Funerals

Today’s funeral was my fourth in as many years - covering a relative on each side of the family, an ex-work colleague, and the parent of a friend – all elderly from the generation above; in these cases at least the value of the process is evident as the sadness and sombre mood ahead of the ceremony turns quickly afterwards by one of relief, bordering on gaiety, as closure is achieved, at least for the day.

50 Shades of Cream

Contrary to popular belief, Eskimos do not have fifty different words for snow, however it must be the case that paint manufacturers have at least that many names for the colour once known as magnolia, all of which I studied today in selecting a shade of cream that would complement the brown carpet and five types of wood featured in our snug, a room targeted for a quick freshen up this Easter; in the end I plumped for two tubs of “soft coffee” before returning home and commencing the all-important preparation – filling cracks in the plaster, masking off the woodwork, and painting the radiator (mercifully pure brilliant white).

War on Weeds

Having cut the grass on Friday, the pre-Easter horticultural offensive continued today with a two-pronged attack to dislodge the weeds from the back garden, with my wife scouring the borders while I plucked intruders from pots and scraped sprouting greenery from between the patio paving; the extra hour of daylight helped and by tea time the enemy had been driven back to a small area by the back door.

Cold

I don’t get a cold very often, which is surprising as my wife regularly brings them home from her primary school, so I shouldn’t complain when I do get one, but I will: my head is thick, sneezing is rampant, my nose is alternately blocked or running like a drain, and my constant companions on the sofa are a diminishing box of clean tissues and a growing mound of used ones.

Grass, Twigs & Leaves

The first mow of the year and cutting the grass is the easy bit – first the back lawn has to be cleared of long willowy twigs blown off the silver birch by the winter gales, with enough picked up to start a small bonfire, while at the front it is dead leaves rather than twigs that have to be shifted, including mounds held prisoner since autumn by the shrubs in the border, that once raked out seem to have doubled in size; several hours, a sore back and two aching knees later the untidy patches of debris strewn grass at last resembled part of a cared-for garden.

Boy Racer

A further reminder that the boy is now a young man arrived today in the form of his driving licence application form; we had completed it on-line up to the section requiring a photograph but the option to import his existing passport image was declined as a picture of a twelve-year-old on his driving licence seemed a bit ridiculous, especially when produced as ID in the pub.

Daycare

A visit to Manchester today to visit my aged and currently housebound dad and stepmum, enabling me to play a small part in providing care for a very independent couple, manoeuvring stiff legs, crutches and walking stick into the non-too-spacious Nissan for a drive to the library where they scoured the large print shelves in search of books they had not already read (and surreptitiously marked as such), calling on the way back at the supermarket (“just Aldi, that Tesco is too bloody big”) for a shuffle round the aisles; it gave them some fresh air and a change of scenery, and I got, as ever, a good cooked dinner and some home baked cake before setting off back over the Pennines.

Roman Numerals

Some desk research today on two topics, one business and one pleasure: first, the roman numeral system, which is not the most logical – why can’t 45 be VL instead of XLV, why is 99 XCIX and not IC – but a knowledge is required for my primary year 4 learner, so it had to be bottomed; second was an initial attempt to fill in gaps in my knowledge of the chronology of the kings and queens of England, cruelly exposed in recent quizzes, and particularly confusing with all those Henries and Edwards, distinguished only (before now) by their roman numerals.

Minimal Pay

Driving the minibus for just an hour is not very remunerative as the £8 earned is immediately eaten into by £2 tax, and then the fuel cost and travel time overhead of getting to and from school (£3 and half an hour) reduce the effective hourly rate to a meagre £2; so maybe not the best idea to blow £3.50 on a coffee and cake on the way home.

Park and Ride and Seek

A visit to York on a sunny spring day to meet the younger daughter and partner for lunch, and to hand over to them their birthday presents, started with a bit of a hiccup as the plan to rendezvous at the park & ride had failed to specify which one, so we ended up meeting in the town (without the bulky presents) instead, where after a mooch round a few shops and a walk along the city walls we had an excellent meal at the Cross Keys Inn; we then each reverted by bus to our respective P&R points to drive to a third midway between them, where we could finally hand over the presents and make our farewells.

Plastic Pitch

I am not a fan of artificial turf, but at this time of year when so many Northern League pitches resemble a ploughed field, I can see their advantages; at New Ferens Park today the ball ran flat and true but neither Durham City nor Dunston UTS could get it into the back of the net, however the game was well contested and entertaining enough.

