The House Husband

We went for a wonderful (if very long) walk at Hankley this morning. Given the snow fall, we knew it would look lovely and we weren’t disappointed. The bits with snow looked spectacular, the bits without looked just as wonderful as they always do. A real win-win situation.

Snow at Hankley

Above is the burnt bit, where all the heather was lost. While it’s still mostly black, there are some clumps of sprouting grass. Now, all white, it looks fabulous. Pity it won’t last.

We were in for a bit of a surprise on the top of the hill. Looking down the valley someone has started building what appears to be a film set.

Is it a church? Is it a Chateau? No, it's a Scottish monastery!

Mirinda suggested we set off towards it for a closer look rather than just complete our usual circle. After the excitement of the thatched huts at Frensham, I couldn’t think of a reason why not. We set off down the hill, following the snowy paths, getting ever closer to the strange structure.

Even Sherlock Holmes couldn't figure it out

The closer we moved, the more obvious it became that it was an unfinished film set. Rather than proper building materials, the walls are just that. No unnecessary foundations or floors. Nothing like that. Just boards cut to shape with a big scaffolding to hold it all up.

My first guess was that it might become a church. Mirinda thinks probably a chateau. On closer examination, I think she’s right. We’ll have to go back the week after next to see how it’s going.

One of the reasons I thought it might be a church was the fact that the two window openings in the shot below – the ones on the first floor level – appear to have been made at different periods. This would explain why they are not in line.

Hankley set

However, on closer examination of the photograph, I think someone has just put one of the panels the wrong way round. It’s clear that the two openings are in the same position in each of the large panels but one has the smaller bit at the top. Anyway, I hope they notice before they start adding the fake bricks.

Close up of the cock up?

I’m hoping something will crop up in the local paper so I can find out what it is. It’s a question of staying tuned, I guess.

Having walked a few extra miles to get to the film set, we set off up what we call Carmen’s Hill, to take a short cut to the ridge. It was already getting on for well passed lunch time and Mirinda was starting to feel the strain. Carmen’s Hill, so named because she loves running all over it, normally from the top, is quite a steep slope. Having never attempted walking up it, this came as a surprise to us both. Here’s Mirinda almost at the top.

Sherlock nears the summit

In the car, she said I should have taken a few photographs of her odd outfit. She’s probably right.

UPDATE: There has been a lot of interest from the James Bond community with regards this post (none that warrant a comment, I notice). It seems that the building is a mock up Scottish monastery for the new James Bond movie, Skyfall. In case anyone wants to see more photos of the set, I’ve uploaded an album of all the shots I took here.

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I just want to add a photo I took yesterday but didn’t see until today. I’m quite happy with it. I’ve been trying for something like it for a while.

Magpie flies above the snow

Last night we had another fall of snow. Mirinda spotted it first in Canary Wharf on her way home from work. She said it looked lovely, falling through the street lights. Later in the night, I let the dogs out to go to the toilet and they came back with white flecks on them.

I woke up to find everything covered in white again.

My usual walk into town

I suffered a bit of an internal tussle but, eventually, decided not to go in to work. My reasoning was that the road looked very slippery and the trains may not have been reliable.

As it turned out, there wasn’t a lot of slipperiness and the trains actually behaved. What can I say? A bad call but a very pleasant, unexpected day at home.

Without knowing why, the poodles were very happy. They spent a lot of the day shoving their faces into the snow and making it stick to their legs. I have no idea how they can avoid getting cold but they somehow manage it.

While it was bitterly cold and snow lay all about, the morning was all sunshine and blue skies – the perfect winter’s day.

And, just like the traditional sickie (as opposed to a day when you’re actually sick), we had a lovely, lazy day, which included a lovely snow fuelled walk to the castle and back.

Carmen loves running around like a lunatic, rubbing her face in the snow at every opportunity and eating it on the run. Like a hydraulic snow shovel, she scoops it up, without a pause in her stride. It’s strange and very funny.

And, finally, Mirinda came home. The dogs went mad – Day-z has spent an awful lot of time on the window sill over the last two weeks, always on the look out for her return. I was in the shower at the time but their excited yelling alerted me to her arrival.

We’ve all missed her and it was lovely that Farnham looked so perfect for her return. This was definitely helped by her coming home before it was too dark to enjoy it!

After dinner, it was time to leave for the Farnham Maltings for our monthly Girls & Guitars gig, which was surprisingly well attended, given the weather. It was very cold and there was still a lot of snow.

I should say that it was a lot of snow for us. As Don McLean said on Breakfast this morning, he has regularly lived through four feet dumps of snow every three days in Maine (where he lives) and our little bit of white stuff was nothing. It’s all relative.

