The House Husband

In the 1820s, Mrs Henry Keary went for a walk. She wandered up a ‘shabby little bye road‘ and mounted a stile which gave her access to a deer park. It was a big, up and over stile. She was so impressed, she wrote about it in her diary as soon as she returned home. This is the first known written record of this particular stile and it’s in Farnham Park. Mrs K went on to say it was in a pretty sad state.

After the installation of a turnstile in 1881, following the purchase of a bit more land, rather than removing the stile, for some reason, it was retained. Subsequently, it has gradually rotted away over the years. The deer park also changed. The resident deer herd was removed and access to the park was changed, making the stile redundant. But no-one took the stile away. It stood like an old but slightly sad reminder of a bygone age when such things were necessary.

This is what it looked like in May 2011 when they upgraded the path

The only times the stile seems to get used are when it snows and the wood is less slippery than the path and when kids just feel the strange urge to climb steps rather than walk up a slope. Though, to be fair, I have heard many a parent warning their kids off it because it ‘looks dangerous.’

Why am I talking about this? Well, a couple of weeks ago, it vanished and was replaced by a big empty space. I’m not sure why but I felt a great loss. Apart from anything else, I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to what has been a permanent part of the park.

It was then, as I stood in silent mourning, that I spotted an announcement declaring the stiles fate. It had become far too decrepit and so had to be removed. Given it served no useful purpose, this seemed fine. But that was not to be the end of the story for our stile. The notice went on to inform the idle reader that a brand new oak stile would be put in its place.

This brand new oak stile was put up yesterday and I saw it this morning. I have to say, it looks very different and, once the notice has been taken down, will be quite odd for anyone who doesn’t know why it’s there at all.

Wonder how long before it gets dirty...

Another day of rain and sun intertwined. I wasn’t so lucky though. Midway through weeding the gravel (where once my herb table stood) I was drenched when the blue sky was suddenly confounded by black, bulbous clouds which decided the weight of water inside was just too much to hold onto. So, like a man at the cricket after 18 pints of beer, it fell freely and without mercy.

The morning started off well enough. I walked Mirinda to the station early as she had a meeting in town and then had my usual at Starbucks. (Actually, yesterday the young barista asked me when I first had hazelnut in my coffee so I told him the story of the small place in Katoomba that introduced us to its nutty delights.) Fortunately I didn’t see Julie at Waitrose.

She’s having a really torrid time at work and threatens to make me miserable each time I talk to her. To be honest, she whispers so as not to be overheard which means I only hear about every fourth word. Most of the time I have no idea what she’s saying so just grunt sympathetically. I think ,in all the time I’ve been talking to her, she’s only ever been happy twice. One of those times was when she thought she’d managed to find employment at another shop, only to be miserable the next day because she was unsuccessful.

Back at home, I managed to ring Mum and Dad (as opposed to yesterday when the phone company we use for international calls had to fix a dodgy router) and we chatted for ages before I headed out into the garden.

I planted hornimums (which are actually Salvia horminun) in the orange crate bed where we usually plant them, having removed a load of gravel and dead leaves and generally preparing the soil. I then started on the weeds.

During one beautifully sunny interval after lunch, I took the poodles to the park. There was a lot of people taking advantage of the momentary lack of rain. One group included about five kids and one mother (who was eventually joined by a second one). They were all playing cricket with a tennis ball. Poor mum was in the out field so every time one of the kids slogged a the ball, she’d have to run and get it. At one stage, the ball came towards me so I bent down, picked it up and threw it back to her.

Now, I’m not going to lambaste all women for not being able to catch (basically because it’s patently not true) but this woman was hopeless. She closed her hands around where the ball had been seconds before and it dropped at her feet. She thanked me and picked it up, taking to the kid who was bowling rather than throw it to him.

A little while later they had decided to kick a rugby ball around. One of the kids hoofed it and the poor mum had to go and retrieve it. The way she was holding the ball, I thought she was going to give it a bit of a punt but she decided she’d be better off (again) handing the ball back to the kids.

