Life's not good

Life isn't too promising at the moment.
So sad and upset.
Saw parents and aunty just before Christmas, though I had been thinking of going up perhaps with husband this weekend, but son said he was going, and then my sister.  Trouble is now my sister can't go because her car wheels got broke in a ditch.
Mum, who used to read this blog, now can't see and not being able to see can't remember what she can't see, like the cup of coffee we've just put in front of her, and told her it's there.  But she has to see to know it, so she forgets we told her it is there.  To add to her misery, she's losing her hearing, so mis-hears and then can't make sense of what she thinks she heard, like "I've got a table in this document", she misheard as "I've got a cable in this document".
Aged Auntie has a different form of forgetfulness, and a stoic attitude that her local priest described as "Here day, go day, soon come Sunday" attitude  her.  Not only is she cheerful and accepting of life's restrictions, though she would like to stop falling, forgetting where she is and go out without having to have company to stop her falling and getting lost, but she is eating well, smiling, remembering better than she was and is philosophically accepting of life's trials.  She's our father's sister, and I can see the stoicism in them both, the stoicism that he is drawing on in his need to support our ailing mother.

At least son and new wife will be going for a few hours.  Mum doesn't welcome people for too long because she can't play the host any more, see the food in the freezer or what the dial on the microwave says.  She can't see other peoples' problems, like catching wheelchair wheels in a grubby rug, or an iron that is too clogged to steam any more. And she can't see what work her cleaner of 17 years does, an enthusiastic, honest and loyal worker.  Listen to her saying happy Christmas: https://audioboom.com/boos/2754739-carol

She's the salt of the earth, and like salt, a little cheer goes a long way.

Christmas lunch out

We went out for Christmas lunch, just husband, self and daughter, the fewest I've been with since ever.  Husband arranged it only last week, at the last minute, after I'd suggested we go and stay in hotel like his brother and family has done for years, perhaps join brother but his brother has been travelling to foreign places this year, like Venice, so perhaps didn't fancy another hotel for Christmas.  Then husband found this lovely local place, run by people who run our nearest wine bar, great food, even if you do silly diets - it's still great food, run by great hosts who deal with you in a friendly and tolerant fashion even if you can't make your mind up and there's a queue behind you.  If I did food photos, I'd show you, but here instead is the menu.

Wedding news

The hotel fire alarm went off at half past midnight on Sunday morning, just after most people had left the wedding party and gone to bed.  Left standing were the bride and groom, the bride's family, and many of the younger groovier lot, who I'd left jiving on the dance floor, taking selfies and drinking the remains of the champagne (cava) from the magnum bottles. So who would you expect to have let the fire alarm off?
The wedding took place in lovely surrounds in the Gilstrap Registration Office at Lincoln, next to the ruins of the castle. The groom was white with nerves before the ceremony, but you can see from this photo that now the vows have been made, the registrar's mispronunciation of his surname corrected, and the deed done, he's smiling proudly. His bride, who avows she does not want to be the centre of attention, quietly took the visual attention for the day, looking beautiful, - see her happy smile - but saying little.
The best man did my son proud, racing round the country to fetch the last-minute arrived bridesmaids' dresses, which all fitted each bridesmaid perfectly.  The best man also ran around getting people to sign a memory book against the polaroid pictures that a pair of friends had been taking of everyone.  And he made a great speech starting from how he first noticed my son at school in maths class, when one poked the other.  He described how he'd introduced the couple, and in explaining the couple's gradual revelation to their friends of their relationship, apologised to me that I was the last to know, for which he proposed a toast to me!  Well that's a first - a somewhat untraditional toast, but this best man has endeared himself to me for some time. He was the one a few years ago who helped my son to buy a new car.
At the reception, I met the bride's family at last.  I'd met her maternal grandparents, and her little brother, but now I had the pleasure of meeting her other, rather older grandparents, and her lively younger sisters. Her grandparents had stalwartly remained in the dancing room despite the deafening music, whilst my siblings and I had removed ourselves to a place where we could talk and tease each other.  Every now and again, I'd go back in for a dance. At midnight, most of us retired, including the bride's grandfather and grandmother.  They decided to have a shower before bed, but the shower would not turn off.  They had to call the hotel staff, who also could not turn it off. The water got hotter and hotter, until eventually the steam set the fire alarm off and woke most of those who had just gone to bed (not my sleepy husband who admitted that he'd only thought he'd heard it).  Fortunately, it went off again almost immediately and we did not have to leave our rooms, except the bride's grandparents. They had to change bedrooms because the hotel staff could not sort it out.  It was not the bride or the groom or the best man who set the fire alarm off. Nor her lively sisters.  It was the oldest guest - her grandfather!

