Lists

Got cut off in my prime by surprised publication of my last post

I am an inveterate list-maker. I have 2 lists - A & B. A hopefully to be done today and B likely to drift into the future until some item becomes urgent and then swiftly moves over to list A.Christmas lists start at the end of November when the P.O. urges us to send our cards to far-flung outposts of Empire to get there in time for Christmas. This I duly do and find my cards arrive in Sri Lanka or wherever in the first week of December!

Being obsessed with food my first list is of ingredients for Christmas fare. Then cards and stamps. There is talk of removing the Queen's head from the stamps. A good job they didn't this year.as with the grotesque creatures on this year's stamps I wouldn't know which way up to put them.
Preparations start with making lists
This happens at the end of November.
Food, cards and presents must be bought
Something for each family member.
Is there anyone not on the list
now lying on the kitchen table?
Oh yes. We had almost forgotten
The Holy Baby born in a stable.

Happy Christmas

Happy Christmas everyone.


I have made masses of sausage rolls and mince pies and iced the cake. There are lovely Christmassy smells of cooking coming from upstairs. Amanda has laid in enough food for a siege so if we get snowed in we will be ok. I have lost count of the number of people Amanda and Mike have to feed over the next few days.

Hats

I was watching a documentary about the 1920s and noticed that every man wore a hat. They wore flat caps, trilbys or bowlers. Looking back I realise that my life has been dogged by episodes concerning hats.

As a four year old when I was on a pleasure steamer on the Thames on a family outing my beautiful pink straw hat fell overboard and was lost forever. Some years later I was walking to school over Lambeth Bridge with my friend Peggy when she decided to get rid of her battered Panama. She dropped it off the bridge but at that moment a barge emerged from under the bridge and the hat dropped on to the barge. The boatman tossed the hat on to the shore and a nice schoolboy kindly retrieved it for an ungrateful Peggy. That was how I met my first husband.

During the war when I was working in Whitehall my mother and I went to lunch at Lyons Corner House in the Strand. She had just bought a very pretty blue and white straw hat. Going down some steps she missed the bottom step and fell on to her knees. A very helpful young RAF man bent to help her up. Unfortunately he was smoking a cigarette and as Mother got to her feet the lighted end of his cigarette fell on to the brim of her hat and set it alight. With much agitated clapping of hands we managed to put it out. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Another friend , also called Peggy, had a thing about hats. She had bought a new green one in the style of Robin Hood with a tall brown feather. The weather looked like rain so she was torn between wearing her new hat or her old brown one. She really wanted to show off her hat to the girls at thr office. She finally made up her mind and set off for work. Sitting opposite her on the Tube was a lady wearing a green Robin Hood hat with a brown feather. Peggy thought how extraordinary that they should be sitting opposite each other wearing identical hats. Peggy, a friendly soul, smiled at the lady and pointed to the hat. The lady smiled nervously back and looked away. Peggy continued to smile and point. There was no response. Peggy reached her station and as she got up to get off she caught sight of her reflection in the carriage window. She was wearing her old brown hat!

To cap it all (if I may make a pun) my second husband was a Mr. BOWLER>

Father Christmas

What an extraordinary picture in the Daily Telegraph today of hundreds of people dressed as Santa Claus on a charity run through Liverpool. Another illusion shattered!

Have you ever heard of the Lambeth Walk? No, I don't mean the dance but a wonderful street market of my childhood. We lived two streets away. One Christmas my mother said we could go "down the Walk" to meet Father Christmas. He would be outside Marcantonio's. This was what the Americans would call an ice-cream parlour. In the summer I could have a halfpenny ice cream cornet and in the winter a warming glass of hot peppermint cordial. So off we went down the Walk and coming towards us as we approached "Marcs" was Father Christmas. . Imagine my excitement. But before I could speak to him another Father Christmas came from the opposite direction and the two Father Christmases stopped just in front of us. One accused the other of stealing his pitch and there was a rare old set-to with a lot of pushing and shoving and some very naughty words. Mother hurried me away. I never felt quite the same about Father Christmas after that.

