Taking Stock

I have long since stopped taking stock of my life each New Year’s Eve and instead today took stock of my socks and underwear; finding them both thin on the ground and thin in the fabric I decided it was time to re-stock and spent a tidy half hour in the Matalan store pondering over the quite bewildering array on offer, the sizes straightforward, the fabric mix less so and, in the case of pants, the range of styles a bit of a minefield with a whole new lexicon of terms to come to grip with – slips, briefs, hipsters, boxers, y-front, button up, keyhole (and the unspoken no-hole) and that is before the issue of colour is considered.

Deja View

Despite repeated viewings, Love Actually remains a favourite Christmas film, the superb ensemble cast raising the tone of the unashamedly sentimental well above the level of smultz in depicting love in all its guises – puppy, unrequited, romantic, sexual, asexual, sisterly, platonic, adulterous, unspoken, helpless and hapless; and as I write these words a feeling not only of deja view, but of déjà vu, descends as I feel I have already blogged on this film before after one of its many previous screenings.

The Stockton Flyer

For once, at 1 o’clock in Stockton, I was not only in earshot (that is easy enough as the racket created can be heard a mile away) but in close proximity to see the Stockton Flyer emerge from its plinth in the High Street to perform its bizarre but pleasing impression of an early locomotive with spinning wheels, rocking cams, puffing smoke, clanging bell and high-decibel hooter.

Les Temps, C’est Vrai

In town this morning I checked my new watch and saw the date had changed from MAR 27 to a puzzling MEIR 28, so I popped into the jewellers where it was purchased and discovered that my Swiss watch was not indicating the month but the day of the week in its own language, yesterday being Mardi and today some variation on Mercredi; the lady in the shop did something to make it read WED so for the time being at least my timepiece and I are communicating in the same lingo.

Watch Out

I received from my wife at Christmas a rather elegant wristwatch, somewhat old-fashioned in that it fails to act as stopwatch or alarm clock, fails to indicate altitude, water depth, phases of the moon, or sunspot activity, and fails to double the diameter of my wrist, instead merely telling the time and date while actually fitting under the cuff of my sleeve; however wearing it for the first time today I noticed the shop assistant had set it up a little fast – three months fast in fact giving the date as 27 Mar.

Boxing Day Match

One of the pleasures of watching Northern League football is the maintenance of age old traditions, such as the 3 pm Saturday afternoon kick off, and on bank holidays like today, a local derby with an 11 am start; my daughter and I were in a good crowd to see Shildon take on Bishop Auckland at Dean Street where, I reflected, people have similarly stood in the cold, the day after Christmas, for probably the last 100 years.

Christmas Spread(sheet)

Hosting the Christmas Day dinner requires a cool head, a sure hand and in our house an excel spreadsheet scheduling, between 07:30 and 13:30, the preparation and cooking (in two ovens and on five hob rings) of four meats (turkey, ham, sausage and bacon), eight veg (roast & boiled potato, carrot, swede, parsnip, red cabbage, peas and sprouts), five sauces (gravy, apple, bread and two sorts of cranberry) and some stuffing; the plan was effective, the food delicious.

Christmas Walk

Shopping all done and presents all wrapped meant we were able to take an afternoon stroll in bright if cool conditions, with the term Christmas walk not only applying to the time of year but also the seasonal headgear and reindeer-like prancing of one of our party.

Legless Turkeys

A turkey crown is a good choice for us, being relatively compact in the fridge and quicker to cook than the full bird, but with a liking for the darker meat we have to supplement it with a couple of turkey legs, similarly compact and quick to cook, however this year there must have been a lot of legless turkeys literally arsing around the fields, as Bolam’s in Sedgefield had hundreds of crowns for sale but not a single leg; so we ended up having to buy a whole bird that consequently took up half the fridge and which to cook we shall have to be up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning.

Carol Humming

We are still catching up with Christmas – the tree only went up on Tuesday and the cards pegged up today – but the festive mood was boosted by the annual singing of carols around the village Christmas tree, although full-throated participation was inhibited by a street lamp being out and a shortage hymn sheets (or surplus of singers), which meant the well-remembered first verse of each song was sung with gusto, but the volume and clarity then rapidly declined as folk peered over shoulders at the dimly lit words of the less familiar lines, with me, for one, often resorting to a sort of backing-vocal hum until a chorus reasserted itself.

York

The traffic on the A19 was light, the seats on the park and ride bus were plentiful, and we found the streets of York un-crowded, so the Christmas Market trip began well and continued in the same vein with hot chocolate around the fire in Thor’s tent an excellent pie-based lunch in The Olde Starre Inn, and we even found time to do some productive shopping among the stalls to boost the “presents bought” list.

A to B

I have some sympathy for delivery drivers trying to locate addresses in our village, with the houses having names as well as numbers, and numbers often extended by the addition of A or B as properties have been split or in-filled, with the situation made worse with some properties having two doors at the front and some doors not belonging to houses at all but to passages through the to the rear of a terrace – and we contribute to the confusion by being a suffix A sandwiched between a number and its B-suffixed variant and also having two front doors; notwithstanding my aforesaid sympathy, at this time of year the repeated knocking on our second front door by people seeking the B house can get a little wearing and today it prompted me to stick a note on it confirming the door was “still A” with an arrow pointing the way to B.

Cat Calls

Returning home from the boarding cattery I was subjected to the usual protracted name-calling by the two cats – not insults just my own name that they have somehow learned to yowl loud and clear.

Long Stay Car Park

Our car’s sojourn in the long stay multi storey car park adjacent to the hotel lasted longer than planned when, having paid our £22 for two days stay, we found ourselves stuck, two or three turns of the spiral up, in a queue as the driver of a car at the front of the procession could not get through the barrier for love nor money – after about twenty minutes the money (and a man in a yellow jacket) must have done the trick as there was precious little love behind him.