Story - what I did at the weekend

Once upon a time, two or three decades ago, a poorly fertile woman, after ten years of marriage, in her mid thirties at last became an elderly mother.  She and her husband were overjoyed at the arrival of their healthy, blue eyed blond baby boy who immediately opened his eyes and gazed intelligently at his delighted Daddy.

His father and I, for I was that mother, gave him a loving home, nurtured and nourished him, planned his education, and our son went to a good school, then a good university, and found himself a good job.  What does a young man do then?

He found himself a good girlfriend, a gorgeous girl, a princess to dream of, someone who thinks my son is one of the best guys in the world.

So what was I doing last weekend?  I was welcoming his girlfriend to our house for the last weekend as his fiancée because next weekend he marries her.  Last weekend, she and I went to the dressmakers to alter the wedding dress, to make it fit perfectly for the wedding.
And as all good stories go,....
May they live happily ever after.

Gone to roost

And a vine lot of trouble

It's interesting how many poultry derived idioms we have in the language, isn't it?  And now so few of us have hens, we've forgotten or don't realise where they came from:

• gone to roost,
• pecking order
• flown the coop
• hens' teeth (they don't have any)

We went out yesterday to old gliding and Oxford friends' 40th wedding anniversary.

 "You need tolerance, perseverance and wisdom"

 to keep a marriage that long said a friend who raised a toast. May my son and his fiancée, marrying on Oct 25th at Newark, have those gifts too.

When we came home, it was past dusk and the hens had flown the coop and gone to roost. I had had to hunt the garden in the dark, till I found two of the three in the vine. "Vine lot of trouble" remarked my husband! The third hen, Lady Grey, didn't turn up till this morning, and now all three are happily eating left over rice curry from a few days ago. Cluck, cluck, clllcckk! Happy hens.

Countries reunited

Over a hundred years ago, an English ship's engineer knocked on the door of a Glasgow house, where its owner, a Miss Maggie Bowman took paying guests, and for the last ten years had provided a home for her cousin's granddaughter.  That wee Scottish lass married that young English engineer, becoming my grandparents.  If we'd not been united countries, would they ever have met?   Would I be? 

I'm so glad we're staying united because we've done so much together, economically, in sport, in academia, and socially.   Why oh why have our English politicians been acting like this was an abusive relationship promising to stop beating up the minor partner and to behave better? This was an opportunity to renew the courtship.

Here's the Donald tartan tam o'shanter my lovely Scottish born neighbour gave me years ago.

23 rd August

I remember

Youth hostelling again

Youth hostelling provides such social fun: the grand children, the other guests, the people running the youth hostel, and the kitten that the people running the youth hostel have.  This year, we went to Cornwall, to Boswinger, hiring a family room as usual, but for a day longer than usual because it takes so long to get there.
Getting there, we went via Devon, and popped in to eat our picnic lunch at my MiL's, where the children enjoyed playing her square piano, the one that used to be in the Green Room at the Old Vic, and sounds great when you play Bach on it.
Then we had three days to explore:

• the Lost Gardens of Heligan
• the beach at Porthcurnick, where the grandchildren built such a splendid sandcastle that the tide took six minutes to wreck it.
• a day at the Eden Project

Hatching hens

Ever seen a cat and a hen together?  Do they get on?  We're kitten sitting, minding son and fiancée's (yes, they're engaged  and marrying in October) two cats, one of whom, Diana, has had a litter of four only a couple of weeks ago and we're minding them for the bank holiday weekend.

I've been brooding on the idea of having hens for some time.  I first had the thought put into my head years ago, when daughter's nursery school teacher commented that since we'd extended the garden, we now had enough room to have a few hens.  More recently I've been working with a colleague who keeps hens, http://connectedpeasant.blogspot.co.uk/ and recommends them.  