I guess you can tell, it wasn't very hot today

As we watched the fun and frolics, we were joined by a Scottish lady who took a keen interest in the poodles who were taking an equally keen interest in her whippets. She asked what they were and coo’ed over them. Day-z loved that. Carmen tried to ignore her. Eventually we were able to get away.

We managed to get home before the rain started again…just.

Pity the poor guy lying on the grass

This is my one thousandth post on this blog. That’s a lot of drivel from my fingertips to your eyes…or ears if someone is reading it to you. Given my propensity for giving up on things that take too long, I’m amazed that this blog still exists at all!

Anyway, today was almost spent mostly in the garden. Having shopped, spoken to mum and dad and then measured the back garden with the hedge man (a lovely chap who insisted on taking his boots off to walk through the house), it was back at the weeds in the bed nearest the house. I was aiming to have it finished before Mirinda came home. And I was well on course when it started: A faint pitter patter which soon became a downpour.

At first we (Carmen on the table and Day-z on my lap) sheltered under the garden umbrella, trying to stay out of reach of the drops. When it eased off a little, I ventured out to recommence hostilities but that was when the heavens opened up and gave the entire garden a thorough drenching.

I won’t moan about it because it’s been an age since we last had any rain and the garden lapped it up like a camel at an oasis following a year long trudge across the Sahara. But it did put paid to any continuation. We all decided it must be lunch time. I grabbed camera, radio and gardening gloves and we all headed inside. Sitting in the lounge eating my ham and mouldy cheese roll, I stared in disbelief at the ferocity of the rain as it blanked out the other side of the road.

But then, as quickly as it had arrived, so it departed. The sun was suddenly out in force. The dogs looked at me expectantly so we took a chance and headed for the park.

I wasn’t the only one taking the air with my canine friends. The park was littered with over eager dogs and frustrated owners yelling for them to return in helpless shrieks. They all seemed to be rushing around, trying to get through their walk before the rain hit again. Looking at the sky and the dry ground, it was hard to believe that about half an hour previously, it was pouring with rain, let alone that it might happen again.

After the drenching...nothing

There were a few evil looking clouds in the distance but we managed to make it back without getting wet and I set back to the garden, the sun shining down…until the rain once more inundated the garden. And so it remained for the rest of the afternoon – rain on and off. Eventually I gave up trying to dig and decided to clear up instead.

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Looking back at this time last year, I posted a shot of our red tulips. Not wanting to buck tradition, here’s this years crop.

Very red and proud of it

I spent most of today in the garden. Seeing as it was all blue sky and sunshine, it was very pleasant. Having the radio on also aided in the overall pleasantness.

The main thing that has to be accomplished this week is preparing the bed closest to the house for some decent planting. This isn’t as easy as it is to type. But before that, I had to transplant the lady’s mantle and geranium from the front garden to the back. This was no easy task. They both are pretty deep rooted but I managed to get them safely (I hope and only time will tell) newly sited in the back.

Next I had to move a few Aquilegias that have self seeded everywhere. This accomplished it was then time to dig up the masses of bluebells. I moved a load last year and they survived under the hedge so I added some more to the sweeping river of green as well as popping a few in the mossy lawn in front of the hedge. Hopefully they’ll look good next year because they’re a bit forlorn at the moment.

Having managed to remove anything of any value, I then went mad and forked the bed up, weeding as I went. Eventually I could get to the fence (between us and the Crazies) and ripped the old, dead golden hop vines off the wires that generally suspend it when it’s growing. This was very fiddly!

Meanwhile, the poodles were annoying the resident frog so I had to keep rescuing it. I’m sure I’ve discussed the frog before. I’m not sure where it lives but every now and then it appears on the patio and the girls love trying to play with it. The frogs defence mainly consists of just sitting there doing nothing. This just makes the dogs want to play even more. Stupid frog. I must have rescued it 100 times before it decided to hop away to where ever it came from.