Tonight’s singer/songwriter was a girl from Guildford. She is Joanna Weston and has the honour of being the very first Girl & Guitar back in 2010 when the Maltings started the series.

Joanna Weston at Farnham Maltings

We are getting used to a high level of performer at the G&G nights. They have all been very talented (skilled in both guitar and singing) but tend to suffer from a lot of angst in their songs. So it was a lovely treat to hear some songs with an upbeat feel to them.

She has just returned from Holland where she recorded her latest EP. She told us about a documentary made about the trip which sounds quite good. She said she’d send a link to whoever joined her mailing list. I joined her mailing list and am now, eagerly looking forward to watching it.

I had my final physio today. Of course I didn’t know it was my final physio when I left this morning but I did have my fingers a bit crossed.

To be honest, I was a bit worried about travelling today, what with the remaining snow and ice everywhere. The last time we experienced snow here (the year before last as we missed the big one last year) the paths and roads were awful. My chief concern was falling over and trying to save myself with my left wrist. Not a pleasant thought.

My fears, however, were unfounded. Everyone on our side of our street had shovelled the snow away from the path so there was a lovely clear and continuous path to the main road. The main road is clear because the council do that. I noticed with a certain amount of micro-local pride that the next street along seemed not have bothered at all.

When I arrived at Frimley station, however, it was a very different matter. Snow and ice everywhere! Mind you, the snow did improve it a bit. It amazed me that the station had snow around it. Still, with a lot of care and consideration, I made the hospital unscathed.

Slush outside Frimley station

After a few little testing exercises, Sandra proclaimed that she was very, very pleased (her double very, not mine) with me and that she never wanted to see me again and so I bid her (and Frimley) goodbye for ever! I hope. She did add that if I experienced any degradation in my wrist that I could call her. This is not likely.

Back in Farnham I did the usual shopping and gossiping with my Starbuck’s and Waitrose chums before heading back home. On the way I noticed how lovely the Farnham Bowling Club green looked in white. It then occurred to me how much easier it would be to see the bowls if the grass was all white.

I wonder why someone decided to walk out to the middle and back?

The rest of the day was spent working on financials – sorting out how much money we’ve lost by owning too much property during an economic downturn. I won’t bore you with the details. Instead, here’s a picture of Day-z, lying on the window sill, wondering when Mirinda is coming home.

I wish this glass wasn't so cold on my nose

We had about 2″ of snow last night. I know because I took a metal ruler out to the path this morning and measured it. Of course, the poodles went mad and Carmen spent far too long rolling in it. With no more snow forecast, it’s now going to turn to slush very quickly so we went for an early walk. Well, early for a Sunday, anyway.

Lots of families with kids on sleds, wearing bright colours so as to be easily found in the snow. Here’s one wandering off home. Her mother said she has a strong independent streak and had had enough of the snow.

Screw you guys, I'm going home

I realised my mistake in wearing wellies far too late to change them. Rubber is not a very good insulator ensuring that my toes were frozen by the time we returned home. Then, like the good neighbour I am, I took the shovel outside and cleared our drive and the path outside our house.

Actually, it was because I almost slipped over a few times and I remember last time how treacherous the ice was after the snow started freezing. Each time I started slipping, I felt a twinge in my right wrist. Fortunately I remained standing.

After shovelling out the front, I cleared the path out the back as this, too, was starting to get a bit slippy. What a joy! The last time I tried to clear snow resulted in, what looked like, a luge channel. The path makes it so much easier. How could anyone not love our path?

Being a Sunday means, of course, it’s a day of rest, so I spent a lot of it doing family history research. I haven’t touched it for ages which means a bit of a refresh first…just to see what I was up to last time. I am stuck on the Cornish policeman who went to France in the mid 1800s. Very annoying.

Also, I need to apologise…sort of. A slide guitar isn’t a type of guitar but, rather, a style of playing a guitar. There’s a wiki article on it here, which I’m sure Mirinda will be interested in.

After our walk

This morning, I decided to put a load of washing on before I went shopping. I filled the basket up from the bedroom with a black load and was about to put it in the machine when I realised I’d forgotten something. I put the basket down and went back upstairs to retrieve my trackies. Upon my return, greeting me with a mischievous grin was Carmen, all curled up and snugly in the basket, soaking in the human smells.

But I like it here!

I can’t remember her ever doing this before (although, Day-z can often be found curled up in a pile of dirty washing if it’s left in a pile on the floor) and wonder if she’s somehow telling me not to wash our clothes because she prefers them smelly.