The Big Day

A wedding day can go past in a blur so, as Father of the Bride, I took time throughout the day to deliberately savour events and commit images and sound-bites to memory: putting on the new suit, shirt, tie and shoes in the hotel room - rather like donning a new football kit ahead of a big game; the trip to my daughter’s house, cost free and efficiently if unorthodoxly by bus; observing unmolested from a corner an hour or so of beautician attention to the bridesmaids who needed no such embellishment but were determined to gild that lily; the first sight of the beautiful bride attired in her white; my other daughter, on bridesmaid duty, affixing my buttonhole; the taxi ride to the town centre, being set down fifty yards from the Council House and the sunshine walk through the parting throngs of Saturday shoppers who hailed us with congratulations and compliments; the pause inside the impressive building for pre-ceremony formalities with the registrar before gathering with the bridesmaids for the entrance; the emotional walk down the aisle to deliver my daughter to her future husband and then retire gracefully to my seat beside my own spouse and receive a reassuring squeeze of the arm; the moving and respectful civil ceremony with thoughtful readings, heartfelt vows and no few tears from bride, groom, parents and guests (and possibly even the registrar); the triumphant exit and, after some confused milling around, a straggling stroll out to the waiting double-decker bus; the swaying drive out to the reception venue and the inevitable hiatus waiting for the bride, groom and attendants to complete their city-centre photo shoot and join us; once they were, the frantic photo calls with the photographer battling against the fading December dusk and eventual dark to capture every conceivable combination on his list; sitting down to the meal - an unconventional but tasty tapas with fine wine, although for me a pint of ale was a preferred pre-speech lubricant; the speeches themselves, kicked off by my own, thankfully well-received, and taken up by the groom and best man, brothers and best friends, whose double act hit the right notes of irreverence, sincerity and humour; another hiatus as the tables were removed and the band set up, which gave an opportunity to admire the wedding ‘cake’ comprising a stack of artisan Durham cheeses and a display of the previous generations’ wedding day photos; then a ninety minute blast from the four piece band and two female vocalists who put together a lively, engaging and musically sound  mix of modern hits that had the younger ones bouncing and old classics that got the not so young strutting their stuff too; through it all the two six month old babies serenely watching or sleeping, oblivious to the admiring attention they unconsciously attracted; the limited taking up of the supper buffet of bacon rolls and cheese, pickle and biscuits, with most guests still full of sticky toffee pudding but willing to take a bit of a packed supper for later; back on the bus for the return journey, fuller, more raucous, and more swaying that the outward trip; most passengers disgorged at the hotel and for some a nightcap in the hotel bar; finally bed but for me little sleep as I replayed the events of my daughter’s big day, in my head, on one continuous loop.

Pre-Wedding Jobs

Having arrived in Nottingham to help with last minute preparations for the wedding I was trusted with three jobs: (a) buy a bag of sand to provide a safe repository for spent sparklers; (b) pick up the wedding dress (paying the balance due) and deliver it to my daughter with no sand attached; (c) extract the appropriate (rounded) amount from each of forty friends and relations of the betrothed couple already gathered in town for a night-before meal at the Ask Italian restaurant, and with the collected cash settle the £800 food bill, without upsetting, offending or committing fraud against any of them.

Game of Cones

Take 85 pine cones each with a groove cut in to hold a name card and insert 85 cards with names of wedding guests carefully penned on them; arrange according to the plan supplied into 10 egg tray boxes, cut to represent 10 tables; an hour or two later, once the model of the seating arrangements at the wedding feast is complete, wrap each “table” in cling film and pack carefully into stacker boxes for transportation 100 miles to the venue, hoping that the staff there will be able to make some sense of it all.

No Deal or Deal

Following Monday’s disappointment over my non-discounted Marigolds I happened to be passing Morrison’s supermarket this afternoon so popped in ready for an argument, but first, and wisely as it turned out, marched up to the cleaning aisle and checked the shelf – no sign of the 2 for £2 offer and a price of £2.41 rather than the £1.61; time travel not being an option I saw no alternative but to accepting the offer sign was a genuine error (or an hallucination) but I comforted myself with what now looks a good deal, beating a price rise of 80p a pair and so saving £3.20 anyway.

Xmas Quiz

The first Christmas quiz of the season was a bit of a toughie at the Vane Arms tonight, although each round started off with a question right up my street, as I could identify a favourite film (It’s a Wonderful Life) from its opening line, could complete a fiendish maths calculation (despite being well down my second pint), and knew the first tune in the music round (it being classical rather than pop); each round went downhill from there on but lacking the arcane knowledge of Christmas required we had fun debating which wild guess to plump for, getting a few right and hitting the post on a few more.

Deal or No Deal

Being the resident dishwasher in the house I need a ready supply of rubber gloves, so when I saw my preferred large Marigolds on offer in Morrison’s supermarket (£1.61 each but 2 for £2) I threw four pairs into the trolley, calculating a saving of £2.44; once home however I glanced at the till receipt and saw no sign of the discount, with all four pairs registered at the set price and no deduction shown at the bottom – an issue not worth jumping back into the car and racing back to the store for, but next time I’m passing …

Scones

Regular readers may have noticed my fondness for a scone and with today’s outing drawing a blank on the catering front I decided to knock up a batch of my own – two batches actually, one plain with a bit of sugar in the mix, and one cheese with a bit of grated Cathedral City cheddar; to add a seasonal twist to the latter I tried the inclusion of a splash of sherry (on the basis that cherry scones work so why not sherry) but as neither the cheese nor booze registered much on the palate both ingredients need boosting in the next bake.

Stadium

As a football ground Gateshead’s International Stadium falls somewhere between impersonal and soulless with today only four hundred or so fans scattered among the twenty-five thousand or so seats; I’ve heard more noise there when watching my son in the Northern Athletics Regional Championships with the young runners cheered on by parents and teammates, and the stadium can be really atmospheric when full, as for the Europa Cup athletics meeting a few years back when it rocked as Mo Farah stormed the last lap to win the 5,000 metres race.

Last Cut is the Deepest

Fir cones are not easy to saw, not because of any intrinsic toughness but due to their shape that precludes holding them in a mechanical vice and their spikiness that takes a toll on the necessary alternative – my hand; the proximity of the blade to fingers is also a danger but it was only as I fashioned the ninetieth and last of the little beasts (needed for wedding table decorations) that blood was finally drawn, still with some other weddings costing an arm and a leg, a mere finger is nothing.

Santa’s Labyrinth

Each December the local garden centre devotes the majority of its floor space to its seasonal offers and converts its only entrance to an Ikea-like labyrinth that forces customers to run the gauntlet of illuminated trees, animated reindeer & polar bears, fake snow, and a cheesy Christmas soundtrack, the process slowed further by the moving obstacles of small children in or out of buggies and their minders who just encourage them by pointing and ooh-arrhing as they zigzag unhelpfully along; I only wanted a pair of secateurs but even emerging from Santa’s grotto it was then a case of find the garden stuff in the garden centre – tricky but eventually located in a corner of the outdoor compound.

Kedgeree

My daughter’s turn to cook tea tonight, and she served up a delicious kedgeree made with smoked mackerel, hard boiled eggs and a savoury rice; the last mentioned component, though tasty, came at a cost of: (a) cardamom pods invisible to the naked eye but all too easily detected on the palate; (b) a pan whose stainless steel was no defence against a pebble dash coating of starchy grains.

Melbourne

The dress fitting was in Melbourne (an interesting village on the edge of the Peak District, not the Australian state capital of Victoria) and arriving early enabled us to pop into Jack’s Café for a splendid brunch – bacon baguette for me, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs for the bridesmaid - and a huge pot of tea that lasted us about an hour, and then me a further twenty minutes as I gave her a head start in the shop before joining to give an opinion (very nice) and take a photo (embargoed).

Sleeping Bag

My daughter’s fitting for her bridesmaid’s dress, scheduled tomorrow, necessitated a trip down to her sister’s in Nottingham for an overnight stay, and with my wife left behind at work it was a question of who bagged the sofa bed and who got the airbed; age was the trump card and as I was sleeping solo I had brought my sleeping bag, not used for at least ten years, which I found so snug and cosy it was almost enough to make me hanker after a bit of camping (but not quite).