Soon be Christmas!

I have just sent my Christmas cards to Australia and Sri Lanka so Christmas preparations are under way (or should it be under weigh). I have seen a good many Christmases. One I particularly remember was when I was about six. Life was hard for our family between the wars and money very short.
Two or three days before Christmas there was a knock at the door. I heard my mother say "Come in out of the cold" and into the room came a Girl Guide Captain, who we came to know later as Miss Christina Fleming . She came in with her sister, Robin, and six Girl Guides each one bearing a gift. They had brought tins of fruit, chocolate, biscuits, corned beef, tea, sugar and a Christmas pudding. Such largesse!
Some kind person had given our name to these two ladies who were the daughters of the Reverend Archibald Fleming. He was the minister of a fashionable Church in Pont St, Knightsbridge. The Guide Company was distributing gifts to the less well off. I reckon we qualified!!
What a lovely surprise! How kind they were and what a wonderful Christmas we had!

Snow

As someone once said "If this week was a fish I'd throw it back". The mother and father of all snowfalls descended on Sussex on Wednesday night. The coastal towns rarely see so much snow. No trains from Brighton - only one bus has gone along our normally busy road and few people are out. I am in hibernation as I am none too steady on my feet and am afraid of falling. I don't want the neighbours to speculate whether I've had a glass too many!

Our patchwork Christmas dinner has been cancelled. My very nice help couldn't come as the school her children go to has been closed. And to cap it all my laptop came over all peculiar and wouldn't start. I have been suffering withdrawal symptoms. Mike came to the rescue so here I am.

I can't ever remember my schools being closed because of bad weather. Living in the centre of London I do remember it snowing but not deep snow. In the thirties I walked over Lambeth Bridge along the Embankment to Vauxhall Bridge to school and back four times a day. No school dinners! Lunchtime was from 12 till 2p.m. If it was raining hard I might be given a penny to go halfway on the tram. ( I usually walked and illicitly bought an orange or some sweets).

No wonder my husband once described me as a tough old bird.

The Cake

I should really have started baking for Christmas some days ago. Stir Up Sunday, the last before Advent, was traditionally the day for making the Christmas pudding and cake,. The name comes from the collect for that day which begins "Stir up, we beseech Thee O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people" All our family took a turn at stirring the mixture!

My mother-in-law, a staunch Presbyterian, was renowned at her church for her baking skills. Her Christmas cake and mince pies were altogether out of this world. On the day of the church fete she really came into her own. Her fruit cake was legendary and won first prize so often that she wondered whether she should keep competing. Her cherry buns were a joy to behold (and to eat). In fact, I still use her bun recipe and it is a black mark for this Grandma if there are no buns when the grandchildren come to call.

On one famous occasion the domestic science teacher from the local Grammar school produced a large, beautifully iced cake. I must say it was much more professionally decorated than any of the other offerings. However it was not for sale, it was to be first prize in the raffle. It was a splendid affair in peach coloured icing decorated with green leaves and red roses. Shells edged the top and bottom and it was altogether a work of art.

Imagine my surprise when I found I had the winning ticket. Mother-in-law said "You won't have to make a cake this year". So I didn't. At teatime on Christmas Day. although everyone was stuffed to the gills with turkey and Christmas pudding, not to speak of dates, nuts and chocolates, nevertheless I thought I would produce my wonderful prize. What a disappointment!! The icing was so hard it nearly broke the knife and when we finally got to the cake it was as dry as desert sand and fell into crumbs as I tried to cut it. Never judge a sausage by its skin. From that day on I have made my own Christmas cakes.

Advice to a Young Man on Matrimony

Sorry folks, the first verse disappeared. Here it is----

My family say it's time I left the nest.
My mother's tired of polishing my shoes.
She says to me "It's time you took a wife"
I quite agree with you I say, "But whose?"

Advice to a Young Man on Matrimony

To continue ------

I'm told that honest men will marry soon
But wise men do not marry, soon or late.
Should I look for a widow who is rich?
Or will young love in a cottage be my fate?

