Few more smattering of snow shots in my back garden!

The snow it cometh - well, a smattering!

Yes, we have had snow overnight. Not much – what you might call a smattering – but enough to send me into the rear garden at just after 8am – in case the sun sent it all packing, which it has not 40 minutes later.

Here are some shots to make the Norwegians amongst you smile – Richard told me during the past week in Oslo it was minus 15 with six inches of snow that took him two hours to clear from the decking and the steps up to the road.

Hey ho! No Christmas card just yet, but I live in hope.

Saturday ramblings

Last evening I had a hot shower and was tucked up in my warm bed in time to watch Jamie and Jimmy’s Friday Night Feast on Channel 4. I quite like Jimmy, for we watched him in TV and visited his farm out in Essex – first with Heather and Marlon, and later with Richard and Stine. On the last occasion we were fascinated by the fact that all the animals took an instant liking to Richard, so much so that we had to drag him away or he would still be there today. I have not visited any emporium owned by Jamie, but I am aware that my eldest son takes him very seriously in the recipe business.

It would appear that Jamie and Jimmy have taken over the slim café at the end of Southend Pier (I say ‘slim’ because it is just that and swinging a cat in there would be risky), invited some Essex Lads and Lasses, and engaged Actor David Tennant to do the cooking for them. Now I find it difficult to remember what I had for dinner yesterday, but David recalled that some ten years or so in the past he had eaten a particular Italian dish in – Italy, where else. He even knew the name of the chef who knocked it up for him.  And Jamie helpfully traced both the restaurant and the chef – but left them in Italy, which was a bit sad. But all of this was great fun, although I did spot that a lady in whites was standing very near David and almost certainly doing all the real cooking.

I was reminded of this when I returned from shopping in the town shortly after one this afternoon. Feeling hungry but not wishing to spend time with recipe books and being unable to remember what I had eaten when I visited Italy – twice – in the 1980s, I wandered to the summerhouse (shed-with-the-overhang) at the bottom of the garden. There I delved into the freezer and returned to the microwave with a box of my own homemade vegetable stew (circa early 2015 which was a good year for vegetables). Five minutes later I tucked into the warming and tasty vegetables – and very good they were too. It did not take an hour, nor did I have to persuade a gang of Essex Lads and Lasses to enjoy it with me (although there are sufficient boxes in the freezer to feed a goodly number of them should they wish to call by).

Whilst enjoying the stew, I thumbed my way through THE GUARDIAN Colour Supplement. Bridget Christie brought smiles as she propositioned the idea that the Prime Minister might give parenting lessons personally himself – rather than merely floating the idea as he has done day after day after day for the past week or so – but she hesitated, asking if anyone would wish to listen to a man who forgot that he had left his young daughter in a pub toilet and is said to have done some very odd things in his youth with a pig.

Turning the page, I enjoyed my weekly dose of Tim Dowling, shed a few tears (of sadness, for normally Tim makes me laugh) as he regaled us with the story of his visit to the Vet in the company of his wife and two of his sons to be present as the Old Dog joined his mates in the sky.

I did not read the story of the man who fell down an escalator. That was too near home by far. In the days when Eurostar docked at London’s Waterloo Station, Yvonne and I alighted from a weekend in Paris. With luggage piled on a trolley, we approached the travellator only to discover that it was in fact an escalator. It was highly fortunate that the man in front of my trolley weighed about 20 stone and was big with it, for he merely turned round and allowed the trolley to rest on his ample chest – thus saving a major catastrophe.

An advertisement page made me wonder if I really should be reading this newspaper at all, for the ‘cultural, guided tours, worldwide’ were priced way, way beyond my reach. But then I have no wish to spend 11 nights in the Search for El Dorado at £2,285 nor would I hanker after doing the Classical Tour of Vietnam at the knock down price for 13 nights of £1,695 – for which, I noted ‘extensions are available’.

I was pleased to see that this week’s Blind Date couple actually enjoyed the evening eating at Haunt in N16 and might meet again. Most times the couples in this column appear to dislike each other from the moment the first mouthful went into their greedy little mouths. Having been upset by their behaviour in the past I now read the final sentence to see if they will meet up again – if the answer is “yes” or “maybe” or even “perhaps”, I go back to the beginning and read the complete page.

Church-sitting - two visitors!

I spent this morning church-sitting – a duty some of us carry out on rota. St. Peter’s church is open from 10am to 12noon on Wednesdays in the winter and also on Mondays in the summer. Some mornings you do not see a soul. Not today!

First Chris Gannaway (of the Aldborough Hatch Defence Association) and Stephanie Irvine (Project Manager, The Urban Orchard Project) called in following a meeting at the Dick Turpin with a representative of Miller & Carter, who have the lease from Redbridge Council. The representative was very helpful and readily agreed that the orchard trees behind the Dick Turpin and also those in the grounds of Cuckoo Hall could form part of an orchard project funded by the Heritage Lottery. That is great news – for at long last, subject to the Heritage Lottery agreement, we have a chance to renovate the area around Cuckoo Hall and, later, Cuckoo Hall itself. There are a few hurdles to jump first – but this could happen!

