The House Husband

I’m fairly certain that this has been one of the worst Sunday’s we’ve ever spent in the UK. I admit, that could be a slight exaggeration if I include the Christmas we went to the Lakes, but even so, it was pretty dire.

It was like all the rain we’ve already had decided to double up and fall in one day. As a consequence, we didn’t leave the house. Of course I went shopping in the morning (and managed to get soaked) but that was it for me and Mirinda stayed inside.

I find that days like this are good times to perform a bit of essential housekeeping on the website – clearing out old files, fixing up photo albums that no longer work. While there’s no obvious evidence of my having done anything useful, at least I know the site is working a little bit better.

As I go through the many pages, I often wonder whether I should change it all. It does occur to me that I’m possibly one of the only people who actually look back over old photos and journals so, for that reason alone, perhaps I should make it what I want.

Perhaps, once all the travel journals are transferred to the blog, I will make wholesale changes, just to spruce it up. Of course, this can only be accomplished when the weather is rubbish and I have nothing else to do, given the size of our website.

In the meantime, I just look out the back window and thank Dave we now have a path. I reminded Mirinda how awful the back garden would be if not for the path. We may dither over other changes to our house but this one has proven a boom.

PS: The reason I might not be able to make the first FATN committee meeting (as I mentioned yesterday) is because I’m expecting a delivery on Tuesday and have no idea when it’s due.

Oh, dear! The fancy new electric opening overhead skylight windows in the basement have developed a leak. Poor Emma had a constant drip, drip, drip in a well positioned bucket next to her, as the heavens let rip with a massive downpour just after lunch today. It was a downpour I gratefully just missed, returning from lunch as I did ten minutes earlier.

Of course, Nick immediately called facilities to report the leak and, to give them their due, they arrived almost before he replaced the receiver of his phone. Two chaps arrived and looked up then down into the bucket. They then left to reappear a few minutes later above the windows, treading carefully between the panes of very toughened glass.

In the still falling rain, they applied vast quantities of some sort of silicone goo around the glass where the drip was flowing. The dripping stopped. For about two hours. And then it returned. It did occur to me that perhaps they would have been better off sealing the leak when the rain had stopped.

Mind you, I didn’t mind the drip. It was strangely comforting to know I was inside and dry. I felt a bit sorry for the hordes of tourists who I’d seen sitting outside between the museums at lunchtime but I expect they ran inside as soon as it started. At least I hoped they did. Otherwise their postcards would read something like “A lovely morning in London spoiled only by the torrential rain which ruined our sandwiches and drowned the children. Wish you were here.”

Of course, when I popped out for my usual Friday visit to the V&A, the sun was bright and there were few clouds blotting the otherwise blue sky.

Today I went upstairs to a part of the V&A I’d not found before. Honestly, the place throws up new places for me to discover like dandelions in the lawn. It always amazes me. It makes me think that, if I was living and working in Paris and the Louvre was close by, I’d never run out of things to visit.

Today I saw the earliest known photographic image of London. At first glance, it appears to be a small silver square and, from most angles, it resembles a mirror. You have to move in quiet close and suddenly a remarkably clear image of a London street scene almost magically appears. It’s a daguerreotype plate, taken by someone called Monsieur de St Croix. It was taken from Trafalgar Square looking at Parliament Street. Here’s a copy from the V&A website.

London in 1839

In the main sculpture gallery, I noticed this rather portly chap who I’d never seen before. Strange but true.

Joshua Ward - the great and generous - by Augustino Carlini

Josh was born in 1684 and decided to become a doctor. Not particularly keen on studying, he didn’t bother with getting any qualifications. He also decided to become very rich by selling potions and lotions to poor, unsuspecting sick people. In short, he was a quack.

Quack he may have been but, as far as his doctoring went, he was pretty good. Among his patients were George II and prime minister Horace Walpole. Because of his reputation, people tended to believe he knew what he was doing. So he would sell them his miracle drugs.