I asked her if she wanted to get out now but her only reply was to lay her head down and feign sleep. She moved pretty quickly when I picked the basket up and leapt out looking a bit upset.

I suddenly realise that I haven’t mentioned Dawn’s marmalade. She posted a blip the other day and, in her comment, mentioned she’d been making some. She’s not exactly what you’d call a country kitchen, Kirstie Allsop, WI, jam making type so it came as a bit of a surprise. My comment in reply was that I hoped I’d get to taste it.

On Thursday she handed me a jar with the warning that it was too thick. I told her it was probably in her imagination because it looked fine. I can confirm that she’s mad. Thick? It was perfect! Not too sweet, nice and orange-y, tangy in the right way, perfectly spreadable. I’m not a big marmalade (or jam for that matter) fan but it sure tasted good on my toast.

I think she should add a secret ingredient and call it Dawn-alade.

Ignoring the dire weather warnings from the BBC (we have been on an amber alert since last night; not that I know what that means after all, on the roads it means make sure there’s no pedestrians and proceed as if green) I caught the train into town to visit with the patient at the quarantine hut. It was very clear first thing this morning, looking like anything but snow but as I left home, the clouds, with big bulbous bits of grey had appeared.

The trip across town was, remarkably effortless. Generally, the Jubilee Line is not my friend on weekends but it was running a good service today and I hopped on a tube train almost immediately. Strangely, I can’t say the same for Starbucks. Very unusually, they took an age to get the coffees out. It could have been because one of the staff was a trainee.

At the flat I was very glad to see a much improved Mirinda. She claims it’s a combination of a vast collection of drugs, not leaving the flat for four days and the absence of stairs. Unlike home, if she wants to move from bedroom to lounge, it’s just through a door. At home she’d have to climb up and down the stairs.
Whatever the cause, she is a lot better and should reach her goal of returning to work on Monday. Of course, the other reason for her improvement could be the ingesting of ice cream and cup cakes, a universal cure if ever I heard one.

While I visited, we watched a wonderful film called The Chorus. Susanne recommended it to Mirinda years ago and we’ve only just got around to watching it. It’s a lovely French film that we thoroughly recommend to anyone who loves a story about ordinary people making a difference against the odds. It is beautiful. The music and singing is haunting. And the acting is superb. How they manage to get such brilliant performances out of little kids, I’ll never know. I always remember the youngsters Mirinda tried to teach in the mountains. They hid any talent for performance well away from any public scrutiny.

It was nominated for the Best Foreign Language film at the Oscars and I’m amazed it didn’t win. The one that did was a Spanish film called The Sea Inside which I’ve never heard of. It’s the true story of a guy fighting for 30 years in favour of euthanasia and his own right to die. Doesn’t sound very entertaining if you ask me. I prefer The Chorus.

Anyway, all good things must come to an end, even visiting hours, so I was all too soon on my way back home. The weather had turned even colder. Mirinda stepped out on the (steel) balcony in her bare feet and instantly regretted it. Fortunately I wore my big Russian great coat so was snugly and warm.

Coming out of the Jubilee Line at Waterloo, I walked by the big entrance and it was snowing. Very lightly and without much effort, but it could have been a portent. A big electronic sign in the main station proclaimed that all was well but if the weather was to deteriorate, things could get bad. That’s like saying, if you stand under running water, you’ll get wet! A stupid sign if ever I saw one. I texted Mirinda to let her know and missed a wonderful cultural reference she made.

As is normal in England, the train was very toasty. What’s not normal is that it was announced 20 minutes before it was due to leave so I didn’t have to stand around on the breezy concourse for very long.

During the trip home, Mirinda sent me a text to say the snow had started at Canary Wharf. By the time I reached Farnham, the snow was starting to settle. I knew I’d timed it right. Any later and I think this post may have had a different ending.

Walking across the railway crossing was a slippery affair so I decided to get a taxi home. This turned out to be a very good idea as our street was covered in snow, forcing the taxi driver to slow right down. I almost slipped over just walking across our drive. It would have been an awful walk home.

Of course the poodles were outside and covered in snow.

Our street, just before I went to bed

We had snow last night! A light dusting, it’s true, and it was all gone by the time I returned home from uni, but snow all the same. Very pretty walk to the station for us both this morning.

Robert Llewellyn (Kryton on Red Dwarf), makes these podcasts every week. He calls them Car Pool. It’s a simple premise. He drives someone somewhere and, on the way, they chat about…well, anything really. His car is fitted out with small cameras and microphones and he edits the whole thing down to about 40 minutes. So far he’s talked to people like Patrick Stewart, Stephen Fry, Adrian Edmondson, Chris Barrie and lots of other, slightly less famous but equally interesting, people.