Metro Textual

The need to pick up the elder daughter from Newcastle Airport meant passing, on our return, Gateshead’s gigantic Metro Centre on the first Saturday in December, but at only 10 am it was not a chance to be missed for my wife and daughter (and a chance not to be wasted for me to tick off an item from the things-I-don’t-want-to-do-before-Christmas-but-know-I-may-have-to list); after breakfast in Starbuck’s awaiting shop opening time I left them to it and spent my time in literary pursuits browsing books in Waterstones and sitting on a comfy chair outside House of Fraser reading the morning paper – what you could term being Metro-textual.

Doombar Landlord

This evening we enjoyed the simple pleasure of a quiet drink with friends, infrequently done these days without the distraction of a quiz, loud music or consumption of food; The Old Farmhouse provided a warm and comfortable setting and the real ale – Doombar and Landlord – an excellent lubrication, such that it was with some surprise that we found ourselves the last to leave apart from the outwardly patient, but probably inwardly fed up, bar staff.

Virtually Advent

One effect of our newly empty nest is the absence, for the first time in over twenty years, of an advent calendar (or two, or three), an omission I sought rectify, but being less than impressed with the overpriced gaudy cardboard boxes of indifferent chocolates I decided to make my own; lack of physical skill and materials led me to the notion of a virtual version, which I promptly fashioned within an Excel spreadsheet (there is little I cannot achieve with an excel spreadsheet) which daily reveals clues to the (real) location of a (real, good quality) chocolate.

Manchester Art Gallery

Passing through Manchester I headed for the Art Gallery, not visited since I worked in the city centre a quarter of a century ago, and spent a couple of hours there (with only a short interlude in the café); highlights for me were a room devoted to LS Lowry and Adolphe Valette (Lowry’s early tutor and influence), a couple of Canaletto-ish Bellotto’s, and the familiar ‘Cheetah and Stag with Two Indians’ by George Stubbs.

Golden Wedding

To celebrate my in-laws’ golden wedding anniversary five of us dined out at a local gastro-pub then repaired to our house to cut a cake; all low key (through choice), the occasion taken in their stride, which is maybe how you get to fifty years of marriage.

Sticky Fingers

The trouble with a bagel is that no matter how small the hole and how thinly and carefully one spreads, some of the jam always finds its way through to the underside to form a patch of stickiness to which my fingers are inevitably drawn.

Last Miners

Tonight concluded the two part documentary about the miners at Kellingley Colliery in Yorkshire, the last working pit in the country, over the twelve months leading up to its closure last December, which was both beautifully crafted and poignant; it could almost have been a natural history film about a rare species facing extinction – the unworldly habitat, strange male-bonding rituals, and a specialised adaptation to a unique environment that gave rise to real concern over their survival elsewhere.

Watching Wildlife

David Attenborough’s splendid Planet Earth II series gained an extra viewer tonight as the black cat took a keen interest in the sand burrowing mole, watching closely its progress across the TV screen.

Waiting Rooms

Needing two trains to get to today’s football at Harrogate inevitably meant some time waiting around, but that did not necessarily have to be on a draughty platform: at York station the Costa is rather charmingly located in what must have been the stationmaster’s lookout tower, at little eyrie of calm perched above platform 1, its scruffy Georgian paned windows giving me a 360° panorama of the hustle and bustle of the Saturday travellers – stags, hens, football fans and shoppers – while a cup of decent coffee was supped, albeit from a double banked festive paper cup, but even that was useful when the time came to board the connecting train; on my return journey the wait was at Harrogate where the conveniently adjacent Harrogate Tap, splendidly old fashioned and atmospheric with its wood panelling, glass and mirrors, provided a convivial half of USA Sessions IPA, chosen at random from a bewildering array of pumps along its extensive bar.

Hello Sailor

With my aversion to open water the nearest I get to a boat is opening a tin of yacht varnish, which I did today to apply a coat to a newly sanded window sill and more extensively to the floor of the summerhouse – God bless her and all her sail in her!

Fretting and Coping

As a grammar school boy I was denied the opportunity to include woodwork in my GCEs so I am unsure whether today I was using a fret saw or a coping saw to gingerly work on the fir cones that will form part of the table decorations for my daughter’s wedding feast; not long to go now and I was definitely fretting over the first few cones, but after completing about twenty I was coping quite well.

Autumn Statement

The Chancellor’s autumn statement made today really boiled down to one thing: winter is coming, it’s going to be long, and it’s going to be uncomfortable.

Angus-ty

Up here on Teesside last night we only got a short sharp blast of storm Angus, though its unusual wind direction played havoc with my wheelie bins that reside at the front of the house; after an early gust blew them over and into the road I hauled them back through the lashing rain and laid them down beside the car, but half an hour later they were back posing as a traffic island again, and after one more retrieval and chase down the road I gave up and with the assistance of my resident assistant binwoman carried them through the house into the relative shelter of the back garden.

The Boy in the Boro

Visiting one of our undergraduates at their university has never been easier (even though to get to Middlesbrough I did have to change buses in Stockton) nor so inexpensive; thanks to the aged person’s bus pass there was only lunch to pay for leaving me change out of a £20 note.

The Girl on the Train

A word or two on last night’s film “The Girl on the Train”, which was pretty good: I had read the book and apart from shifting the action 3,000 miles to the west found the cinematic version a faithful rendition, dealing well with time lapse storytelling; however a prior knowledge of the plot was not a prerequisite, as my wife, who watched it fresh, found it equally enjoyable.

Small Meal, Smaller Tip

Our Saturday night out – a meal and a film – began well enough, securing an un-booked table at Pizza Express, and while I went for a standard pasta dish my wife opted for the lower calorie pizza, which seemed to be the standard pizza with its centre removed and replaced by salad; despite that we were well satisfied with the food and service, but my attempt to put a tip onto the credit card payment resulted in an embarrassing addition of just 2p, requiring my wife to pitch in a couple of pound coins to at least confirm that I was incompetent rather than ungenerous.

Changing Landscape

My familiar walk ‘down the lane’ has undergone a change in landscape since last I strolled that way due to the erection of four wind turbines that although about five miles away are big enough to seem much closer; my reaction to them reveal some ambivalence – I am in favour of renewable sources of energy, but four windmills in a field about fifty feet above sea level won’t do much (certainly today - cold clear and still - when the solar panels discreetly tucked away on my barn roof will produce more) and though their size and elegance is impressive, they do detract from the landscape, at least while freshly planted in front of it – hopefully in time familiarity may lessen the impact.

Desk Jobs

A couple of years ago, passing through Ashbourne in Derbyshire we spotted an old school desk for sale, which we bought for my wife to up-cycle and use as a sewing or craft table and though as yet un-elevated it has served well as a perch for the sewing machine and more recently for the lap top computer when a more extended session is required, like today when inclement weather kept me indoors; it makes for an anachronistic combination as a computer was science fiction when I first sat at such a desk, dipping my pen nib into the inkwell and scratching out sums in pounds shillings and pence, or miles furlongs chains yards feet and inches, or tons hundredweights quarters stones pounds and ounces.