Secondly a lady who lives in south east London called in. The lady is retired and has set herself the task of visiting every London Underground station – and exploring the surrounding area. I gave her a potted history of St. Peter’s and told her a bit about the area.

Both visits have convinced me that I need to update my book Aldborough Hatch – The Village in the Suburbs – A History for I am sure that both ladies would buy a copy – but it is now out of print. I must set myself a target date – like yesterday – and get down to the work.

Left-handers at eleven per cent

I am an examination invigilator at a local high school (which had best remain nameless). It is the most boring thing I have done in my long life and yet - at the same time - a most fascinating experience and one that I much enjoy and would not miss.
Passing the time during a long examination can be a problem and it is essential that I keep my brain active. I plan what I am going to do for the rest of the day. In my mind's eye I look round my garden and do some planning there, too. And I write stuff - again in my mind, if you see what I mean.
This morning there were 82 students sitting a mock GCSE examination in history. I read the paper, whilst keeping a weather eye on the students, for if they need more paper or a tissue or their pens has run out, I have to be at their side, quick at a flash and even faster or the Senior Invigilator - She Who Must Be Obeyed - will be after me with a withering look (and believe me, her looks can wither, although Anne is kindly at heart and rather sweet, but do not tell her I said so for she will give me clip round the ear next time we meet).  
The topics were quite different to those that I studied for my School Certificate in 1949 (yes, 1949 - not a typing error). The Suffragettes, white slavery at Bryant and May in London's East End (the factory may be seen from the railway line running into Liverpool Street and is now up-market residential flats) and the Tolpuddle Martyrs. My history studies were riddled with Kings and Queens and Wars and dates and the like. Much more challenging studies today. But after reading the paper and realising I would have a problem filling an hour and a half with writing about this subjects, I then started the Count - an activity which causes much amusement to my colleagues for many of them wait for the results of my configurations rather as my Dad used to sit by the Wireless (radio to you, Gertrude) to listen to the football results on Saturday afternoons.
Today 16 per cent of the 82 historians write left-handed, while 23 per cent wore spectacles, 54 per cent were of the female variety and 22 per cent had brought a bottle of water to feed their brain and calm their nerves. 
The percentage for left-handers was higher than the year as a whole which, at earlier sittings, I had ascertained was 11 per cent, which was  lower than last year's Year Eleven where it ranged around 20 per cent. I would expect the percentage with water will go up when the public examinations start in May for the heat can be a problem.
 

A luxury pillow!

This morning I had a telephone call from a man wanting me to complete a short survey on line about mobility. I do not know what possessed me to agree to this for I tire of the constant barrage of calls from folk offering to sort out my non-existent PPI or plying me with things I do not want, have never had and am unlikely to need. Perhaps it was the fact that this is a Monday morning and the man sounded desperate. Fearing that I might be responsible for the man topping himself, I agreed, for I am a kind old cove at heart and could not bear to have the death of a man I do not know on my conscience. No way!
The questions were not too intrusive - after age and inquiries about my general health, the man asked me how old was my bed and seemed positively delighted when I said it was but three years old (in fact, I almost expected some whoops of joy but they never came). He was also overcome on learning that I am a light sleeper, that I do not have neck or back pains, and that I get about without the need for a walking stick or other aid.
Finally, the man thanked me profusely for my valuable time (his words) and said that he would now like to give me a luxury pillow. Now I am a great fan of luxury pillows, in fact I cannot get enough of them, not that I have one, but that is beside the point (and please do not be pedantic about this, Cedric nor you Arbuthnot). It so happened, the man said, that he would be in my area tomorrow and would like to call to personally deliver the luxury pillow at either 10am or 1pm. How kind, I thought! Looking furtively in my diary (for I would prefer that the man believed I committed my appointments to my head), I said that 1pm would suit me best.
But then came the crunch - for the man said that he would also wish to make a short presentation to me on the topic of mobility and that this would take no more than an hour of my valuable time (his words).
It was at this point that I terminated the conversation, politely of course, thanking the man for his valuable time as I did so. When, I ask myself, will I ever learn?

Keep Calm - if you can!

 

The following is from Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia


Keep Calm and Carry On was a motivational poster produced by the British government in 1939 in preparation for the Second World War. The poster was intended to raise the morale of the British public, threatened with widely predicted mass air attacks on major cities. Although 2.45 million copies were printed, and although the Blitz did in fact take place, the poster was hardly ever publicly displayed and was little known until a copy was rediscovered in 2000 at Barter Books, a bookshop in Alnwick. It has since been re-issued by a number of private companies, and has been used as the decorative theme for a range of products.

I have just read a fascinating article in Saturday's GUARDIAN about this, which you will find at the following link:
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/jan/08/keep-calm-and-carry-on-posters-austerity-ubiquity-sinister-implications

I doubt all my BLOG readers will agree with some of the statements - but as a piece of history it is, surely, interesting. 

I have a version hanging in my summerhouse (shed-with-the-overhang) reading: Keep Calm and Learn to Dance in the Rain.