Four Teens and a Teabag

Good Egg

2012-02-09T17:59:00.000Z

Vicki's turn to be in the papers this week: front page of our local paper in a report about Peter Symons Sixth Form College pupils with offers of Oxbridge places.

Vicki bottom right

In other news: the saga of mini-messes continues. I cleaned out the fridge this afternoon, in the process knocking a loose shelf gently and watching 24 eggs cascade to the floor in a gloopy mess. t'would have made an entertaining picture for you but I was not in the mood.

Eggy cake, omelettes and fresh ice cream now on the menu!

Now the Dishwasher

2012-02-08T18:50:00.001Z

...is leaking all over the kitchen floor. What did I do to deserve all this? Fortunately we discovered it just as we returned from Heathrow, so at least there are now two of us to tackle our misbehaving machines.

I'm escaping off to choir. Max's rugby has been cancelled again as the pitches are still frozen, and Vicki has managed to finagle a lift back from Encore, so poor Martin will actually be able to put his feet up for a while. Welcome home Darling!

Paying for Male Services

2012-02-07T21:14:00.002Z

Need a Man? Me too, so twice in the last 24 hours I have resorted to paying for their services. Two different guys, one with hench retractable trailer and t'other with a metal-melting burner. Sizzle...

My needs today? Someone to fix the gushing water bursting forth as pipes defrosted in the barn. I have no idea how long they had been streaming, only noticing the continued gurgling in the pipes once my household helpers, washing machine and dishwasher, had completed their flushing.

I do so hate those exploratory searches: is there water running down walls? Has someone perchance left the toilet on endless flush? The house seemed safe so I checked the barn, and found the woodshed waterfall. It took me ages to locate the stopcock and find that it has no knob and the head is worn smooth: no chance of a brusque fight with a spanner, so I headed for the mains and turned off all the water.

What is it about stopping the flow like that that makes you turn to the kettle for a cuppa? I am a complete failure in the joined-up thinking dept., having already offered the plumber a nice cup of tea last week when he was grappling with our loo.

So we spent a while this afternoon sans eau and sans helpful input from Martin (still California-dreaming) or said plumber. I did try to concentrate on the 50th Birthday Bunting I am making for a fellow city lawyer, but my physical needs won the day. I needed a Man.

I need not fill you in on the details, suffice to say he eventually came, worked magic with his blowtorch, turned us on and went home happy (with cash and chocolate cake).

You know I said things go wrong when Martin is away...?

2012-02-06T23:31:00.000Z

Vicki was out at an Encore rehearsal in Winchester in the fog this evening. Apparently the traffic was really slow on the way down, took her an hour to get there in stop-start traffic...but when she tried to get home at 9pm the car was not happy. The Martin-jinx strikes again.

Vicki didn't have her RAC card so I ended up texting her the details, and was not sure whether we should get the car towed back here or to a garage or what...but they took that out of our hands by telling her they would not be there for 2 - 3 hours, in spite of her telling them she was a young lady on her own.

So I set off to pick her up, despite having spent a lot of today in the car, going up to NEC for a trade show and having just got back in time to throw food on the table before Vicki left. Just a wee bit of petrol left, but enough. Half way to Winchester, the phone went and once I had pulled over it turned out that the RAC had arrived. Whoop! The guy had been due to stop at 10pm but had agreed to help Vicki first, lovely man.

I eventually pulled up behind the RAC man, in front of someone's drive but figured at this time of night it wouldn't matter for a moment. Sure enough someone came right along as soon as I had got out of the car, and needed to get in their drive. What are the odds? Not a single other soul around the entire time.

So we hummed and hah-ed about where to take the car (they charge after 10 miles towing so we didn't want to get it wrong) and eventually decided, in the absence of male advice, to have the car taken home so that it could await Martin's return: I am certain we would have been charged the earth had I tried to negotiate with a garage. We paid up the excess and drove slowly through the fog leading the way.

Now we have both Vicki and car safely home, thanking our lucky stars that it was nothing more nasty. It will be an expensive repair but at least Martin should have a paycheck at the end of the month, so I guess we need to look at our glass half-full. I collect Martin from the airport on Wednesday afternoon, surely nothing else can happen between now and then?

Jolly Chilly

2012-02-05T17:57:00.002Z

So, no sooner had Martin signed along the dotted line and taken off to the States for his first team-building exercise etc, than things started to go wrong in the house. This is an historical fact of our lives: Martin more than 100 miles away = time for trouble.