When he’s finished with the edit, they are loaded up to iTunes and his own website where people can download or just watch them online. They are free and excellent entertainment. In case anyone wants to see one, his website is here. The most recent Car Pool runs automatically but the past episodes are on the right hand side. They are well worth looking at.

Anyway, I download them onto my iPod Touch and watch them on the train back from uni. They are always entertaining and sometimes enlightening. Like Rebecca Watson, the current one. I was happily ensconced in it this evening, chuckling away to myself and wondering why I’d never heard of her, when a chap sits down next to me. He pulls out his headphones, adjusts them on his head, takes out his iPod Touch, turns it on then starts to watch…you guessed it…Car Pool!

I often see people watching things on their laptops or their personal DVDs but this was the first time I’d seen another person with a iPod Touch AND watching Car Pool. I have no idea whether he realised I was watching the same thing. He was watching the Patrick Stewart one from a fortnight ago. He was quietly chuckling to himself. I soon forgot about him as I once more became immersed in my own Car Pool.

What a delightful coincidence.

I am working like a lunatic, trying to finish my fourth essay (it’s due next week) and the computer is driving me even crazier. I think my previous long days parked in front of a computer screen are forever behind me. I can’t manage more than a few hours and I need a distracting break for a bit.

And I’m not sure what it is. It’s not like I get a headache or eye strain or sore back or anything like that. I just get a bit bored with doing the same thing. It could also have something to do with the fact that I’ve not had a lot of sleep this week…what with Nicktor coming over and introducing me to a new whisky.

Anyway, regardless of that, I’m up to 2,000 words so I’m almost there (2,500-3,000 required). And while the title seems interesting (An analysis and description of the information communication chain as it relates to the archaeological sector, using aspects of domain analysis) it’s more disturbing how disparate it all is. Too little consistency out there!

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Last night I saw one of the worst sit-coms I think I’ve ever seen. It’s a new series called The Persuasionists and, unbelievably, it was on BB2. Now, believe me, I’ll laugh at virtually anything. As long as it’s vaguely funny. This thing was not. Not once did I smile, let alone laugh. It was diabolically unfunny. And while the script was exceedingly ordinary, when it tried harder, it was even worse. If you happen to see it in a TV schedule, ignore it. Tell everyone you know to avoid it. If you accidentally see a few moments, never admit it. To anyone. It’s not even a ‘it’s so bad it’s good’ type show like Bonekickers, the ‘thrilling’ archaeology series enjoyed only because it was so silly when purporting to be serious. No, The Persuasionists is just plain awful. I can’t believe a commissioning editor read the pilot script, let alone saw any of it.

To quote Tim Dowling, TV reviewer for The Guardian, “It’s hard to locate exactly what went wrong with this project, so I’m recording a verdict of death by misadventure.” His full review (the final paragraph after the bit about pill taking on Horizon, is here.

One final note, in the words of Lynn Rowlands-Connolly (Unreality Primetime reviewer) “…it lacks the one fundamental for a comedy; comedy.” Her full review is here.

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I took the poodles for a jaunt across the Queen’s Bottom today. In the distance I could see a small patch of white, clear and crisp on the green grass. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be, not a discarded bit of polystyrene, not a white bin liner full of dumped garbage (we haven’t had a rubbish collection around here since before Christmas so this would not surprise me), not a big pile of ice cream…no! It was the last bit of snow, slowly melting in the weak winter sun. And here it is. You’ll have to take my word that it’s in the middle of the Queen’s Bottom. Behind me is an equally snow free vista.

Last of the snow

When we lived in Haslemere, we became aware that, because of the surrounding countryside (mostly woods and hills), we were locked in our own little world of weather. Of a morning, it was imperative that I note the London weather before deciding what to wear because the weather in Woking was always different. I should add that Woking is only about 24 miles from Haslemere. All of this was brought back to me today when I once more visited Haslemere.

As I left Farnham, the day was a mix of grey and sleet – a truly grim day. As we (me and the three other passengers on the number 19 bus) trundled through Frensham, white began to appear where it remained on the countryside. This, in itself was not unusual. As we crossed the A3 at Hindhead, the snow started and the white either side of the road was thickening. By the time I left the bus at Shottermill, snow laid all about, thick and even. It was like I’d travelled to another country.

The reason I’d popped over to Haslemere today was to have lunch with Dawn (my second Cansfield this week). I haven’t seen her for ages while I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time with her husband recently. My first task, however, was to take the hard drive out of their old PC. And this meant braving the vicious Polly.