As soon as I finished the bed, the birds went mad, swooping down and inspecting for anything alive they could lay their beaks on. Most persistent was a little robin who didn’t even wait for me to finish! Here is my little foreman sternly watching over my work, just waiting to jump on anything not quite right.

All I want is a worm! Can't you hurry up?

Of course, after lunch, we went up to the park (along with the thousands of others seeing as it’s holiday time for the schools) and spotted the woman with the two big white dogs. They are lovely but one is really docile while the other is a bit of a terror. The Terror is always kept on a lead. It just growls and barks ferociously at any other dog that stupidly crosses its path. Needless to say, Day-z runs a mile every time she sees it. I have never seen two dogs walking together, that are so different.

The terror is to her left, the docile on her right

Apart from the Terror, Day-z was very inquisitive today, sniffing a few picnic baskets and generally being fussed over by groups of sun-happy visitors. It was all rather jolly.

Meanwhile, back in the garden, my gloves waited…

Hurry up!

It was another day of keeping the weight off my foot…which means I worked on Mirinda’s spreadsheet for most of it. I had a couple of breaks away from the screen.

Firstly a chap from a tree felling mob called around to give a diagnosis of our hornbeam. It has a lot of odd growths on it which may (or may not) be fatal. Although, to be fair, it grows like a mad thing so it’s probably a good thing it’s diseased.

His initial response was that it was actually not a hornbeam but a pussy willow. Suddenly my demeanour changed. I was quite precious when I thought it was a hornbeam and considered losing it. A willow? I don’t really care. Anyway, he had no idea what the warty growths were and took a photo to look it up back at the office.

He was also there to comment on lots of other felling business like giving us a quote to remove the horrid hedge which I, more or less, devastated last week. He is sending us a quote as well as advice on the pussy willow pox.

My second spreadsheet break came when I took the poodles for a walk up to the castle and back. There were a lot of dogs about, which the girls were not that keen on but generally they were well behaved. I didn’t get any photos of dogs but today I saw another buzzard (or the same buzzard only closer).

Magnificent buzzard

He was flying towards me up high and I started snapping off photos at it and it just kept getting closer. It actually flew directly over me, coming quite low. At one point I thought it was going to swoop down and take one of the poodles.

So, that was my day. I’m off to work tomorrow so I’m hoping my foot will be able to take the strain having not really had to do anything for the last two days.

Spotted hiding behind a tree - cheeky bugger

My wife ordered me to stay home today rather than stress my foot going into town for lunch. I didn’t argue. Consequently, my foot feels a lot better tonight. This means I had a very slow day. not that there’s much wrong with that but I did get a bit bored.

But Mirinda to the rescue! She asked me to create a ginormous spreadsheet for her (for work, not just for the sake of it). I might be a bit sad, but I love spreadsheets and had a ball for the second half of the day. Though it’s still quite a way from finished.

I did test my foot out with a walk in the park after lunch. It was such a lovely day, people were out and about, sunbathing, playing bat and ball games, running round with a whipper snipper, walking dogs…it was just like summer. Without the heat. Which suits me just fine.

We met another lovely dog which Day-z could run away from but who Carmen took a bit of a shine to. They spent ages sniffing noses and various other body parts. Carmen can be as sociable as Day-z is not, when she wants.

We call this breed, a Drontal dog

Anyway, just a short post as I must get on with my terribly exciting spreadsheet.

I did a swap with another presenter way back in January to lead the Alton edition of the Talking Newspaper for today. I’m never that keen on the Alton edition because it’s the last if the day and means a late one. Still, it at least gives the morning to do things, unlike the middle session which is neither one thing or the other. Actually, and to be totally honest, I like all of them.