Mind you, we can hardly complain, and these were relatively small woes. First, we have had the coldest few days for ages, the temperature when I got up on Saturday still well below freezing, as it remained for the whole day.

Unfortunately I had forgotten that this meant the barn would be icy cold, with the result that the water froze in the pipes and we have worried as they unfreeze that we will have leaks everywhere. Meanwhile it was unfortunate that Vicki's 18 friends, birthday partying and staying overnight in the barn, could use neither taps nor toilet (the water in the bowl having frozen too).

They seem nevertheless to have had fun. Vicki has smuggled the rubbish away lest prying eyes see just what they consumed, and a jumble of footprints remained in the snow this morning after their midnight excursions. Fortunately they all stayed over so I wasn't called upon to rescue skidding teens from their cars in the early hours. All that remained by the time Vicki took off for Encore rehearsals were the remains of a delicious record-player cake (from friends) and a tidy but somewhat-smelly barn.

We have been trying to avoid spending money on heating, meaning the barn has been perishing cold all winter and anyone trying to work or play there has to shroud themselves in sleeping bags and blankets. Max in particular loves to unwind on the computer but has been freezing even with a little oil radiator at his feet.

So in a moment of madness I decided it would be better to move the computer over to the snug (more recently known as Rosie's room) whilst she is away, since there is room in there for a desk and the heating works better in there than most rooms in the house. It would also mean Max could play on the computer whilst the 18-year-olds took over the barn this weekend.

A simple task, no? Just unplug, re-position and re-plug. Natch. We plugged and begged, probed and cursed, but the screen and computer would not converse. Now Max and I do not consider ourselves fools, but we even resorted to talking each other through the "this goes here, is there anywhere else it could conceivably go" routine. So warm room, computer in room, boy in room...but all totally independent.

What did we need? A Marti of course. This has happened so frequently when he is away that I wonder I try anything for the duration. We finally tracked him down on Skype, just awake, and he talked us through what to do.Which was exactly what we had already done ten times...and it worked.

So here is Max, all warm and cosy in the snug until it reverts to being Rosie's room. Actually it might even become my office, definitely the warmest room in the house.

London the Beautiful

2012-02-02T20:17:00.002Z

Ancient and modern, heavy gilded ironmongery contrasted with light, reflective movement. The spirit of London lives on.

A last-minute trip to London has revived in me a delight in our ancient capital city. Trains ran to schedule, people were lovely, coffees and dinner seemed good value and most of all London looked splendid. I have not relished the thought of millions of pounds spent on a few days of Olympic sport, but seeing the city being smartened up for visitors awoke a sense of national pride I didn't know I nurtured.

London can be dull and smelly and grey. But on Friday we glimpsed old beauty in unexpected places. A brisk walk from Harrods brings you to a calm Victorian cemetery, overgrown in places with ivy and choc-a-bloc with angelic statues, weathered stone words and local history.

Brompton Cemetery in the Boroough of Kensington & Chelsea is owned by the Royal Parks, and was one of seven cemeteries established early in Queen Victoria's reign in the countryside around London. Local author Beatrix Potter is said to have referred to the newly-walled cemetery grounds as 'Mr. MacGregor's Walled Garden', where Benjamin Bunny was strictly forbidden to roam. Yet the cemetery was designed as an open landscape with leafy tree-lined promenades, spacious lawns and classical buildings. Sadly the planting scheme and full design were never completed, but the grounds are well-used by joggers and walkers and have an atmosphere of peaceful repose.

Everywhere we looked we found interesting inscriptions and beautiful shapes

This lovely ironwork and art nouveau shapes found echo in an innovative belt and buckle boutique we explored that evening on our way to supper: a fantastic array of bejewelled and extravagent buckles which pop on to soft leather belts.

Another first for me was a delicious Turkish meal at Sofra in St. Christopher's Place just off Bond Street. The perfect place to toast an interesting day in London.

Water Music

2012-02-01T15:58:00.000Z

Bliss! We finally felt able to call in the plumber and now have a working shower and downstairs loo. Unimaginably wonderful.

So much to tell...

2012-01-30T19:58:00.005Z

Things have been so busy here of late that I am afraid this blog is suffering. Three whole weeks since last I posted.

