternoon to access the roof and remove what I thought was a bit of the neighbour’s ivy; once up there the vast amount of greenery and the tenacity with which it clung to itself and the masonry was a bit of an eye-opener, which was just as well as soon it became difficult to see much in the fading light and falling drizzle, but eventually all the tiles and much of the parapets seemed clear, although a chunk of the garden had disappeared under a mound of tangled stalks and leaves.

Impatient Outpatient

A drive to Manchester to see my Dad, now 89 and with mobility newly impaired by an uncooperative knee, which under doctor's orders must not bear any weight until it is checked out by a specialist; unused to frailty he makes a poor invalid, still shuffling around the house on a zimmer, bemoaning instructions not to climb stairs or drive his car, and even trying to self-propel his wheelchair like a demented Ironside.

Poppies

Armistice Day, 100 years after the start of World War One, and the final ceramic poppy of 888,246 (one for each British military fatality in that conflict) was placed at the Tower of London to complete what even on TV looks a stunning and moving display; I am pleased to say one of the poppies is ours, and it can be for my great-uncle Thomas Edgar of the Lancashire Fusiliers (one of the 888,246 fallen heroes) whose medals are currently in my safe-keeping.

Lost in Translation

Today, needing to know the value of a tugrik, the monetary unit of Mongolia, I opened up Google on the Hudl, but thought I would emulate the smart-arse on the Google talk advert and just said “Google, what is the exchange rate for the Mongolian tugrik”, which generated two interpretations on the screen for me to choose between: one was spot on and gave me the rate of £0.00034 to the tugrik; the alternative was “what is the exchange rate for the Mongolian to Greggs”, the answer to which may be useful next time I want to buy a sausage roll in Ulaanbaatar.

Xmas Cometh No. 1

As Hallowe'en recedes, fireworks fade, and Remembrance becomes a thing past, the way is open for the Christmas run-in, and while visiting Matalan, armed with a 25% discount voucher, my wife and I made our first concession to the season by succumbing to the dubious charms of the Christmas jumper; as a result I will now be indispensable at yuletide quizzes, being able to name Santa's reindeer (all nine including Rudolph) anytime, merely by glancing down at my chest.

Well Kept

FA Cup first round day usually entails a trip to Victoria Park to see Hartlepool United make their entry into the competition, and all too often their exit as well; but not today as they beat non-league East Thurrock United by a comfortable 2-0 that would have been more without the brilliant performance of the visiting goalkeeper who made a string of great saves, was named man of the match, and was generously cheered off by the home fans at the end.

Tail of Woe

The white cat's tail is broken at its tip and so tends to flop about a bit but the rest of it is unruly enough for the whole, demonstrated this evening while I sat drinking my cup of tea and giving him a stroke, when he gave my empty cake plate, balanced on the arm of the sofa, a hefty whack with the aforementioned appendage; as I moved quickly to catch the crockery he, startled, moved even quicker in a northeast direction across my chest and neck, via the back of the sofa and away, leaving me with a lap full of steaming tea and two puncture wounds to the neck, but with the tea set still intact.

Well Certificated

The nagging doubts in the back of my mind that there was some error in the boy's excellent GCSE results were finally put to rest as he received his certificates at tonight's celebration of achievement at the school, and as a bonus he picked up a gift voucher for 100% attendance, and a badge for his Duke of Edinburgh silver award; this latter was confirmed by the assessor as won in the worst conditions he had known in his 20 years involvement, with the three expeditions suffering, respectively, monsoon rains, blizzards, and blistering heat, which at least provided variety.

Waterstones Watershed

Passing Waterstones in Darlington I glanced, as ever, in their window only to find a complete absence of books, triggering a tumbling of thoughts: thought one, it being bonfire night, was that I had slipped into Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 without noticing; thought two was they had closed down without telling anyone; thought three, which eventually struck home, was that bonfire night is the obvious time to create your window display of books for Christmas, a mere fifty days away; and after tutting at such nonsense I stepped inside and began making a mental note to Santa.

Still Autumn

The mildness of the last week ended with our first frost this morning, but it is not yet winter, the day stayed fine, and the lane beckoned me for a walk among the subdued greens and browns amid the leafless trees; with nothing moving in the still air but me it was conducive to some necessay contemplation and I returned with my head in a better place.

Tessellations

Monday is lesson planning day and this week it is polygons (not dead parrots but many-sided 2D shapes) and tessellations (polygons or other shapes that fit together in a repeating pattern that leaves no gaps), the internet providing some exotic and clever examples of the latter, with my favourite being dovetailed seahorses and interlocking lizards.

Place Matress

My wife's shopping yesterday was for wadding to incorporate into her home sewn patchwork placemats destined for our dining table at Christmas, but the material purchased, once sandwiched between the top and bottom fabric, produced something more like a mattress than a mat, so thick that a heavily laden plate might well have sunk without trace; so she will be back to the shop tomorrow, without me to distract her, to source a more appropriate alternative.

Chips

With me still doddery with a stiff neck, my understanding wife amended her planned shopping to accommodate a lift to Bishop Auckland so I could take in their FA Vase tie versus Holker Old Boys, and the game was good if goalless up to half time, at which point the chip wagon provided me with a wholesome snack; and in the second half the Two Blues scored three good goals to ensure by the end I wasn't the only old boy who had had his chips today.