So, it was an early morning walk up the foggy park with the poodles, during which they had a very half hearted chase of a greyhound and I spent quite a long time trying to get a decent photograph of a bird sitting at the top of a tree singing continuously. Actually, the birds were incredibly loud this morning. A whole bunch of noisy sparrows were doing their best to drown out any traffic noise up near the castle. The tree they were all in was quivering with their song.

Here's another of those birds that I want Mirinda to identify for me

And just to show you that I didn’t imagine the fog this morning…

Very eerie morning

After our walk, I busied myself around the house for bit before heading into Farnham.

When I arrived at the studio it was to a bit of mayhem and backup. The engineer for the first session hadn’t turned up and Mary had frantically rung up Sue (the engineer) to find out where she was. Sue, innocently explained that she’d swapped with someone. Unfortunately the name hadn’t been changed on the engineer’s roster. Mary then rang the person she’d swapped with, Mike.

Mike was shocked. He’d completely forgotten. In fact, on the phone, Mary asked where he was. Mike replied that he was in his lounge room and asked where she was. Mary explained she was at the studio waiting for him. He dropped the phone and quickly raced in.

This meant that they started very late so that when I arrived, the second lot of readers were still in the edit suite and the recording had only just begun. Of course, there’s an inbuilt buffer to allow for over runs so this wasn’t too big a problem. I settled in and started my own stuff.

Peter, the next engineer, turned up and was getting a bit toey because he’s been spoiled with early starting sessions. He found stuff to do around the office though, so he wasn’t too stressed.

Eventually Di turned up (one of my readers) to find that she couldn’t start straight away because the other group was still in the edit room. Di likes to get there (very) early because she’s a bit slow on the edits. I think I’ve explained before abut Di. She’s the ex-English teacher who feels pain every time she reads the illiterate articles often printed in the local paper. I sympathise with her.

Eventually, Mary and her readers emerged and the whole story came out. Poor Mary has to eat every two hours and was feeling a bit tense (as was her husband who’d popped his head in, looking for her) but managed to get away pretty quick smart.

The second group then filed into the studio and Di helped me set up for editing. Then David turned up (my second reader) and we all settled down for some solid word cutting.

After about half an hour, I suddenly started worrying about our third reader (Sally) who hadn’t turned up yet. Eventually I rang her up in case she’d forgotten. The person who answered the phone didn’t know where she was or what she was doing but promised she’d try and contact her. I returned to writing my sports report. And then my phone rang.

It was the woman I spoke to about Sally saying that she had had to dash off to Bedford (or somewhere like that) because her mother-in-law had suddenly taken ill. When reminded about us, she said she’d forgotten all about it! I returned to the editing room and told them it would be just us this week.

This means that her quarter of the stories now had to be shared out between the three of us. We’d also need to edit them. Poor Di! She was starting to get a bit stressed. David and I tried to lighten the mood with some well judged humour. It almost worked.

The Paul, our engineer, turned up. I explained to him how everything had over run. Paul cracks me up. He tells everyone he’s deaf as a post and, unless you talk into his face, he has a lot of difficulty knowing what you’re saying. He wears two hearing aids and not the little, invisible ones either! They look like NHS issue from 1943. It’s very funny during a recording when your sound engineer tells you he’s deaf as a post. Genius.

Anyway, we eventually managed to get into the studio and flew through our edition, finishing half an hour early, which pleased Di no end. After all the mess, it was quite a good recording though it makes a big difference with one less reader. It’s the first time I’ve had this on my watch. You do a lot more reading! At least it felt that way.

We left Paul to clean up the recording as we all left for home. I’ll have to go through the same thing again next week as I’m rostered on for another Alton edition. Let’s hope everyone turns up.

A day that started out grey and miserable and ended up gloriously sunny and blue. VERY English. I think it even rained at about 10am. I say ‘think’ because I was in the hairdresser’s at the time and it all looked a bit damp when I emerged.

Yes, today was my three monthly visit to see Gordon at Flamingo in order for him to make me not look my age. I noticed the obvious landing strip streaks extending beyond the invisible the other day and knew it was time to send the clock into reverse.