Leonard Cohen

In a belated tribute to the recently departed Leonard Cohen I hunted out my CD of his “Songs From The Road”, recorded on his 2008/9 tour, to play in the car; I first came across his music in the soundtrack to Robert Altman’s exquisite film ‘McCabe and Mrs Miller’ seen at my university film club in the early 70’s and then I rediscovered it in the 90’s through a greatest hits cassette tape which I played until it disintegrated, and though on this latest CD the voice is even more gravelly the words and delivery remain from the heart and soul, accompanied by an instrumental and vocal backing that adds a luscious depth while remaining supportive to the main man - who may be gone but whose music will live on.

Lone Ranger

Today was forecast as the brightest of the week so I decided to combine a shopping trip to Sedgefield with a turn around Hardwick Park (actually a two and a half mile double circuit of the lake) where the usual suspects were to be seen, dodged and overtaken – aged couples, buggy pushers and dog walkers – and where I was the only lone ranger in sight; the drawback of such a state is that at the café (also busy) a singleton cannot both bag a table and queue for service, so a calculation has to be made whether or not to risk ending up with a full tray and nowhere to sit – I took the safe option and headed for Sainsbury’s café instead, where seating is always available.

Leaf Relief

Normally by this time of year I would have had to clear the front garden of leaves several times and still be knee deep in the pesky things, but this year, due I think to light winds, and those mainly easterly, we have escaped the usual deluge which has either fallen vertically or been blown down the other end of the village for a change; so today’s raking up was the first of the year and yielded only three bags full.

Risotto Worth the Wait

Every few weeks I buy a butternut squash and some chorizo sausage in the hope that my wife will combine them with mushrooms, onion, white wine and Arborio rice to produce her signature risotto dish, but as often as not the perishable ingredients are binned as their eat by dates expire ahead of her culinary inspiration; not so today – a cracking tea it made with plenty left over for tomorrow as well.

Into the Clouds

Getting to today’s football match at Pickering (ticking off another new ground) meant crossing the North York Moors on one of two routes, and my outward choice led me up the 1 in 4 slope of Sutton Bank which half way up disappeared into the clouds, the poor visibility persisting all the way to Helmsley; for the return journey I tried the alternate way via Bilsdale but still ended up in thick cloud, patchy all the way to Teesside.

Autumn Stroll

The promise of a fine day tempted me out for an autumn stroll along the Tees from Yarm to Preston Park in Stockton (one way only having used the bus pass the other); the mist lifted to reveal blue skies and sunshine so the five miles slipped by easily, as I admired the late autumn colours on the river bank and within the park.

Trumped

The new president’s moniker has connotations that are both interesting and foreboding: a card of little intrinsic value that nevertheless wins the trick; an unpleasant emission from the nether regions; a final blast that heralds the end of the world; or (you never know) his trumpery (falsehoods) may not be such and he may “come up trumps” and save the day, the US, and the world.

Map Redding

In a night only too reminiscent of Brexit I saw Democrat hopes flicker and gradually fade as the results came in, recorded in red or blue on my home made election map of the USA that had each state’s size adjusted to reflect their electoral college votes (cloned from a similar one in the “i” newspaper); while Florida and Pennsylvania remained uncalled there was still a hope for Clinton but she’d need both, and at 5am when Florida went Republican red by 1% (Pennsylvania would soon follow by the same narrow margin) the game was up and I could go to bed in the knowledge that no nightmare could beat this.

America Decides

A late night beckons as the USA decides between the toxic two for president; I do not normally stay up to watch the US elections but the unpredictability of the result combined with the potential global implications will keep me awake and engaged well into the small hours.

Planet Earth

I got round to watching the first episode of David Attenborough’s new natural history series and was not disappointed by the procession of startling images and stories (the latter surely fabricated to some extent to fit the pictures) – a swimming sloth in search of a mate, a tree that kills birds, crazy ants that devour crabs, wrestling komodo dragons, racer snakes pursuing baby marine iguanas (this looked like a CGI enhanced scene from Indiana Jones as the predators emerged from the rocks and just swarmed – it really should have carried a health warning for ophidiophobes), and a finale featuring plucky penguins; even the ten minute diary feature at the end showing the film crew at work on the penguin island was a treat. 

Cup Run

Yesterday’s jaunt to the Etihad could have put an end to this season’s sequence of FA Cup ties visited (one from every qualifying round so far) but fortunately the game at Hartlepool was scheduled for today so I was able to keep the run going for another round at least; there were significant contrasts in the two matchday experiences as today I was on my todd, the weather was wet and windy, the crowd was fifty thousand fewer (but no less enthusiastic), and the players weren’t household names, but on the other hand it took only thirty minutes to get to the ground and I was closer to the action.

Footy Chick

Today I had the rare pleasure of my wife accompanying me to the football, lured by the glitz and glamour of the Premier League (using borrowed season tickets) for the  game at the Etihad to see Manchester City (my home team and by association her adopted one) and Middlesbrough (her home town team and by proximity almost my adopted one); the day was bright but cold, we arrived early (early enough to have a browse in the club shop and bolster her credentials as a footy chick with the purchase of a City hat), enjoyed a decent game in which City’s dominance was cancelled out by late Boro equaliser, and broke the long journey home with an excellent fish and chip supper at the Wetherby Whaler – who says I don’t know how to show a girl a good time.

Theatrical Performances

My first visit to the Georgian Theatre in Richmond (North Yorkshire) included an unbilled but entertaining prelude of watching the audience assemble in the authentically cramped gallery of the tiny auditorium, where from our relatively spacious bench on the third row we watched the front row fill up quite comfortably until the arrival at one end of a gentleman of generous proportions who managed to park just one buttock until some begrudged shuffling enabled him an increase to one and a half, meanwhile a lady with elbow crutches was battling with the foot high steps down to her seat along one edge of the gallery, which her family had occupied early – too early for three girls whose seats further along the row were then only accessible by climbing over from row two, at some danger of overshooting and falling into the pit below; oh, and the plays, a comedy double bill of Tom Stoppard’s ‘The Real Inspector Hound’ and Peter Shaffer’s ‘Black Comedy’, were also a very good watch.

Pastry Test Cases

There is always more pastry made than that needed to cover a pie and this afternoon I thought I would use up not only today’s small trimmings but also last week’s more significant surplus (frozen since but now defrosted for use); rather than mix the two I decided to test frozen v fresh in a jam dessert – the frozen produced a pretty flat and unsightly jam turnover whereas the fresh made a jam tart that was light, crisp and golden, so in the future any leftovers will go straight into the oven rather than the freezer.

Friday Feeling

One advantage of continuing to work part time is that I still get that Friday feeling at the end of my working week – which is generally a Wednesday – so tonight after seven hours work spread over four ‘employers’ and two days I indulged in a bottle of Hobgoblin ale to celebrate the onset of my five day weekend.

Bemused a Triangle

Called in as a late substitute to drive the minibus, I needed to combine the shift (itself extended by a parcel delivery in between ferrying the children between sites) with a trip to the tip (disposal of tree prunings) and the supermarket (acquisition of bread, milk and other run down staples including petrol); fortunately the various destinations coalesced into two villages and a town forming vertices of a triangle whose three sides I travelled at least once in each direction (one side twice in each direction) in rather a haphazard order that would have left any casual (eye in the sky) observer somewhat bemused at my purpose.