So to avoid me taking ages to catch up, there follows a whirlwind tour: definitely quantity, not quality, but sometimes its worth the sacrifice.

Vicki turned 18
Our lovely Vicki celebrated her birthday yesterday, receiving the bestest present of all from her siblings, a bass guitar. She has been borrowing one from a friend for ages, and the three of them hatched a plan to source and deliver one lovely big black guitar and case in time for the big day. What a treat!

Other super presents too of course, and she is having friends over next weekend for a party, when I will try to sneak some pictures.

Martin has a Job
At last we have the prospect of proper income once more. Martin set up Silicon Agility last year as a vehicle for helping overseas producers of computer design software find users in the UK. He managed to interest several overseas companies, one of which is an 80-strong start-up, Jasper, based in the Silicon Valley.

Luckily, Jasper's head honchos saw Martin in action at a sales conference late last year, and decided a couple of weeks ago that they would like him permanently on board. He will be providing full-time consultancy services exclusively to Jasper, so whilst he will have to sort out his own pay and benefits, we are hoping this will work well.

It is an exciting opportunity for Martin, he has already bumped into faces he knew at university and elsewhere, and the company HQ is only a short drive from where our friends Paul and Jenny live in California. So all in all a good job. He went out this week to buy a celebratory i-Pad and we toasted his success on Thursday evening when we were all finally together (its been that kind of week) at 10pm. Lovely!

I have a Job
Well, not worth the telling, really, but I have been appointed as Clerk to the Governors at another local school. I only volunteered as they are just along the road and it seemed to make sense...but I should have known it would involve endless form-filling, certificate-showing and c.v-making, despite being a 3-hours-a-month job. I even had to go for a one hour interview last week! But they gave me the job today. Now I am not sure I want it, I haven't had a moment to do the things I really need and/or want to do (including housework) in the last few weeks. We shall have to see how Martin's job goes and re-think.

I have been Spending my Birthday Money
I was delighted to find a really gorgeous pair of warm-lined, soft, leathery boots last time I went shopping, so my feet are snug and warm even as the weather turns cold thanks to Martin's generosity.

Plus this weekend I spent treat money from Ron and Grace on a day 's Choral Workshop, a first experience for me and I loved it! Held in a lofty church in the middle of Bath, the workshop was run by excellent Director Nigel Perrin, who tried to teach us the major parts of Bach's famous Mass in B Minor (widely held to be his most difficult, showcase piece) before we ended with a run-through. A fabulous experience, to sing as best you can in a packed church of some 200 people. We learned a lot and had fun and the time just flew by.

Ben has a job
Well, he has some shifts at an infamous Domino's Pizza (he was warned that few people survive more than a few weeks!) but it is income which he sorely needs: well done Ben!

Max's Team is Top of the League
Winchester A squad under-16s are doing a brilliant job so far this year, currently leading the First League. There is plenty of time left for things to change, but they have played some excellent rugby and are enjoying the view from the top.

The Hens are Looking Well
... and deceptively healthy: four have died recently of completely unknown causes. All look well when they go to bed, next morning we find one prone and cold. The remainder are laying well, their combs are healthily plump their feathers full and shining. Fingers now crossed that whatever is causing the damage has run its course.

Rosie is on Top Form
Back in her Nottingham house we don't hear much from Rosie, but we managed to catch her on Skype this weekend (on the new i-Pad, ta-daa) and she was chuffed to have got a First in her recent long essay. She is so enjoying her subject, and clearly good at it too. Go girl!

A Grand Day Out
An unexpected pleasure this week to spend the day in London with Mummy, taking a last-minute chance to see an interesting exhibition at the Southbank Centre, hear a choir sing, watch a one-man play, hear Paul Gambaccini doing a Desert Island Discs slot live, wander in the sun past The London Eye and across to pristine Parliament buildings, all freshly gilded for this summer's Jubilee celebrations. We spent an idle couple of hours wandering through a Victorian pleasure-garden guarded by a chatty Australian chap, and enjoyed endless cups of coffee, tea and a delightful Turkish meal beneath a twinking evening sky.

I have loads of pictures and will doubtless bore you with them soon. For now, the cleaning and a good cup of coffee beckon. More anon!

Rotherslade

2012-01-08T14:17:00.002Z

Rosie and I spent yesterday driving over to see Kerry and were amazed at what a lovely position she is in.