I actually love having my hair done but never like the inevitable ‘chat’ that goes with it. Which explains why I like Gordon. There’s no meaningless chat with Gordon. Actually, there’s no chat at all. Put the dye on, let it set, wash it then cut it. Brilliant. My kind of hairdresser. And the results are pretty good too.

Back to my proper age

My next stop was Starbucks (of course) to be asked by the young barista (boy) what I was giving up for Lent. I gave him my usual answer of “Lent” and then asked why he wanted to know. Apparently everyone has been telling him what they’re giving up. He said he was going to borrow my answer for the next person that asked.

The barista who was making my coffee (girl) then offered the following on the subject of giving stuff up for Lent.

I don’t want to steal anything else from the Christians. We’ve already taken Christmas and Easter. It wouldn’t be right.

Genius! Both the boy and I cracked up with laughter. She really has a great delivery as well but it’s a bit difficult to type it so you’ll just have to believe me. I suppose I should have asked her to repeat it into my phone so I could record it. I merely typed it up on my phone to save for later. As I said, you’ll just have to believe me about her delivery.

Over my latte, I finished reading about Atilla the Hun (according to the book, he has been somewhat maligned) and went on to a book about the naming of some London streets. Bleeding Heart Yard was the first and very bloody history.

Shopping passed by without anything happening and I was soon home to the crazy poodles. I decided they needed a walk in order to calm down so we popped up to the park as the sun came out and the clouds rapidly dispersed.

It was lovely in the park. There were a couple of weird people wandering up and down the Avenue of Trees, separated by about 50 yards and walking at the same speed. One said hello and the other ignored me.

The only dogs we saw were a couple of greyhounds who, unusually, the poodles didn’t want to chase.

Come on, poodles! What's wrong with you?

And then, back home to lunch and housework.

So, I guess what I really gave up for Lent (for today at least) was writing a long blog post. I can hear the relief from here.

I’m off to the football tonight so here’s a little story from last Wednesday…

As I sat in the Embankment gardens, waiting for Mirinda, I watched a couple of crows through my telephoto lens, hoping one of them would maybe take off and give me a good ‘on the wing’ shot. In this endeavour, I was disappointed however, the following more than made up for it.

There’s always lots of stupid pigeons foraging around among the cigarette butts and litter in virtually every green space in London. They dart in and out of people’s legs, flying so close that casual lunchtime walkers have to duck quickly or risk serious injury. They seem to have no fear of the big clumping humans or maybe it’s some strong and misguided survival instinct that forces them into close proximity.

Opposite my bench there was a whole crowd of pigeons, wandering over to me in case I was about to spill a few crumbs. This proves they’re stupid because all I had was a Starbucks coffee and not a skerrick of food. Just beyond them, safely on the grass and at a distance to the path, were two crows.

The crows were happily pecking away at whatever crows peck away at until one of them spotted something interesting. I saw it’s head prick up while it’s mate kept pecking. It started to move closer to my camera.

The edge of the grass is delineated with a border of wood, a bit higher than the path and the crow stopped at this, unsure of how to proceed. I could see legs passing through my camera, the crow getting dangerously close. His head darted left and right and down, eyes switching between the danger of the legs and the need for his target.

Gotcha!

Suddenly he pounced – onto the path, his prize in his beak and then back onto the grass, safe and sound. So quick he was a blur. He slipped away from me as he darted back to stand a short way beyond his mate. I found him again and realised what his prize was: a sweet in a plastic wrapper.

I'm outa here!

Firmly grasped in his beak, the crow shook the sweet, trying to force it out of the wrapper. It looked like some sort of crystal mint, the kind that sticks to its plastic wrap. He gave it a few shakes then dropped it, annoyed. Using his feet to hold it down, he tried to unwrap it with his beak. This also defeated him, though part of me wished it had stuck to his feet so some good old fashioned slapstick could ensue.