The Bus Run

After a absence of a few weeks I decided to take a run on the weekly bus into Darlington (the promise of another fine day tempting plenty more such that it was standing room only by the time we reached town) where after the usual routine - shopping done, bank visited, tea and scones consumed - I was killing time in the library when time retaliated and slipped past unnoticed until I glanced at my watch to see 13:08 staring back at me, the implication -  the last bus leaves in two minutes from a stop a five minute walk away – prompted a hasty exit from the building, followed by a hurried jog-trot to the corner of the street, then an undignified gimping gallop up the next road towards the shelter from which the bus was setting off; happily the driver, who knows all his regulars, pulled over and opened the doors for me to climb aboard, somewhat out of puff from a different sort of bus run than that I had expected.

Short Uni Visit

Visiting our offspring during their first term at university is a bit of a tradition aimed at easing any homesickness, and previously this meant lengthy journeys to and from Edinburgh, Leeds, Liverpool and Keele, but today’s trip required just a fifteen minute drive along the A66 to Middlesbrough to pick up our latest undergraduate (who shows no signs of missing home) and take him to Teesside Park for some shopping, Costa for a snack, back to his flat to unload and inspect (it passed), before popping over the road for a meal at Al Forno – and we still got home with it barely dark.

Fright Night

A night out at Marton Country Club on both a Halloween and Seventies theme generated an interesting mix of costumes – mostly spooky but some straight seventies, but in their way horrific enough – and otherwise featured in descending order of enjoyment: pie & peas (good); beer (indifferent); music (loud); and a DJ (even louder); and these last two prompt two queries – was there enough good music in that decade to fill four and a half hours, and what makes a DJ think that superimposing his voice over Don McLean’s in ‘American Pie’ any way improves one of its few classic tunes.

Canopy

About this time of year we tidy up the garden for winter, which includes pruning the trees, so today I spent a couple of hours up a ladder in the canopy of our very own rain forest, hacking and lopping away until daylight penetrated, then another hour or so bagging up the leafy residue for the trip to the tip.

Tree Trunk

Four sparkling white tree branches had been procured for wedding table decorations but their instability in their narrow glass vases seemed problematic, so I raided the fire wood store and picked out a thinnish log that cut to size and drilled with a 10mm hole in its centre formed an excellent ‘trunk’ for the branch – rustic and stable; three more needed for December

Wedding Planner

A half-term visit from  my betrothed daughter would be the last before the wedding so a planning update for the big event dominated proceedings with particular emphasis on the table decorations which are to be hand crafted; consequently the afternoon was spent in various stores perusing and purchasing jars for transformation into rustic tea light holders.

Bike Technician

My wife volunteered (when will she learn?) to help out at a holiday scheme at the school providing bike training, and despite prior assurances she did not need to bring her own cycle I received a phone call after half an hour requesting I bring hers over; as it had not been used for several years my bike technician duties extended to washing off the accumulated dust, pumping up the (miraculously intact) tyres, and oiling the gears, before riding it over to the school – and trooping back on foot. 

Shopping 4 Shoes

A day of shopping with a purpose with my wife looking to finish off her (tricky step-mother-of-the-bride) outfit and me looking to replace my recently disintegrated shoes, and she had early success in Stockton with jacket and headgear before stalling on shoes and bag that not even a drive up the A19 to Dalton Park could not resolve; however up there I did have success with shoes, purchasing a good pair of brown leather Clark’s for the obligatory £50 that had the bonus of being eminently wearable with my father-of-the-bride suit – but then I realised that meant preserving them in mint condition for six weeks, so I had to go into another shop and buy, for immediate use, a black pair as well.

Wedding Cones

A necessary component of the table decoration at my daughter’s fast-approaching wedding will be pine cones – eighty-odd of them – which it is my responsibility to collect and customise for their intended purpose; numbers garnered had been modest up to September but during the LGH reunion walk in the Cheviots a couple of weeks ago I hit the motherload near Hethpool, enabling me to pick up and stuff fifty into my rucksack (while my oblivious companions continued ahead then waited twenty minutes for me to appear again, speculating on the reason for my delay – call of nature, boot malfunction, abduction by aliens, or heart attack, none of which prompted them to consider coming to my rescue) which has brought stock to well over target and will enable the weeding out of some poor samples and provide reserves in case of errors in crafting.

Fine Time in Guisborough?

I drove over to Guisborough for today’s football, getting there early to have a mooch around the market town and take in a tea and scone, and putting three hours on the parking ticket seemed adequate until, on approaching the ground I remembered that in the FA Vase competition they sometimes, in the event if the scores being level after ninety minutes, go straight to extra time and penalties; such an eventuality would put the car over its allotted time, and with ten minutes to go and only one goal in it I was still a bit worried, but two further goals removed the risk of both extra time and a parking fine.

Lost Soles

I clearly do not examine the bottom of my shoes often enough; when I did today, to check for the source of mud on the carpet, I found both the left and right split right across the sole – so it will be hello shoe shop, goodbye fifty quid.

Seasonal Fare

About this time of year a couple of seasonal changes to my regular diet occur as shredded wheat and beer (not together, one for breakfast and the other an occasional kind of supper) begin to make way for more warming fare of porridge and whisky (still not together, though that would work better).

Academic Progress

Is it a sign of progress when a learner, instead of just not doing the minimal homework set, actually makes the effort to fabricate an excuse?

Going Large

For the last few Tuesdays I have driven a split shift in the minibus, spending the down time in a local café having a leisurely hour reading or writing while slowly consuming a necessarily large beverage and a cake; it uses up a decent proportion of my wages and while I can see the justification of charging more for a large Americano (more coffee) the same does not apply to a large tea that still has same teabag just sloshing about in a bigger cup of hot water – I suppose the reality is I am occupying space in a warm room and the larger the drink, the longer the stay, so the higher the rent.

Honeysuckled

My summer long job pointing the garden wall stopped short of one end where the brickwork disappeared behind some bushes, but with autumn here and the leaves falling there was no longer an excuse not to finish the job; even after some chopping back I still had to insinuate myself into the shrubbery and with hands fully engaged with trowel and mortar had to use my back and shoulders to hold the honeysuckle at bay, which retaliated by curling tentacles down my neck and thrusting fronds in my ears.

The Derry

On a whim my wife decided on Sunday lunch out, and we tried The Derry (previously the Londonderry Arms) in Long Newton, now under new management; a good choice too as the food was good, the Theakston’s ale excellent, and the tab was picked up by the good lady.

York Heritage

Today’s visit to York took in an eclectic few of the city’s heritage sites: first the Minster, in view of which I lunched in Bennett’s Café & Bistro; second Bootham Crescent, home of York City FC where I watched their FA Cup tie from a period wooden seat in an old-fashioned stand at the traditionally laid out old stadium; and third Ye Olde Starre Inn, reputed to be the oldest pub in the city, which claim is well supported by serving the hand-pulled ale in vintage pint pots the like of which I have not seen in years.