It took us less than three hours to get across the Severn Bridge (with its newly-increased £6 toll) and through Swansea and Mumbles to Kerry's area, with a steep hill of interesting shops and equally steep slope past her home to the sea.This shows the cafe at the base of Kerry's road, along with some of the ubiquitous beach-huts:

What a treat for her to be within a very short walk of such a pretty cove, with excellent coastal walks from bay to bay, simple cafes dotted everywhere with hot drinks, showers and loos, beautiful views and the constant rush of water. I didn't take many pictures but found a selection here of the area.

After a week of grey skies and rain it turned out mostly sunny, and dry. The seas floated surfers and paddlers whilst the beaches and paths had brought out an assortment of dogs, families, serious walkers and those like us just enjoying the fresh air and company (if these were my pics they would show more people! This is Langland beach where we had jacket potatoes at the brasserie)

Kerry's flat is modern, warm and spacious, and Rosie and I especially enjoyed her lovely artistic photographs adorning the walls, and the jelly-wobble-exercise machine! It was super to see you, Kerry, and be introduced to the beautiful Gower peninsular too. We shall be back!

Tidying Up

2012-01-02T20:14:00.001Z

Is it really Winter? We haven't woken to frosted panes (or even dripping condensation) in our cold bedroom for some time, maybe Global Warning is real after all?

Bulbs are sprouting in the garden, in fact even the late-sown grass seed is germinating, 'gainst all odds. The mild days have tempted us outside, and with extra help on hand Martin has taken two huge trailer loads of branches and spare growth to the tip for a holiday.

But in between we have been loving and caring, honest. We had the neighbours round for 'Elevenses' during the week, a good way of finding out about the new inhabitants, and a lovely New Year's Eve with Claire and Richard and a warm huddle of friends down the road, delicious food and pretty lights showing off their forest-edge home to ravishing effect.

I suppose I should put my hands up at this point and admit that, yes, I am a sucker for twinkling lights. Even without the usual hubbub, to me this aspect of our kitchen, with candles a-flicker and hall stove a-flame, warms m' cockles, it does.

... a sprinklin' of vivacious family and my cup runneth o'er.

I forgot to add scenes of our Christmas Day walk at Danebury. I will pop them here for posterity but they will mean nothin if you weren't there (yes, I know you weren't). In the first, Vicki and Max 'took the low road' and were pretending to be a prehistoric butterfly. In the second there was some kind of karma but we were so far away (zoomed in) that I have no idea. Probably just as well.

Martin managed to repay Ben by helping with some welding on his guitar before he hot-footed it back to Guildford for a New Year's Eve gig at a restaurant, and in between Martin and Max had a lovely day watching the rugby at Twickenham under the kind wing of Sean and Julie. Thanks, guys!

Merry Christmas

2011-12-26T16:23:00.002Z

We had a bit of trouble just before Christmas: the electricity suddenly tripped so that nothing in the drawing room would work: no computer, tv etc and most of all, no tree lights! Martin rigged up some trippy extension cables but we were mighty relieved that no guests were due imminently. Before it was fixed the entire room looked like a bomb had hit it, furniture and tools everywhere.

We quickly swapped jobs and I tootled around the M25, through the Dartford Tunnel and to collect Rosie from her ski bus, which had dropped her a startling two hours early, before I had even left home! She had been kind enough not to wake us to tell us, but it did mean rather long wait for her.

Luckily the roads were clear and it was a fast run so we were back by lunchtime, Rosie full of a fabulous week of skiing with friends, and having extra friendly lessons from some off-duty instructors. It made us all very envious, and desperate to earn enough money to go on a family ski trip as soon as possible!

Ben was back too by early evening, so it was a great pleasure to have six around the table again as we sat down to celebratory bubbly followed by Peking Duck pancakes and a rich fresh yule log.

Christmas Day saw us feasting on a big cooked breakfast, the children opened stockings and we went for a walk at Danebury, wishing passing dogs and walkers a jolly Christmas. Then home for games around the kitchen table with tea and mince pies (and later wine and nibbles), the girls trouncing us all at Cranium.

A sudden urge to sing carols led us to Chilbolton Church for their Christmas Eve nativity service, very atmospheric as local members of a brass band played carols as we approached, familiar tunes hanging gently in the quiet evening.