So much advice is given now to me.
When will the best time to get married be?
Marry in Lent, in time you will repent.
Advice I know that's surely kindly meant.
Marry in May and you will rue the day.
The song says love will find a way.

All I desire is a pretty, intelligent girl.O
One who is not too short, nor yet too tall.
The answer that I get from all my friends is
"Don't we all, don't we all".


Sorry about the hiccup. This laptop has a mind of its own!!!

Headlines & Slogans

Journalists love puns. Here are some headlines I saw in a Folkestone paper --

"Missing baby found in Sandwich." "

A smuggler caught-- "Man held in cigarette case."

A family called King and another called Queen in trouble -- "King and Queen in court"

Seen on a dustcart "Satisfaction guaranteed or your rubbish back"
Seen on a handyman's van in Hove "Rent a Hubby".
In the shop window of a laundry "Does your wife wash herself?"
The pen is mightier than the sword (and much easier to write with).
Middle age is when your broad mind and your narrow waist change places.
Old age is a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind it doesn't matter.
Youth is wasted on the young!!

Anniversary

On this day in 1942 Ernest Thirkettle and I were married at Emanuel Church, West Dulwich, London. Church bells had been silent since the beginning of the war, only to be rung if enemy parachutists were seen. But on this day, because after a series of setbacks, we had finally captured El Alamein in the North African campaign permission was given for church bells to sound a peal of rejoicing. So the bells rang out joyfully on our wedding day.

Remembrance Sunday

Today I have been thinking of my nephew, Graham, who is laying a wreath at the Belfast Memorial as the Representative of the Salvation Army in Northern Ireland. No doubt, like me, he will be thinking of Ernie, his uncle, one of the 55,000 men of Bomber Command who were killed in WW2. Soon, I hope, there will be built a memorial in London to honour the sacrifice made by these brave young men whose average age was 22 years. It is so right that for our tomorrows they gave their today.

The Second Fire of London

This month's copy of Saga magazine has a picture like my picture of St. Paul's Cathedral when the City of London was on fire. The raiders came in first with incendiary bombs and the resulting fires were a beacon for the bombers following with high explosive. I might have sounded light-hearted but it was overwhelmingly frightening. The noise went on and on.

The next morning I picked my way to work over piles of broken glass and firemen's hoses which snaked their way across the streets. When I arrived home that evening my mother told me that Jack's father, a fireman, had been killed by a falling wall. This is what war is really like.

Guy Fawkes

The evenings close in and before you know it Bonfire Night has arrived. Why do we still celebrate it? Perhaps because the foiled attempt by Guy Fawkes and his plotters was meant to kill the King as well as destroy the Houses of Parliament. Hitler had a good try and the IRA almost suceeded in killing Mrs. Thatcher and her Cabinet but we are a resilient race. Despite our enemies efforts to undermine us I remain an optimist.

Fire watching

I have just been watching a programme about the London Blitz. In particular the night of 29th December 1940. This I well remember because it was my first time of fire watching.


We lived in a tall house close to the south side of Westminster Bridge. There was a basement which served as an air raid shelter and three floors above. We lived on the middle floor. The stairs led upward, past the top flat and up to a door which gave on to a flat roof. This was where we used to do our fire watching looking out for incendiary bombs.


There was a rota kept of all able-bodied residents and neighbours who took it in turns to watch for bombs. We were armed with a stirrup pump, abucket of water and a bucket of sand. i don't remember anyone telling me what to do but I was up there ready to do it! Fortunatelyfor the safety of the building and the occupants no incendiaries ever landed on the roof while I was on watch though they rained down all around.

The other watchers with me were Jock, a steward on the train "The Flying Scotsman" and usually well fortified with his native brew and Jack aged about the same age as I was to whit 17.