Orchid View

I am the washer-up in the house, which job I do not mind as the kitchen sink affords a nice view over the back garden and fields beyond, but at this time of year as the nights draw in that prospect disappears to be replaced by my reflection; however my wife’s growing collection of orchids are currently providing a colourful display on the kitchen windowsill that is much more pleasing on the eye. 

Forty-fives

Forgetting yesterday to buy some E45 hydrocortisone cream for my wife’s sore hands nearly resulted in me getting a P45 (termination of employment) for my marriage, so today I shopped early for the miracle stuff for the sake of soothed skin and marital harmony.

Part Time Full On

For a part-timer the last three days have been onerous if remunerative with two driving assignments and three tutor sessions; being away last week meant lesson planning also had to be fitted in, but the advantage of last minute preparation is that it is fresh in the mind when delivering the session. 

Dress Code

Received an e-mail informing me of the dress code for my work at the education centre; the ban on jeans and training shoes won’t give me a problem but I will have to shelve my plans to wear a low cut top.

Service Buses

Agreeing to drive the minibus on the day my car was in for a service and MOT meant relying on service buses to get between the garage on one side of town and the school way out on the other; of the four buses, the first failed to show (though a substitute was easy to find) and the second was fifteen minutes behind schedule, however the third and fourth, providing my return journey, restored my faith by turning up spot on time.

Saltburn Sunshine and Showers

Arriving at Saltburn sea front the sun was shining, folk were in the sea and para-gliders were aloft providing the only intermittent shade as they swooped overhead; we were a mile down the beach before we turned and saw the dark clouds out to sea, that quickly became rain clouds overhead and gave us a good soaking on the walk back to the car.

Winners and Losers

An early return from Wooler provided an opportunity to get back into a familiar Saturday routine of watching a non-league match in the afternoon and competing in a quiz at the cricket club in the evening; Shildon won a close game of football, we didn’t win the quiz, and it wasn’t close.

St Cuthbert’s Wet and Dry

Hethpool to Wooler was today’s leg of the St Cuthbert’s Way walk and we slowly climbed the flank of Yeavering Bell up onto the moor and more disconcertingly into the clouds where mist became drizzle, became rain, giving us a bit of a soaking for a few miles before the weather lifted and enabled us to dry out and enjoy the impressive Cheviot views, atmospheric under the glowering skies, for the last few miles into Wooler; once there we dried off fully and refuelled in the cosy Terrace Café, warmed with tea and fed with scones.

St Cuthbert’s Way and Stray

The LGH reunion walk resumed along the St Cuthbert’s Way walk, commencing at Kirk Yetholm and heading steeply up to the Scotland – England border, then more gradually down to the Elsdon Burn and along its valley bottom to finish up at Westnewton near Hethpool where we had left a car; from there we probably strayed from the saint’s footsteps with a prolonged pub crawl involving refreshments in the Border Hotel back at Kirk Yetholm, a pint in the Angel Inn back at Wooler, and drinks a-plenty with our evening meal back at the ‘Tanky’.

Tankerville Arms

After passing the inviting ivy-clad frontage of the Tankerville Arms on the A679 at Wooler many times on drives to and from Edinburgh, I finally got to stay there as it forms this year’s base camp for the now annual Lloyd George House old boys reunion walk, and tonight four of us arrived ahead of tomorrow’s walk and spent a few hours in the bar, noting that for three of us this week forty-five years ago was when we met as freshers at Edinburgh University; actually it was a group of seven in the bar as we were accompanied by our outsize ‘Tanky’ teddy bear key rings, an incongruous addition to a table of grumpy old men.

Wardrobe Malfunction

While I was helping a friend to erect an enormous flat packed wardrobe, he noted that the drawers, when fitted, did not fill all the available space, which left a sizeable void between them and the back of the unit, the point of which he questioned; “just right for hiding your stack of pornography” I quipped, receiving a horrified look from my wife who clearly thought such a remark inappropriate, particularly to a church pastor.

Leaf Sucker Sucks

As a labour-saving time-efficient garden appliance the leaf sucker/shredder falls a bit short – the receptacle for the shredded leaves is fiddly to fit, even harder to take off, awkward to empty once full, and counter-intuitively, the shredding of the leaves seems to increase rather than reduce the original volume; to make matters worse today the failsafe safety mechanism (a bit of plastic on said receptacle that bridges a gap between the on/off trigger and the motor) got out of alignment (rendering the equipment perfectly safe by preventing the motor working at all), which required some jiggery-pokery with a screwdriver to sort out, the sucker coming back to life just as I was about to consign it to the scrapheap and instead fetch the rake and grabbers.

Barnstorming

Our barn becomes the resting place, temporary or permanent, for items that fall into disuse but are retained in anticipation of potential future need, no matter how remote that possibility – toys, bikes, golf clubs, racquets for tennis, squash & badminton, paint of various hues, empty boxes whose gadget’s longevity remains in doubt, cables for unknown IT, obsolete IT, books, long playing records; the list is endless, but my wife’s patience is not, so periodically we have a barnstorming session like today’s to thin out the accumulation and produce three piles to go – one for back into the house (small), one for the charity shop (medium), and one for the tip (large).

Farsley

As the FA Cup progresses through the qualifying rounds the number of matches diminish and with them the options to see a game locally, and though I could have gone back to Spennymoor (whose game I watched last round) I took advantage of the benign weather to instead visit a new ground, Farsley Celtic’s Throstle Nest, to see Bishop Auckland; public transport looked a good option and the trains and buses worked well getting me a few miles out of Leeds to the unfussy little mill town, its stone built main street fronting more modern residential developments behind, though in one stone terraced street I spotted some resistance to the march of time in the shape of a full washing line strung across the road between two opposite first floor windows.

Bad Moms, Not Good

With the VUE cinema vouchers from Nectar about to expire with the month it was a case of beggars can’t be choosers that led to us getting tickets to see the nine o’clock screening of “Bad Moms”, making a night of it with a meal first at the Chinese Buffet, which though busy still had plenty of tasty dishes on offer; as for the film, the tone was set by the preceding adverts for sex toys and panty liners (actually not so much adverts as mini-documentaries) and the main feature lived down to them with more laughs due to embarrassment than humour, but costing nothing but a few Nectar points, I suppose it was value for money.

Sporting Nights

The winter rhythm of late evening TV sport highlights has settled in nicely and this week has provided nightly viewing with MOTD on Saturday & Sunday, Rugby Union on Monday, NFL on Tuesday, European Champions League on Wednesday, and the Europa League tonight; Friday night is usually a blank - but fortunately we have Ryder Cup highlights for the next four days.

Gate Danes

Accepting to tutor a new pupil whose parents run a boarding kennels did not seem such a good idea when I found the gate plastered with dire warnings not to enter; I got out the mobile and announced my arrival which prompted three figures to emerge from the house; the smallest was my pupil’s mother, the larger two turned out to be Great Danes, one old and disinterested, the other young and all too interested, which meant it had to be hauled into its kennel (bigger than our new summerhouse) before I could enter without risk of being bowled over.

Not 91

A year ago today we had a meal out to celebrate my dad’s 90^th birthday that had occurred the previous day and which turned out to be his last; in commemoration of what would have been his 91^st, a day late in line with my habitually tardy marking of the event, I finally hung on the wall the framed trio of photos I had put together for display at the wake.