Polly is a Westie, just like Basil, but unlike Basil, she hates everyone. She barks and bites and snaps and…well, she’s generally pretty antisocial. That is until she calms down, then she’s a lovely little dog. So I had to wait outside while Dawn put Polly behind bars. Basil, of course, came running up to say hello, all shaking with pleasure. Secretly, I think he was looking for Mirinda, who he adores, but he always hides his disappointment quite well. Polly remained behind bars while I went upstairs to de-brain the PC. Having had a sticky at their new kitchen, which is LOVELY! The cooker had me very jealous.

Apart from getting covered in the inevitable dust, the hard drive was a doddle and I soon had it cradled in my hand, telling Dawn to put it in a box somewhere and forget about it. I also told her the computer horror story of the man who’s information was retrieved from a PC he’d taken to the dump but which had ended up in Africa.

I foolishly offered to fix her rear wiper but my enthusiasm was a bit hardier than my automotive repair skills and it beat me. Sad and defeated by a silly little bit of plastic, we then went to the Mill for lunch.

I love the Mill. It’s a wonderful, very English pub. And they had Alton fff as a guest ale. Excellent choice. We enjoyed some of this, me more than Dawn…who was driving. Lunch was lovely though I think I hogged the conversation a bit, reminiscing over theatre days…which always makes me miss it…for a little while.

I then took the bus back home. Again, the snow stopped as we crossed the gridlocked (as always) A3. I was greeted over-enthusiastically by the poodles who, no doubt, wanted to know why I’d been to visit Basil and not taken them.

YAY! Mirinda’s home! After an extended London stay of nearly two weeks. She almost missed the snow but a bit remains…though rapidly melting. I’m sure the poodles will get filthy when I take them for a walk tomorrow.

Before I go any further, I need to let my mum know that there is no way she would like Sid & Nancy. Take it from someone who knows. Me. If you REALLY need to know what it’s about, you can look here.

So today was basically essay writing, studying in order to accomplish said essay writing and the inevitable housework. And, of course, the usual shopping trip into Farnham. Although, for the first time in almost a fortnight, I was cooking for someone else…as well as me, that is. And being Friday, we had one of the Chez Gaz specials, lightly smoked salmon fillets, crusted with avocado and sitting on kale and rice. It was eaten with great relish. That’s not a new kind of condiment, either.

So, I’m afraid, that is it for tonight. Except for one last thing. In the garden of the house next door, the kids built a snowman. With the warming weather, most snowmen are gradually melting away but for them, clearly a mercy killing was the only solution.

Snowy, mercifully saved from the rigours of melting

This morning it rained. Just a little bit but enough to pockmark the snow that still sits thick upon the ground. Though, having seen Lorna’s photographs of Fargo, I’m not sure we can really call what we had, snow. In Fargo, it reached the second storey of houses. Here it was a foot at the most. The temperature has risen a bit too, so everything is becoming slush.

Last night, Nicktor & I went down to the Six Bells again, had a meal and then watched the FA Cup replay between Liverpool and Reading. It was not what you’d call exciting football. We were sat with a Liverpool supporter who was upset when it was 1-1 at full time. Liverpool’s passing was sloppy and poor and Reading were playing a hard and fast game with wonderful defence. A couple of times Reading should have scored but didn’t. As I said, it was far from exciting. When the score was 1-0 to Liverpool, one Reading fan appeared to be leaving the ground (wanting to beat the rush, presumably) and missed the second goal AND extra time! Ha! Serves them right.

At full time we decided to leave and watch the extra time back at the house, as did the Liverpool supporter, who had some odd ideas about good restaurant food. He claimed that if he was given a plate that wasn’t hot, he would send it back to the kitchen. In fact, because he worked in the catering trade, he was so used to it that at home he would send his wife’s meals back to the kitchen if the plate wasn’t hot.

Anyway, the game ended with Reading winning 1-2. And, oddly enough, Reading players scored all three goals – the first being an own goal. The commentators were all over the result calling Reading minnows. Now I can understand if a team is three or four divisions below a premiership team you can call THEM minnows but Reading is only in the Championship. I think they were trying to talk the match up because it was so dreary.

After the game we watched Sid & Nancy (Nicktor’s choice) so it was another late night. Though we didn’t drink as much as the night before: it was hard enough staying awake as it was.

And so Nicktor spent another night and then pootled off to work this morning. My day was spent on my essay and general housework in preparation for Mirinda’s return tomorrow night. Finally. She’s been gone nearly two weeks and has yet to see the snow. Fortunately there is still plenty of it around. Though not as much as Fargo.