On this night the shrapnel from the anti-aircraft guns was rattling down all around us Thankfully I had my Civil Defence tin hat on. Not so the others, so Jock decided he would go down and look for something for them (and, incidentally stoke up with some more Dutch courage,I expect) He let the door bang to, and when Jack and I decided it was getting too dangerous and we had better take cover, to our horror, we found we could not open the door. No one could hear our agitated banging because of the noise of the raid. Not a moment too soon the "All Clear" sounded and somebody came up to see where we were We made sure , in future, that the door was propped open. Being brave was all very well but there are limits!

More Tea

Yesterday I had a surprise present. It was a tin of tea. Since the packer had omitted to in clude a message I had to surmise who the donor was. No need to call in Poirot. It was, of course, my tea drinking friend from Tokyo. Now for the second surprise. The tea was grown in England!
If Cousin Carole is reading this she no doubt knows all about it as the Tregothnan tea is grown on the Boscawen estate near Truro in Cornwall. Tregothnan is believed to be the only commercial tea plantation in the U.K. It has secured a large order to export its quintessentially English tea to Japan. It already exports to China and India.
The estate has been the home of the Boscawen family since 1335. Enough information?
To get down to drinking the tea! I have to report that is bright, refreshing with the slightest hint of a perfume. I recommend it.

Idle thoughts of an idle lady.

I have just read a letter from a man whose lock on his bathroom door does not work so he has taken up whistling pro tem. When we were viewing a house prior to purchase the vendor said the lock on the loo door was broken so you had to sing "God Save the King".

I notice that a number of Air Lines are advertising very cheap one way tickets to various exotic destinations.
Paddy to Mike "Where is your brother?"
Mike "He won a one way ticket to Singapore".
Paddy "Did he have a good holiday?
Mike "I don't know yet. He is waiting to win a ticket home".

Despite the gloomy forecasts of the weather men of an impending Ice Age I have for the past four days enjoyed sitting in the conservatory in brilliant sunshine with beautiful blue skies. I have to admit it is autumnal outside. Regular readers will have gathered that the conservatory is one of my blessings even though , like me, it is getting on a bit If, as seems likely, it was built with the house it has stood there since 1873!

Redecoration

Our house painting is finished and it all looks beautiful. The scaffolding has been taken away. Fortunately our neighbours did not need, like Charles Saatchi (Nigella's husband)to send in their own workman to take it down. We shall miss our friendly builder who has been here for some weeks and is almost like one of the family.

On the subject of scaffolding I have been told that the scaffolding is customarily left in place until it is needed for another job. It saves on transport and storage I suppose. There are tricks in every trade.

Letters

On Saturday last I reached a pinnacle of fame. Little Maisie Ellis from Lambeth got a letter published in the posh peoples' paper "The Times". (Don't tell the Editor but I don't even take The Times)I occasionally read my daughter's copy. I am a Telegraph person.

I have, in the last two years, had four letters published in the Telegraph after many frustrated efforts. I have decided that it is all due to e-mails. When a letter arrives by snail mail the subject has either been done to death or some earth-shattering event has overtaken it. With e-mail one's response is immediate and one's letter doesn't necessarily end up in the WPB.

Cousin Madeline rang me to tell me the good news. What price fame? Who cares about the X Factor or Strictly when you get your name in The Times?

A View from the Conservatory

From where I sit no houses can be seen,
Just puffy clouds ride the bright blue sky.
The world outside is encompassed in green.
The noisy street outside passes me by.

Who would think that lorries, cars and buses
Hurtle past our front door to the town?
From Hove station down to the Marina
The number seven bus speeds up and down.

Here at the back garden all is quiet.
Just the soughing of the warm wind in the trees.
The tall and graceful eucalyptus sways,
The bamboo rustles gently in the breeze.

The pretty leaves of ever-changing green
Of the false acacia please the eye.
A crow swoops low, he's come in search of food,
Then swiftly flies away with raucous cry.

The constant voice of seagulls fills the air.
I hear them calling, calling to each other.
The mournful cry of one low-flying gull
Sounds like a small child crying for its mother.

The rushed and busy world I do not heed.
I sit here idly musing in the sun.
I realise that I have all I need.
I count my many blessings, one by one.