At one point he had to leave England (he was quite heavily involved in the Jacobin Rebellion) and lived in France where, over the next 16 years, he invented his famous Ward’s Pills and Ward’s Drops. They consisted of poisonous ingredients which would induce sweating and vomiting, the theory being they would cause the body to expel whatever ailed it. Obviously, this is not a good idea. I mean, they’re called poison for a reason.

He returned to England and set up shop, claiming he could cure all manner of things like gout, scurvy, syphilis and cancer. He grew very wealthy and, as you can tell by his statue, rather portly.

But here’s the twist (for twist there is). Joshua Ward was a great philanthropist. He set up shop in the poorer parts, dispensing cures to those that couldn’t afford it. He gave money away to charities and even went so far as to throw money from his coach as he drove by the poor.

The proper doctors of the time didn’t like Joshua Ward (presumably they thought he was bringing the medical profession into disrepute…or they didn’t like him curing the poor) and tried to pass laws preventing the sale of his medicine. They were unsuccessful and Joshua died with a modest fortune.

My favourite bit of Joshua lore is that he stood for and was elected MP for Marlborough in 1717. It was then discovered that no-one actually voted for him. On close examination, the mayor’s signature appeared to have been forged on the Return. Joshua was chained in pillory and then flung in jail for a bit. I have no idea whether this last bit is true or not but I seriously hope so.

And then, for the second Friday in a row, I managed to get drenched walking home. Damn this drought!

Ever since the hose pipe ban was put in place, the rain hasn’t stopped. Over here, they call it a drought…back home they’d call it the rainy season.

It's officially a drought till Christmas

So poor Mirinda had a very wet birthday. But not only that, she also has an awful cold. It seems to be getting worse rather than better. She can’t sleep properly because of the awful hacking cough and so along with feeling poorly, she’s also extremely tired.

This afternoon (at 5 o’clock to be precise) she suddenly asked for Vienna truffles or Brazil nut toffee from Thorntons. being her birthday and seeing as she’s sick…I quickly went to the PC and found their phone number. After two short rings, Luke answered. I said “Hello, Luke. I wonder if you could tell me what time you close today.” I thanked Luke when he told me 5:30.

I was out the front door by 5:05. It normally takes me 15 minutes to get from our door to Starbucks and Thornton’s is closer…just. I thought I’d make it with minutes to spare. As I walked quickly by ChimiChanga (the new Mexican style restaurant recently opened in Castle Street where Brasseries Gerard and then Cafe Uno were) I noticed the big Seiko clock hanging out of the wall of a jewellery shop. With sinking heart I worked out what the hands were telling me. The clock said it was 5:35. I knew I was in trouble.

But then I looked at my watch. Through the driving rain I could see it was actually 5:20 and the stupid Seiko clock was wrong. I quickly crossed the Borough and strolled confidently into Thorntons, dripping rainwater everywhere.

I immediately spotted Luke. it wasn’t difficult. he was the only person there and he was wearing a badge with ‘Luke’ on it.

“Ah, Luke! Just the man. I need some Viennese truffles and some Brazil nut toffee, if at all possible.”

Luke thought for a very brief moment and then leapt forward to the appropriate shelf in the appropriate display. He waved packets of both in my face, asking if I’d prefer the smaller packets to the big. I won’t bother answering that here.

“Luke, you have saved my life. I have an ill wife in bed at home and it’s her birthday. This is just what she needs.”

I paid and left, starting to rush back up Castle Street before realising that it didn’t matter now, my mission was completed, I had the spoils in my bag and was returning victorious. Thank you Luke.

Oh, did I mention it didn’t stop raining all day?

Drips and drops in the bird bath

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

Apart from talking to my mother for an hour and a half, today has been full of working out finances. Seriously dull which goes with the weather. It’s been a long day of rain and cold and grey skies. In fact, on Breakfast this morning, the weather map showed the whole of Great Britain completely covered with rain. Feels like February.

So, nothing really happened to me today. For that reason, I thought I’d post a few photographs I took of birds yesterday. Some I’m quite happy with.

Just about to take off

I’d set the camera up in front of one of our feeder poles. Mirinda told me that the wrens sometimes perched on the top and, because I’ve yet to photograph (or even see) a wren, I thought it would be a good place to start. I didn’t get a wren.