Gotta Foolish Feeling

So I’m standing in a shop staring at my phone that I had hurriedly dug out of my pocket to answer before it (all too soon) cuts off and goes to voicemail, but the screen is dark and inactive despite the continued ringing in my ears, and then the Black Eyed Peas burst into voice and I realise (for the first time – pop not being my quiz forte) that my ringtone is the intro to “I Gotta Feeling” which is playing on the shop sound system.

Seasonal Change

Following Thursday’s equinox “winter drawers on” comes to mind and while my underwear remains consistent throughout the year my outer garments change according to the season, so today was a day for folding up and putting away the summer clothes – shorts, T-shirts, cotton socks and short sleeved shirts - and unearthing the winter wear – rugby shirts, sweaters, woolly (and Mongolian yak or camel hair) socks and, for those particularly chilly Saturday afternoons at the match, my thermal vest and long johns, when it really will be “winter drawers on”.

Cheap Day Out

A busy day began with mid-morning brunch at the Vane Arms (excellent as ever), followed by an afternoon drive up to Consett for their FA Vase match (a goodish game), topped off this evening with an Italian meal at Prezzo in Darlington (food good but music more intrusive than ambient) and a film at the adjacent newly opened VUE cinema (a very comfortable theatre and the film, Bridget Jones’ Baby, unexpectedly enjoyable); despite the full-on programme costs were minimal with our quiz-win voucher covering most of the brunch bill, a £3 OAP entry to the football, my wife paying for the pasta, and cinema tickets courtesy of an offer on my Nectar points.

Can’t Cope

A trip to B&Q in Middlesbrough proved fruitless in my search for coping stones to top off my painstakingly pointed, 20cm wide, garden wall; the building yard had plenty in stock at 14cm and 28cm, but the 19.5cm ones I found on their website were nowhere to be seen, which means ordering them on-line unseen – but it’s the only way I will be able to cope.

Techie Triumph

This morning the router (having been turned off and turned back on again) was up and running and the world wide web was my oyster; as for the scanner, in describing to my wife the shape of the unconventional USB port I likened it to the one in the back of the printer –doh! – and sure enough this morning I just uncoupled the printer lead,  stuck it into the scanner, and Bob’s your uncle as a test scan captured an image and put it somewhere in the computer not too difficult to locate.

Techie Trials

Another no-show for teaching gave no excuse not to tackle a couple of techie tasks I had been putting off for the usual reasons – a certainty that either the kit, the instructions (just pictures these days) or my IT skill swill fall short of the necessary; first up was installing a second-hand flat-bed scanner and all went well until the instructions said connect to the computer via the USB port, but the hole in the kit was square so not the usual USB shape, and none of the cables that came with it had a square connector to go in it, so bringing the job to a grinding halt; undeterred I moved on and unwrapped the new router (ignoring the smart TV box and mains-based ether-net connectors that came with it unbidden) and following the instruction picture-book set it up successfully and was soon able to hook up my tablet and PC to the cyber-sphere – for an hour or so before the world wide web went walkabout, visible, connected but unresponsive.

Triple Shifts

Tuesdays have become fragmented with three regular work shifts (two minibus driving and one tutoring), totalling just two and a half hours spread between noon and six p.m., and as there is not much time to do anything between shifts other than drink tea and eat cake, I also put in a triple shift of home chores this morning before the clock struck twelve: a laundry load washed and hung on the line, the front grass mown and, most innovatively, the car interior vacuum cleaned.

Plastering

The replacement utility room doorframe was roughly plastered around first by the joiner (hurriedly and inexpertly) and then by me (slowly and inexpertly) a month or two ago and though it is surprising how acceptable its appearance has become with familiarity I decided it should really be tidied up and finished off; cue an hour of scraping with a palette knife and rubbing with sandpaper, followed by another hour of applying plaster in a thin skim as I attempted to smooth out the lumps and bumps into a profile and surface acceptable for painting. 

Mixed Emotions

We moved the student into his university accommodation today with mixed emotions, not my wife sad and me happy, but both of us happy and proud to see him set off on the next stage of his life but sad and regretful that it signals an all too visible milestone in the parental continuum as eighteen years of daily care and attention (albeit declining recently in intensity) changes to an occasional intervention as and when needed (by him not us).

Tablets

A few weeks ago my Hudl2 died, and yesterday the creaking old Hudl1 that I had reverted to, gave up the ghost as well, but today my “partial refund” for the 15 month old Hudl2 arrived from Tesco in the form of one of their cash cards loaded with £40 towards a new tablet; my wavering about whether to buy another Hudl was rendered irrelevant when I discovered Tesco no longer sold them, so I purchased a Samsung Galaxy Tab instead, and a six inch model that will be more convenient to carry around and hopefully will lead to more frequent photos on the blog.

Tea for Two

The reality of our student’s departure at the weekend began to bite today as I planned, for the shopping list, next week’s meals – which will be for two instead of three - and while the change will open up more experimental cuisine options it will also feel strange for a while; but first it was tea for three tonight with a “see you off” meal at the Buck Inn.

Toilet Training

Our prospective student’s accommodation will be en-suite so today he got a quick lesson from me on how to clean the bathroom sink and how to operate a toilet brush, so no excuses for not keeping the facilities pristine; in my student days such luxury was unknown but the upside of a communal bathroom was a diffuse responsibility for its cleaning – either the university employed a cleaner or another resident with a lower dirt threshold stepped up to the porcelain.

Shredding

Cancellation of my teaching session this morning freed up the day, which I decided was best spent dealing with the accumulated paperwork on the study desk, mainly to do with insuring the house, two cars and two cats but with a few surprises unearthed as well, all of which took a few hours to sort, file, recycle and where necessary shred, the latter spawning the supplementary task of emptying, and so unjamming, and then hovering around, the shredder; it is a shame the venues for my daughter’s forthcoming wedding allows only organic biodegradable confetti, otherwise I could have supplied the whole guest list.

NFL

Each year it is pot luck what, if any, coverage NFL will get on Freesat channels, so I was glad to spot a highlights programme on BBC2 late tonight that will apparently run up to and include (hopefully live) the Superbowl next February; coverage of the Wembley games remains unknown but we live in hope.

Cold Feet

The return, after fourteen years, of Cold Feet on BBC1 (episode two tonight) is providing a treat on a Monday night; the characters have mellowed (if not matured) but remain credible and recognisable, the issues dealt with are pertinent to their and our age, and the actors have become even more accomplished over the intervening years.

Harvest

At this time of year, with the weather remaining fine, the roads around the village are full of tractors hauling over-laden trailers of hay from field to somewhere mysterious but clearly very big; the compensation for being stuck driving behind them is the sight of the shaved fields randomly dotted with cylinders of gold, forming an alien-looking landscape for a day or two until the stacks are gathered up and stored away.

Tow Law Town

I use the early rounds of the FA Vase to visit new football venues, which today led me to Tow Law and the splendidly named Iron Works Road Ground, perched high in the North Pennines; with such a location the preferred time to visit is definitely in the first few weeks of the season (beyond then you risk frostbite or being snowed-in) and I was not the only football tourist who thought so with at least another four “ground-hoppers” in attendance.