Low Key

I expected two events to vie for today's headline but both turned out a bit low key, little more than adjuncts to a couple of minibus drives: first, this morning, the near total eclipse (90% up here in the north) was obscured by cloud so it just got a bit duller, requiring side, but not headlights, on as I drove out to Burn Wood; second, this afternoon, my last meeting as a school governor (after thirteen years) was just a brief cameo to say my goodbyes, hand round a tub of Cadbury's miniature heroes (even here I was upstaged my another retiring governor who presented the school with a bird table, and bird feeders, and a cleaning brush, and some seeds and some nuts), and receive a few kind words from the Chair and Head, before getting back in my bus to go and pick up my passengers.

Spring Flowers

A mild day with warm sunshine brought out welcome clusters of spring flowers in the garden - crocus, primula, and dwarf daffodil - but the only bluebell around was the village pub where we had our tea, a meal best described as cheap and cheerful.

View from the Bridge

A late decision to go to see Arthur Miller's classic drama was well rewarded by a thought-provoking production and a powerful lead performance from Jonathan Guy Lewis as Eddie Carbone, whose world falls apart when two of his wife's cousins arrive as illegal immigrants to seek work in the New York dockyards; he blames them for his troubles, as one takes his too-beloved niece and the other undermines his position as strong-man of the house, despite the truth being that the cracks were already appearing in the Carbone household - but scapegoating the immigrant was as prevalent in 1955 as it is now.

Graveyard Shift

In addition to bat wings, the school Dracula dance routine needs several tombstones for the set and my job was to manufacture them from cardboard boxes liberated from various supermarkets; the final two were completed today, much to the chagrin of the cats who have now lost their adventure playground.

Walking and Talking

On a cool, cloudy day I shook the dust off the hiking gear and met up with my fellow ‘ancient roamer’ Pete for a walk round Byland on the North York Moors, and it being the best part of a year since our last outing there was a lot to catch up on, which led to much talking with the walking (at least until our breath ran a little short), which in turn led to not concentrating sufficiently on the not very clear route instructions and so frequently having to retrace steps and / or walk round the perimeters of fields trying to find a way out - to such an extent that according to my GPS app we covered seven and a half miles instead of the guidebook’s five; however the rain stayed off, we completed the circuit, had a good gossip, and generally put the world to rights again.

Mother’s Anniversary Day

With our wedding anniversary coinciding this year with Mothers’ Day, today was doubly my wife’s call and so it was off to Saltburn for a stroll along the seafront and to the end of the pier, before returning home where the boy and I (mainly I) prepared an afternoon tea consisting crust-less sandwiches (with some unorthodox fillings), cakes (including my first ever attempt at a Victoria sponge using, appropriately enough, a recipe from my own mother’s old file), leaf tea and Prosecco, which all went down very well; so well in fact it may have created an unfortunate precedent.

Northallerton

The complexities, for my wife, of shopping for our eighteenth anniversary present (see 13/3/14 for the rules) were made worse by the added pressure of Mothers’ Day, with both occasions falling tomorrow, so my supporting presence was required for a shopping trip to Northallerton – always a pleasure as the county town of North Yorkshire has plenty of interesting shops, cafes and market stalls, not to mention Strikes garden centre just out of town; the expedition took a mere four or five hours to compete, at the end of which I had bought only a second hand book, but had also facilitated the purchase something nice for my mother-in-law and hopefully (and secretly) £18 worth of anniversary goodies for me.

Sewing Been

Last night’s climax to the BBC’s Great British Sewing Bee saw a tight finish, and for me the bizarre creations produced in response to the final challenge of an ‘avant garde’ dress – Neil’s innovative but bonkers ‘skanklet’ combining a mini-skirt with suspended anklets, Lorna’s blancmange-like gown, and Matt’s space age silver skittle dress – summed up the competition, with the winner being the best (just) of an indifferent bunch, however the charm of the show continues to be in giving such ordinary folk the chance to show their skill, enthusiasm and personality; meanwhile the other sewing extravaganza, glitter encrusted bat costumes for the school dance team, was also completed and delivered with only a scattering of glitter stubbornly remaining around the house, and on the cats, to remind us.  

Zara Man

As part of efforts to secure an exclusive designer scarf for my daughter’s Christmas present I ended up with the Zara store app on my tablet, which gave rise to much sniggering due to its perceived incongruity with my personal style (to me eclectic, to others scruffy) however while perusing the Darlington charity shops for anniversary presents (the brief being inexpensive and quirky) an attractive shirt caught my eye and I am now the unlikely owner of a Zara shirt - and Oxfam are £5 to the good.

Shuttle Bus

With only one minibus available and 30 children to get to the swimming gala, I had to run a shuttle service between school and pool, with an extra loop needed to fetch some packed lunches as the event inevitably over-ran into the afternoon; covering the same road eight times in a day gave an insight into what it must be like driving a service bus all day – noticing minor variations on the route such as disintegrating road-kill while at one point being momentarily disoriented to the extent that I literally did know whether I was coming or going.