Coming in for a landing

There was an awful lot of gold finches (as usual), blue tits (as usual) and coal tits (even more so). I kept the ones showing them in or preparing for flight.

Fast out of the blocks for this little blue tit

As Mirinda says, it’s great to see them like this because they are so fast, it’s not something you normally see. Sadly they’re all a bit blurry (or not completely in frame) which spoils them but it gives you an idea about how graceful and beautiful they can be.

A coal tit, almost gone

I did manage a couple of nice gold finch shots (there’s one in blip) and a particularly pretty blue tit but they were motionless and, dare I say, a bit dull.

Barry looking rather dapper

One highlight was getting a shot of a gold finch with an id ring on one leg. I’ve never seen one of these before and thought it rather exciting. I do wonder how the person who did it managed to catch him though.

A bird with a history

Anyway, tomorrow I’m having lunch with Mirinda so, hopefully I’ll have a little more to post!

The birds were very noisy today. I topped up the feeders in the morning and think they may have been telling all their mates to ‘COME AND GET IT’! Whatever they were saying, it worked. Even though the day was mostly memorable for being miserable, grey and wet – the path is so wonderful in the rain – the birds were simply flooding in.

A bunch of starlings having a meeting about the weather

We were going to take the poodles for a walk somewhere nice but the weather was against us in a big way. After Mirinda finished working on her essay (her usual morning routine at the moment), the heavens simply drew a damp, grey cloud over everything. The poodles were not too pleased.

Carmen looking somewhat displeased

Before lunch, Mirinda had a great idea after a text exchange with Susanne and, as a result, we are off to the Isle of Wight tomorrow for a day trip. The weather is supposed to be much improved (which wouldn’t be hard). We are to drive over to Haslemere and take the train. Apparently Rafi has started riding a bike. Not sure if he jousts while riding but suspect he does.

But, that’s for tomorrow. Today was nothing but the birds, rain and catching up on Christmas telly. before I go, here’s a couple of pigeons who spent quite a bit of time arguing over the rich pickings on one of the obelisks.

The Obelisk Wars, eventually won by the white one

We’ve had a bit of rain over the last few days. A little while ago, this would have meant the dining room floor having a thick layer of mud on top of the wood. This was partly from my wellies but mostly due to the paws of the poodles.

The fur at the end of their feet acts like a mop, absorbing and then redistributing. They go outside, wander around and then bring the garden into the house.

Most of the time I manage to wipe them dry before they enter the rest of the house but the dining room always cops it. And I haven’t mentioned the muddy footprints across the kitchen tiles.

However, everything has changed with the path. Oh, glorious path. What a difference! Ok, there’s still a bit of water but nothing like the old pre-path days. Mind you, Carmen has only three feet to work with at the moment so you’d expect it to be a lot less than normal anyway.

Speaking of Carmen, she has started using her leg a bit (though not when we go for our little walks up the path), gradually putting more weight on it. I have to be quite alert because she races up and down the stairs if I’m not.

Her stitches seem to have done their job well as her wound quickly heals and she doesn’t appear to be suffering any pain although I think she’ll still gets a bit uncomfortable every now and then. She particularly doesn’t like it when Day-z bites the leg.

It hasn’t rained all day. This morning I managed to finally get some photographs of a nuthatch – Dawn’s favourite bird (apparently). They normally fly in, grab some food and then flash away again, leaving me with nothing but an image of the feed tray. This one, however, decided to stuff his face with as much food as possible.

Little beak, many seeds

He really is a lovely little chap, though I think he looks a bit like a badger, with that black stripe across his face. Or maybe an old fashioned burglar.

Hiding behind a chain

We also had another visit from the starlings. I’ve never really noticed how beautiful they are.

Starling

Speaking of visits, I had an unexpected one from Nicktor this evening. He was on his way from his new work to a Christmas ‘do’ at his old place of work and suggested ‘popping in for a cup of tea’. Which is exactly what he did. I haven’t seen him for ages so it was a great treat. Hopefully next week we’ll be able to have a Nicktor Night.