Grow Up, Grandad

A cultured night out in Stockton-On-Tees (yes it is possible) with a quick dish of pasta at Carpaccio then across the road to ARC to see “Grow Up, Grandad”, a play by local writer Gordon Steel; the cast of three were excellent in the perceptive inter-generational drama laced with humour that had the audience laughing out loud and no little pathos that had them quietly sniffing back the tears.

Floored

The summerhouse erected last week has been in regular service since, but its springy floor proved a little unsettling so today I laid the tongue and groove brought home yesterday; the 18mm spruce board means the floor surface is now better than any in the house and would make an excellent dance-floor, provided the dance involved only two people and extremely limited movement (which sounds like my kind of dancing).

Juke no Joke

Though smaller than the C-Max and shorter than the Mondeo, the Nissan Juke still manages to hold some surprising loads, today easily swallowing seventeen 2.1m lengths of tongue and groove flooring, plus the weekly supermarket shop.

Gold Medal Performance

My through-the-night watching of the Olympics paid dividends at tonight’s pub quiz as the picture round and current affairs questions both concerned events in Rio, giving us a flying start that was consolidated by some inspired general knowledge answers; our lead at that point must have been massive for it to be sufficient to carry us through the music round (although even there I made a best ever contribution identifying three tracks straight out of my limited car CD collection) to a rare win and a £50 meal voucher.

S4C

Though Sky monopolise much of the football on TV, with a little digging around it is possible to access the odd snippet on the Welsh or Scottish digital channels, like tonight when I found highlights of Wales v Moldova on S4Cymru - entertaining enough once the Welsh language commentary was turned down.

Big Sam, Small Change

And so it starts again, another England world cup campaign, the fourteenth I have invested emotional capital in, and which, from the 1966 success, have steadily declined from expectation, confidence, pride and hopefulness to hopelessness and couldn’t care less; with Big Sam Allardyce now in charge there was little sign of change with Rooney still sitting deep and doing nothing useful, Kane still isolated up front, Hart still miskicking, and Sterling still running into blind alleys, so that it was only when Dele Alli came on (and Slovak captain Skirtl was sent off) that things looked better and a last gasp goal won the day.

Fair Price Film

Tonight we settled down to watch a DVD I purchased for £1 in a charity shop a week or two ago while waiting for the bus home from Stockton; “Revolutionary Road” was, despite its title and DiCaprio and Winslet leads, somewhat short on action being instead a tense domestic drama, or tragedy, that we were glad to get to the end of – I was also glad I only paid a pound for it, at £1.50 I would have felt cheated.

Last of the Summerhouse Whine

After literally a few years of my wife’s wishing, planning and whining, the summerhouse was in place today and finally ready to fulfil one of its purposes – to provide a peaceful space for her on returning from work (summer holidays being over) to sit and relax, with a cup of tea and piece of cake, and share with me the events of her day; it turned out so relaxing that we were still there an hour later, by then with a glass of wine each.

Unhinged

If the summerhouse started the day half-built, by lunchtime it was back to three-eighths, as after pulling my hair out for an hour puzzling how to attach the hinges in such a way that the doors could operate effectively, I had to dismantle pieces constructed according to the instructions but clearly preventing the doors being attached in such a way that they could open and close; as for the doors, the majority of the sixteen pieces of mitred beading fixing in the windows needed re-engineering to fit together (if you are not going to mitre at 45° why bother?) but eventually they were ready to hang, miraculously filling the gap formed by the adjusted frame – and with a few barrel bolts added we were more or less complete.

Half-Way House

On this last day of the summer months our flat pack summerhouse arrived early and I got cracking straight away, identifying all the bits of wood and ironmongery (which took an hour) before calling in the student for some technical assistance (“hold that up while I drill/screw/hammer”); it was a bit more complex than the average flat pack construction, particularly it being outdoors on a breezy day, but we managed to get the four walls attached together and to the floor, and then the roof fixed on, complete with felting (in this element the student graduated to skilled apprentice) before it went dark, leaving it a summer-half-way-house (door-less and window-less) overnight.

University Challenge

The time was ripe today for my wife (along with many other such parents) to undertake the challenge of kitting out for university our new student, which required dragging him around a couple of key stores (Wilkinson’s and Matalan, but thankfully not Ikea this time) trying to get him interested in colour schemes for bedding and bathroom, and what cooking utensils and equipment he might need (beyond a pizza cutting wheel); it took a while for him to engage but by the end he was throwing stuff into the trolley with abandon so that it had become less university challenge and more supermarket sweep.

Historical Fiction

The problem with historical fiction, be it a novel or TV series, is my inability to distinguish between the hopefully accurate historical context and the presumably embellished or just plain made up fiction; today I finished Bruce Holsinger’s novel “A Burnable Book” set in the troubled reign of Richard II and watched the second episode of ITV’s presentation of the early reign of Queen Victoria – both shed light on the respective monarchs’ life and times but was Richard actually moments from assassination by a papal envoy and did rats really emerge from Victoria’s 19^th birthday cake?

Wall Eyed

I checked, and there appears to be two definitions of the term depending on whether it is hyphenated (wall-eyed – the opposite of cross-eyed) or a single word (walleyed – having a light coloured iris), but I can add a third (say two words not hyphenated) condition: that of continuing to see a bricks and mortar pattern even through closed eyes, caused by excessive pointing, particularly in bright sunlight.

A Long Time Ago on a Ground Far Far Away

Football can be a small world but I was still surprised to find one of the coaches at my Northern League game today was Willie Donachie who I used to watch play left back for Manchester City at Maine Road throughout the 1970’s; I took the opportunity for a quick word to remind him of those days, to which he replied (accurately) “that was a long time ago”.

Stockton Library

With Darlington’s fine old library scheduled for closure I determined it timely to join Stockton Library and today called in to get my membership card; what the building lacks in character it makes up for in airiness, opening hours, accessibility by public transport, and an in-house tea and coffee shop – delightfully named “Starbooks” – and while I took out no books today I did ensure their stock of cheese scones was one down by the time I left.

Fine Walking

To offset the fine dining (which includes the breakfast here) my wife and I opted for some fine walking, from the hotel along a circular route up to Ghyll Head Reservoir and back; the good walking weather – dry, still and cloudy, so not too hot – and clear directions given on the leaflet supplied meant a pleasant stress free hike although the general description given of “six miles gently undulating” suckered us into biting off a bit more than we could comfortably chew – it was more like seven miles with lots of ups and downs, including many stiles, that left us at times rather too breathless to fully enjoy the equally numerous kissing gates.

Boat Trip

A hot and sunny day in the Lakes, just right for a boat trip up Windermere to Ambleside, a coffee and blueberry scone at a lakeside café, a stroll into the town for a mooch, a stroll back to the lakeside for a cold beer and cider, before another chug down the lake back to Bowness; the only downside was a lack of sun-block which meant back at the hotel my face was turning red enough to match the beetroot that accompanied my venison starter and the cherries that went surprisingly well with my mackerel main course.