Damn you, plastic wrapper!

He’d clearly had enough of the niceties of eating sweets and then set about stabbing it with his beak. Like a woodpecker announcing his territory at the top of a tall hardwood tree, his head came down repeatedly, like a jackhammer. Smash, smash, smash. He’d obviously invested too much time and energy in this delicacy to give up now. And then, suddenly, he broke through.

I can only imagine the sweet was now in several thousand fragments, probably still clinging to the remains of the plastic wrapper. The crow, however, had managed to taste the contents, finally. If a crow can show his emotions, this one was glowing with disgust. He looked down at his hard won prize, not quite believing that something could taste so awful.

His head went side to side as he looked at the mess of nastiness and, with a few sudden flicks of his beak, almost as if he was sneezing, he walked off. He rejoined his mate who seemed completely disinterested in any of it, seemingly aware of the follies of sweets. I think I detected a slight smirk on his beak.

Heckle and Jeckle

There’s a dog we sometimes see in the park who has something wrong with his back legs. I might have posted about him before. His owner’s have rigged up a wheelchair for him so he can still go for walks in the park. The poodles always leave him alone which is strangely empathic of them. Anyway, we saw him today and I managed to get a photograph.

Looking wistfully at the poodles as they frolic on four legs

He always seem very happy, trundling along behind his humans. They have another dog which has the use of all of it’s legs, which bounces around all over the place.

Speaking of bouncing…this little chap suddenly appeared out of no where and surprised the girls. He looks a wee bit manic if you ask me.

Come on! Take the ball! I dare ya!

After Day-z had run away, Carmen went over to say hello and they (sort of) did a bit of socialising, though Carmen is never too sure what to do.

I'll just check that you're a girl...

That was about it for today (apart from an agonisingly dull amount of time spent on the accounts) so I thought I might talk about the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks.

It all started in 1735 in (where else?) London. There’s a few thoughts about how it started but the one I’ve chosen to go with is this: This guy called John Rich was, more or less, too busy to go home to eat so he’d sit in his office in the Covent Garden Theatre. he had a simply little gridiron upon which he would sear his beefsteaks. A friend of his, George Lambert thought this a jolly sort of jape and wanted to join in. So they decided to make it a regular thing.

Very quickly word managed to move around those that listen to these sorts of things and soon they were entertaining quite a few publicans, actors, dancers, painters, etc. “Visitors ‘of the first consideration, both in rank and talents’ called on him, and were invited to share in his beef.” And they all decided to form themselves into a club. They made all sorts of rules but the mainstay of the Beefsteakers was simplicity of fare. This meant they just ate beef steaks when the society met.

Word soon spread even further and suddenly, the toffs wanted in. A new rule was created. Anyone with pretensions to grandeur must serve as butlers to those that did not. The toffs all thought this was great fun so, each meeting, they would remove their costly coats, top hats and gloves and hand out beef steaks to the smelly masses of theatre folk.

The society lasted for many, many years and had some very well known members – William Hogarth, John Wilkes, John Montagu, fourth earl of Sandwich. In fact it was probably Wilkes who came up with the motto “Beef and Liberty”. They even had special songs they’d sing at meetings, Roast Beef of Old England being their traditional hymn. This was superseded by The Song of the Day. Here’s some of the lyrics:

No more shall fame expand her wings
To sounds of heroes, states or kings
A nobler flight the goddess takes
To praise our British beef in steaks
A joyful theme for Britons free
Happy in beef and liberty
A joyful theme for Britons free
Happy in beef and liberty

And so it goes. If you want to hear a recording of it, there’s one here – just click the little play symbol when it appears.

There’s another three verses, all praising the joys of beef. And all of this is absolutely true.

When I read this sort of thing, firstly I’m so glad I’m English, secondly, I begin to wonder whether Monty Python’s Flying Circus was really comedy and thirdly, I really, really want to join!