We managed to get soaked on the way from Susanne’s flat to Shanklin Station. It was like Australian rain – not the usual soft, non-wetting, English variety. It had sort of threatened all day but decided to wait until we couldn’t possibly dry off.

We woke to a few showers and the guy running the hotel said he had just started walking the dog when the rain fell on them both. We just laid in bed and listened to it. It stopped by the time we left the hotel. The guy running the hotel very nicely offered to look after our bags while we went for a long stroll along to Rylstone gardens, down the long, scary stairs and onto the beach.

Shanklin Beach before the storm

In fact, the weather was lovely. The skies almost clear, the sun just warm enough, not too many people around. The rain waited until we’d settled under an umbrella at the Aqua Hotel with coffees. Here’s an interesting thing…Mirinda ordered the coffees and told me she’d ordered me a cappuccino. I’m not sure who she thought she was buying it for because I haven’t actually had a cappuccino for many years. Not that I was bothered – a coffee is a coffee, after all – it just amazed me. Of course, it might actually be years since she bought me a coffee.

The Aqua Hotel, Shanklin

Anyway, the rain only fell for a short while (making a mockery of the comedy couple who couldn’t quite work out what to do in order to have a drink and not get wet) and we wandered up two doors to meet Susanne and Rafi. Rafi had finished his homework and so was able to join in the conversation.

Mirinda, Susanne, Rafi on way along cliff top, Shanklin

After a bit (well, actually after a pint) we wandered over to the cliff lift for the short trip back to the hotel to pick up our bags which we then transferred to Susanne’s flat where we had a lovely lunch while Rafi & I played kung fu panda on each other.

It was a very relaxing day. Sadly, the rush to the station in drenching rain, was not.

The rest of the trip back to Farnham was all very easy with connections working perfectly everywhere and we were eventually able to remove the damp things we were wearing and sit back and relax. It’s rather good that Mirinda has a Book Group day tomorrow rather than going to work because we both need a bit of a rest.

There were flash floods in Dorset today and our garden was drenched. A lot of rain fell in the south east of England. It has been so cold that Mirinda had the central heating on as she beavered away on work stuff. I just sweltered.

Actually, when I went shopping first thing, I was dampened pretty thoroughly. At the checkout, when asked if I wanted a bag, I had to say yes, explaining it was to go on top of my shopping after I’d packed my own shopping bag. Great way to cut down on plastic use, saving the planet in the process. Or not.

At home we both listened to Radio 4, although in different rooms and on different radios. One piece I only heard the end of concerned the daughter of Thomas Carlyle, writer and satirist. The woman who now looks after his house for the National Trust told the following story.

Apparently, when he lived in Chelsea (from 1834), Thomas Carlyle lived next door to a family who had chickens. While the Carlyle house was pretty quiet in the 19th century as opposed to now, next door’s chickens caused him a lot of grief. When he sat down to write, his peace and tranquillity would be invaded by the anti-social squawking, pecking and crowing of the birds.

This unsatisfactory situation would mean Mrs Carlyle (Jane) would have to march around to the neighbours and tell them, in no uncertain terms, to please make their chickens be quiet because her husband (important man that he was) couldn’t concentrate on his writing. (Actually, she was pretty important as well, becoming one of the most important ‘people of letters’ of the 19th century.)

Now, I have no problem with people complaining about noise, particularly if it’s disturbing someone’s work but I really want to know how you shut a chicken up. A dog, a baby, aggressive parents screeching at their kids, even a parrot but chickens? It’s not like you can reason with them or lock them in the dark. The only way I know is cut their heads off and even then, it doesn’t work immediately and makes a bit of a mess. It also means the end of egg production.

Moving on a few years…a maid ‘accidentally’ burned the original first volume of Carlyle’s History of the French Revolution, which he re-wrote completely after finishing volumes two and three. I think it’s just possible that the maid had something to do with the neighbours and their chickens. Revenge is best served cold.

Says everything about our garden today

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But the rain faded into a barely perceived background after Fiona texted to say that Claire had her first drink of water, her first swallow of anything, since October 26 last year. Great cheers went up and Mirinda immediately called her dad. There were no leaks so it looks like she is well on the road to recovery. We are all very happy.