TEA

I do drink quite a lot of tea. At the moment it is Twining's Breakfast Tea which is not too strong. My brother used to like "builder's tea" where the spoon practically stood up in the cup. My mother, who had a saying for everything, used to say it was "the cup that cheers but does not inebriate".

We have just had a visit from two more members of our Danish family. Throughout their childhood the photographs of Ernie and his crew were on show in their living room alongside photos of their own family. For new readers see www.ee138.net They were delightful compay and really enjoyed our tea! They were intrigued to see MIF (milk in first).

Our friend in Tokyo writes wonderful blogs about tea. She is on a very restricted diet so a pot of tea is a real treat but I am amazed at how much some teas can cost.

Further to the above there is an article in today's Daily Telegraph about tea in China. The price of one particular variety has soared to levels only rivalled by the finest wines. It is called Dahongpao. On line traders are selling a single kilo for more than £1,000. Do you drink it or put it in the bank's vaults?
Tea is important in Chinese culture and Dahongpao was planted to serve the Emperors of the Ming Dynasty (1368 - 1644). My Tokyo friend mentions tea from the Yunnan province which has also risen dramatically in price. I hope she can still afford it.
My humble tea costs less than £5 for 250 grammes but it does say on the box "By appointment to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the second".

Swine Flu

Talking of conservation this government certainly doesn't mean to waste anything. Having spent good money on buying swine flu vaccine mostly unused, I read they are proposing to add it to the normal flu jabs that we poor old souls get given each year. So we are going to get this vaccine whether we want it or not. There is some talk of it having links to narcolepsy. Oh dear! If I sleep any more it won't be worth my getting up to get dressed.

Going Green

I have decided I am now too old for candlelit dinners. No use whispering sweet nothings. As the wine goes down the volume goes up! I have dined out three times in the past few weeks. Each time in delightful company and with good food but the restaurants were lit almost entirely by candlelight. After I had stumbled my way to the table I had to ask my neighbour to read the menu. When the food arrived I couldn't see what was on the plate. I am all for conserving energy but this was ridiculous. I wished I had brought a torch!

David

A sad day!! My friend David ,the beekeeper from Denmark, has died. Although in very poor health he took part in the ceremony in May at the crash site, playing the flute and reading a beautiful poem. He was a man of many talents and I was fortunate to meet him. Despite his problems he was cheerful company and interested in all the world around him. I shall miss him as will many others whose lives he touched.

Bath

Have just spent 3 days in Bath visiting old friends. Stayed in a house on top of a hill with marvellous views and slept in a fourposter bed! Felt like Elizabeth 1st (or Mr. Pickwick when he found himself in the wrong room).

Denmark

I find when I Google something I rarely retain the information for very long whereas when I spend time searching through dictionaries, atlases, books of quotations etc. the words on the printed page stay in my memory and I can recall them later. Is Google atrophying my brain?

Last weekend we had the pleasure of a visit from Kirsten from Denmark. She is the granddaughter of the farmer whose family have been tending the memorial in Denmark where Ernie's plane crashed. We also had a visit from Anne who has been instrumental in tracing families of airmen who were killed in WW2. We had all met in Denmark earlier this year.

The weather has been so gloomy this week, more like November than August so am reading for the umpteenth time " Winter Solstice" by Rosamunde Pilcher which is like sitting in a cosy room by a welcoming fire. Pure escapism!

Gadgets

I have just got a new digital hearing aid. I am as deaf as a post without it. It has different controls from the last one but i shall get used to it.

I have warned my family to be careful now of what they say in my hearing or I will cut them out of my will!

When I confronted my new washing machine 4 years ago with its dials, numbers and flashing lights it seemed like learning to pilot Concorde. I soon put it in its place and showed who was master by using just two of its many programmes (as I think many housewives do).

The word "housewife" intrigues me. I don't remember marrying a house. For once an Americanism might be more accurate. They say "homemaker".

Savings

The Bankers are getting richer and I am getting poorer yet the Government urges us to save money. What money? Perhaps we should hold National Savings Weeks like we did in WW2. Then we were encouraged to save to boost the war effort. The slogan was "Save for Victory". What would it be now? Suggestions on a postcard .