Midnight Watch

Preparing a lesson on time and clocks I had a momentary mind-blank as I tried to decide what midnight looked like on a 24 hour digital display – was it 24:00 or 00:00; I think the latter but need to stay awake and be alert at tonight’s witching hour to check on one of the many, but clearly unmemorable, displays spread around the house.

Silver Surfer

The technicalities of recovering the ironing board proving too difficult, I resorted to replacing the whole unit, and selecting a mid-range model from the shelves in Wilkinson’s Newton Aycliffe store, proceeded to the checkout and made my outsize purchase where, unlike the customer before and after, I was not asked the formulaic “do you want a bag”; my tongue in cheek complaint of not being offered one was appreciated more by the queue than the salesgirl and unsurprisingly resulted in me leaving still bereft of packaging to stride through the shopping centre with the brightly coloured article tucked under my arm, looking like an overage surfer in search of an unlikely beach.

Signs of Spring

It may be too early to call, but my walk down the lane today showed signs that spring is on the way: the sun is higher and, under blue sky and cotton wool clouds, the clear view revealed the recent snow had gone from the tops of the distant Cleveland Hills; also gone were the gales of yesterday with today’s breeze just enough to turn the far off wind turbines; the trees and hedges though still bare have lumps and bumps visible along their branches as buds begin to form; and behind the hedges are furrows of freshly turned earth, each ploughed field a precursor to the coming summer’s green and gold patchwork.

Nocturnal Creatures

Today’s noteworthy activities both involved nocturnal creatures: the afternoon was spent in our haute couture sweatshop of a living room where my wife marked out a dozen bat wings (for the dance costumes) that I then cut out, somewhat gingerly, with some crocodile toothed pinking shears; in the evening we joined the night-dwellers as the cricket club quiz went on until nearly midnight, for which stamina we got scant reward, although the £3 prize money for finishing well down the order left our tiny team of four only £1 down on the event.

Iron Deficiency

I have been ironing for a few weeks on a board whose usable surface has been shrinking steadily as a worn out area gradually disintegrated to form a growing hole that has had to be inconveniently worked around, so this week, having accurately measured the board, I purchased a replacement cover and today set about fitting it; two problems quickly became evident in that the item in the packaging did not live up to the dimensions stated, and neither did it match the diagram and instructions provided - a third problem then became clear as the threadbare former cover had already been unceremoniously ripped off and discarded.

Fragrant Felicitations

Other than in a leap year, my wife’s birthday is exactly a week after mine which meant it too fell on Thursday, my busiest working day of the week, and although I finished early due to truancy (the learner’s not mine) I then had to attend a school governing body meeting which delayed the state opening of presents until after six thirty; however the wait was worthwhile as the selection of gifts went down very well with only the flowers perhaps overdone, as a bouquet and a houseplant arrived from the far-flung daughters (one farther flung than the other) which, along with my floral offering, rendered the house particularly fragrant.

Striking a Pose

As a pre-birthday outing for my wife we (she, me, son & girlfriend) went to the local bowling alley to try our luck (as skill does not feature too much) at demolishing the ten-pins; getting all ten in a strike is a rarity, and surprisingly satisfying, inevitably resulting in a fist pump, or whoop, or jig, or a modest shrug according to type.

Who?

A small team at the Vane Arms pub quiz tonight and the four of us struggled, particularly with the picture round where I not only failed to recognise four of the five ‘famous people currently in the news’ but had never even heard of them; the guy I despairingly labelled Eric Pickles, on the basis he was portly and looked smug, turned out to be the second-richest man in the world (still don’t know his name) – so no wonder he looked smug.

Lost Gentility

I had not been in the Quaint and Quirky Tea Rooms on Stockton High Street for some months before today, and while it retains its eponymous characteristics it appears to have given up on its previous efforts at gentility; instead of a china teapot, cup and saucer I was given my brew (teabag still circulating) in a mug that proudly declared “I [heart] Parmos Me!”, notwithstanding which the contents were fine, as was the cheese and ham Panini – and the very reasonable cost of £5 including a tip.

Sew Helpful

While not as good as The Great British Bake Off, the Great British Sewing Bee is still strangely compelling viewing, and at this time of year its dressmaking drama and tailoring tension is matched here by my wife’s fevered sewing of costumes for her school’s team in the town’s festival of dance; today required the selection and purchase of fabric, then the manufacture, of Dracula’s cloak, in which I played my part by converting between inches and centimetres, by holding one end of a tape measure, and by nodding wisely when asked my opinion on bias binding (whatever that is), and by midnight the job was done, which indicated she would do well on the Sewing Bee, but only if you were allowed to take your husband helper with you.