After watching this video, I realised I had never held a hen, so I went on a chicken keeping course (a hen party) where I got to see all sorts of breeds of hens, lots of hutches, learned what to feed them, and held hens.
Then, I had to get something for them to live in.  That took a lot of thought, with people advising me to go for a cheap but less easy to clean option - the wooden hutch. Such people don't realise that we don't have running water and a hose pipe in our garden.  We do have a well but it's not usable because the pump handle's broken, and we make do with the modern fad for water barrels, some of which collect old ivy leaves or breed mosquito larva.

I wanted an Omlet Eglu but someone advised us to get a hutch that we didn't have to bend down for.  Then Omlet brought out this high rise one.  So that's what we got.  Here is how you might put it together:

Then we went to a local breeder and selected some chickens. So now we have three young hens, red, white and blue.  We'll wait for them to settle and we're told they'll start to lay eggs in a few weeks.

The adventures start.  Yesterday evening, I wanted to put them away, and they haven't yet learnt to go up their ladder into their hutch so I have to put them in.  I caught the blue and put her in round the back, then the red, and put her in, but before I got the back door shut the blue was out!  More adventurous than I'd realised, she was off!  I grabbed the white, put her away and closed all doors before I went in chase of Belle the blue.  First she went off down the bottom of the garden, which could have been a disaster for catching her, but I managed to head her off again towards the house and the top pond, where I realised was fenced (to stop grandchildren falling in).  With husband's help, we chased her into a corner, pulling the fencing round behind her, until she was stuck between a water barrel and a window.  On the other side of the window, Diana, the cat was watching.   Diana was up on the glass, hen and cat were scared and intrigued by each other.  I grabbed the hen. "Squarhelp!" What a squawk!

I guess hens and cats have a mutual agreement - they watch each other, but keep away - that way, they'll get on.

Daughter's commencement

We went to Dublin to see daughter at her Commencement - that's what they call it when you begin or commence into academic status as a Master.  She's commenced her mastery of linguistics.  Now she's going to combine her maths and linguistics in researching and analysing computationally.  Well done her.  She's going to be a useful woman.

It's interesting that she's in Dublin, the place where her great grandfather came from. Like daughter, he was interested in languages, apparently winning a medal for Gaelic as a child, being the first in Ireland.  I wonder how his mother would react, watching her descendant, sewing like she did, but in this university, the one that the arch bishop told them not to go to!

IN the evening, daughter had arranged for us to attend the common supper at the university as a celebration.  We were puzzled when we arrived to find only two tables listed for the guests who had been at the Commencement, but when we entered the hall we found it full.  At most benches, sat a hundred or more undergraduates and graduates (scholars), at the top table sat begowned fellows, and we guests sat at these two tables that white table cloths, wine glasses, and red material covered (hard) chairs.  Prompt at six, one of the servants strode from the top table to the huge entrance door and slammed it shut, whereupon all the scholars and fellows rose to their feet with a shout.  Then someone at the top table said grace in Latin.  It was a rather longer grace than I heard at Oxford and not in words that I recognised. When grace was over, we all sat and supped.  After the main course was over, a similar routine took place in that something banged, everyone stood, grace was said, the door opened and scholars and fellows trooped out leaving us guests to have sweet course and a coffee.  Very nice.

A word on the scholars at Trinity.  It seems that in their second year, some undergraduates are invited to sit the scholarship exam.  Achieving it, gives the student status as a scholar, which comes with free fees, free accommodation and a free meal once a day for the rest of their time studying there, including not only their undergraduate studies but subsequent masters and PhD work too!  Doesn't that encourage the best to stay on to research!

Wisteria

This year our wisteria has bloomed more than it ever has before, more than several years together, and it smells gorgeous too.  It's not good blooming in comparison to most wisteria plants but it's good this year.  It's not a happy plant in that conservatory; it would be better exposed to the elements again, and goodness knows how it get enough water because though it leaks in there, it's not like there's ever a deluge of rain water.  However, since we have a well in the garden and a well in the house, I wouldn't be surprised if there's an underground stream from which this wisteria can feed.
Apparently, Victorians used to plant a wisteria next to a new house - I wonder why. I suppose this wisteria was planted circa 1902 when the sitting room was added to the older part of the house.