.My friend Kitty,
and I would occasionally seek respite from the nightly London blitz by going to her Auntie's at South Mimms, then a straggling village just off the A1 road to the north. It consisted of one long lane dotted with several pubs.

One day we were met by the young cousins in a high state of excitement. It was National Savings Week and there was to be a procession! Sure enough at 2.30 there was the sound of a Military Band. We rushed to the front gate so as not to miss anything.

Around the bend in the lane came a small Boy Scout pushing an ancient perambulator on which was perched, rather precariously, a wind-up gramophone valiantly blaring forth martial music. He was followed by a gaggle of Scouts, Guides, Cubs and
Brownies desperately trying to keep step. Following them was the vicar, his white surplice billowing out in the wind and a crowd of rather noisy choir boys.

Then came a bevy of Land Girls wearing their distinctive breeches and carrying pitchforks. Next two members of the Auxiliary Fire Service carrying Stirrup Pumps,
two ARP Wardens in tin hats, three ladies from the Women's Voluntary Service (WVS)
some St. John's Ambulance men, a party of pretty young nurses from the Cottage Hospital and some RAF cadets. Bringing up the rear was a platoon of Home Guards (Dad's Army) and finally the village policeman. We gave them all a cheer as they marched past.

A Surfeit of Squirrels

A good day today! Saw the Nurse and everything is in working order (except my legs of course - but we won't talk about them) I might also have someone to push the Hoover and move the dust around.

I have had another squirrel encounter. I used to think they were pretty creatures, sitting up and eating with their front paws. Now, I'm sorry if I offend my readers, I just think of them as tree rats.
This cheeky blighter came in the conservatory while I was sitting reading the paper. I gave him short shrift but it does mean that I don't like leaving the door open if I'm not there. I hope he got the message.

Grace

In these days when apparently many families do not eat together when do they talk? A German friend said that his mother was not a bit grateful to be given a dishwasher for Christmas. She said the only time she managed to talk to her 3 teenagers was when they were drying the dishes!

The old custom of saying Grace before or after a meal is another casualty. I was taught to say "Thank you GOD for my good dinner, please Mummy may I get down?" My daughter, having watched me cook, said very logically "Thank you Mummy for my good dinner, please God may I get down?" The common courtesy of asking or excusing oneself on leaving the table doesn't apply if you have a takeaway on your lap in front of the telly.

Does it matter? Discuss.

Bottles

Does anyone else have difficulty with opening a childproof container?I don't think the manufacturers realise that these things are also Grandmaproof. I have to wait until some strong young man (preferably 64 or under) hoves over the horizon and rides like the knights of old to my rescue. It is frustrating to have a bottle into which I cannot get!

Whilst I am joining the ranks of Grumpy Old Women why are the things I want in the supermarket on such a high shelf that I have to borrow a complete stranger's husband to reach things for me?

And another thing - no perhaps I'd better stop there or we shall be here all night.

Squirrels

We are being visited by a very persistent grey squirrel who runs across the conservatory roof and leaps up on to the balcony. I am wary of squirrels. At our last house in Seaford Squirrels cost us a great deal of money in repairs.

A roof tile had been dislodged in a storm and a family of squirrels had made a home in our roof. We could hear them running about above us. There was a danger they might bite through the electric cables and set the house on fire so we had to get rid of them. We were told they did not like the smell of moth balls so Don bought the local shop's entire stock - a large bagful and pushed them into the roof space. After a day or so we saw the squirrels emerge and they didn't come back!
When I told my friend she said "How did Don manage to hit them?".

Wild Honey

To revert to my theme on bees- until I read a review of a book by a young travel writer called Piers Moore Ede and his global search I had forgotten our quest for wild honey in Sri Lanka.

Whilst staying with our friends the Jayatissas in Galle we stopped the car in a forest on the way home from lunch and a young nephew who was with us in the car was despatched into the trees where presumably some apiarist lived and came back with a litre bottle of dark brown liquid that Mrs. Jayatissa said was wild honey. We ate it for breakfast next morning on curd and very nice it was too.

Welsh National Opera

As my family know I have always been an ardent fan of French & Italian light opera. I found Wagner too heavy going, without the fireworks of Rossini or the lilting melodies of Bellini and Donizetti. Last night, featuring the Welsh baritone, Bryn Terfel, the BBC relayed 5 hours of Wagner's "The Mastersingers of Nuremberg" from the Royal Albert Hall. Imagine my surprise when I started to watch at 7p.m. and found myself still watching at midnight! Am I converted?

French Invasion

It has been mayhem here this week. Yelling, laughimg, rushing about, playing silly games, snakes and ladders and sinking down exhausted. That's just me! I have been aided and abetted by 3 of my 4 grandsons who have been holidaying here.Small children have endless energy and it seems French children even more so!

One small triumph. I managed to persuade one small reluctant eater that a daily glass of milk, straight from the fridge with a straw would make him grow into a fine, big chap like his big brother.

All quiet on the Hove front so far today. Everybody is out.

Little Black Book

On Monday I went for a routine visit to the Doc. There is now a DIY Blood Pressure Machine in the waiting room. Whatever next! Do It Yourself heart transplants?

I have just found an old address book for 1941/2 During the war we were encouraged to write letters to any young men of our acquaintance who had joined the Forces. Ernie, my boyfriend, must have been through the book with a fine tooth comb because there are 3 addresses of young men from my office who had joined up and across each one in Ernie's handwriting is written "censored".

Bike Ride

Last Sunday my son's friend, Nicholas, was one of 29,000 cyclists who took part in the London to Brighton Bike Ride in aid of the British Heart Foundation. He arrived in fine fettle and had lunch with us afterwards.

There has been a spate of letters in the Daily Telegraph about whether bicycles should have bells. My husband, Don, was taking a short cut to the station one morning along a narrow path with notices saying "No Cycling". He heard an agitated ringing of a bicycle bell behind him which he ignored. When the path grew a little wider the cyclist managed to squeeze past. As he did so Don's elbow "accidently" came into collision with him and knocked him into the holly hedge. The man regained his balance and as he rode off shouted "If I wasn't in a hurry I'd come back and thump you". Don went the long way round for a while after that.

Pictures of a Beeman

Today I sent some lovely pictures to my friend David Ashton in Denmark. David is English and is a beekeeper. He lives in Denmark with his Danish wife, close to the crash site at Stadil and often emails me to tell me what the crash site looks like at various times of the year. Although we have been corresponding by email and letter for nearly 2 years, I hadn't met him until we went to Stadil in May this year. In the first picture, I am meeting him for the first time - at the site.

The Bee

Last Sunday Cousin Madeline and friend Doug came to lunch. Madeline is a horticulturalist and Editor of the Ashdown Forest magazine and regarded in the family as an authority on gardening and wild life. I, alas, am no fan of creepy-crawlies. Once in Sri Lanka having reluctantly shared my shower with a cockroach I was chased in from the garden by a hornet only to find a 12 inch lizard in the kitchen. I chased it out with a newspaper , flapping at it like thge old parlour game of Flip the Kipper. These days I think snow and wild life are best viewed through a window. As Kathy Lette says the great outdoors is that bit between the back seat of a taxi and the front door of Selfridges. But I digress.

To get back to Sunday. We five sat in the conservatory in the warm spring sunshine with the door ajar when a large bumble bee came blundering in. It buzzed loudly against the glass trying desperately to find a way out. Suddenly its tone changed almost to a shriek. Consternation!! It was caught high up in a spider’s web. Amanda prevailed upon Mike to rescue it with the aid of a long-handled dusting brush. He put it on a low wall just outside. Madeline told Amanda to get a small amount of honey and water and put it beside the bee. Then Madeline took two twigs and patiently unwound the sticky strands of spider’s web from the poor bee. It reached out for the honey and was last seen walking along the terrace, then disappeared. Such excitement on a quiet Sunday afternoon!