Then is was home to aperitifs and the children retired to a four-way game in the barn, Martin read in front of a roaring fire, and I sang along with gusto to Handel's Messiah in the kitchen as the dinner cooked. My idea of heaven, actually: the twinkling lights from garden room and outside the barn shine through the kitchen windows, and with a good red in hand and gorgeous smells wafting through the house, neither urgency nor urge to do anything else, I enjoyed being Mummy at Christmas.

We ate in the garden room and delicious it was,

then assembled around the tree to enjoy giving and opening presents. A lovely haul, everyone seeming to have as much fun watching their presents being opened as receiving. This, for example, is Rosie opening her gift from the other three:

Cheese and port, cosy fire and Disney's 'Aladdin' rounded off a warm and wonderful Christmas. Thank you family, as my father would say, for your presence and your presents.

Happy Birthday to Me

2011-12-22T13:08:00.002Z

I was embarrassed last week on removing my favourite jeans-and-generally-everywhere boots at a friend's house to notice that both soles are badly worn through. Damp feet notwithstanding they have been my sole-mates over many winters.

Thus my meagre birthday wish-list suddenly found an urgent and ideal Number One Desire, to Martin's huge relief. Birthday morning found us in Winchester's pretty high street (after a lazy and lovely breakfast) shopping for new boots.

Busking filled the air and the shops were full of good-tempered shoppers but bereft of boots save in minority sizes. All those styles I had lusted after when I couldn't justify a new pair: now it seems boots are no longer 'in season' and even a trawl of websites on our return failed to find anything suitable.

Which just goes to reinforce my view that mid-winter is a silly time of year to have been born. At the turn of the seasons one is seduced by shops full of new colours, new styles, new shapes that will see you through the months. Seasonal wardrobe failures are amply catered for by Christmas gifts. One needs a birthday in September or perhaps April for best impact.

The presents I did receive on the day were super, a great mix of chocolate, special coffee, special mug, winter warmers, and dinner at Hotel du Vin with champagne and Vicki's taxi home. But I have the added pleasure of treats to come, at a time entirely of my choosing, thanks to a generous cheque, the promise of a day out, and of course boots or a substitute if something I fancy should come my way.

So maybe it works well after all. Half of the fun being in the anticipation, I will probably spend much of the yearlooking forward to my 'birthday treats', and relish spending the money in my head many times over before I actually decide to part with it.

Thank you for a year of birthdays!

An Early Christmas

2011-12-19T12:33:00.001Z

Thank you Jon and Sam for a super dinner on Saturday!

With Mum and Dad off to Australia today for Christmas, the Bells Junior kindly invited us all over to spend an evening together before they go, exchange presents and generally catch up.

Having whisked Vicki off from work early we managed to arrive in time for delicious bubbly, and whilst 6-month-old Zac was still up. What a cutie: big calm brown eyes and a relaxed and happy demeanour, he is a gift to his parents!

Sean and Julie are still in the UK whilst Sean completes his Report, so they brought Matthew down with them (James was working) and we were able to catch up on his news of Durham: he is having a great time and regaled us with tales of the men's lacrosse attacks.

Kerry had made it too, to our delight, and Max and Vicki both came along (Rosie is still skiing and Ben working part-time to earn some desperately-needed funds) so all in all we had a good round-up. Somehow in spite of taking my camera I failed to use it so you will just have to imagine the scene: brother barracking brother, pater familias pouring wine and chuckling benevolently, teenagers pretending shock at the odd crude phrase as the eve wore on... and all enjoying the pleasure of family celebration.

We rushed back Sunday to ensure Vicki reached Encore rehearsals in time, and I went along later to their preview to see and hear what they have been up to. 'Summer Holiday' will be another great show, roll on February!

Vicki also received the very best of Christmas presents this weekend: an offer of a place at Magdalen College, Oxford to study Philosophy and Spanish. So very well deserved, and so wonderful to have aimed high and hit the mark. Provided the exams go well, I think we may all get to know the place a little better over the next few years. What a treat.

Christmas Concert

2011-12-12T09:39:00.000Z

Rejoice and Be Merry!

So sang the Wherwell Singers in a rousing encore to their traditional Christmas Concert last night in Wherwell village church. Church Lane was bedecked with glittering lights and the newly-refurbished church bells rang out to welcome us; mulled wine and mince pies sustained us and we sang our happy hearts out. Perfect it may not have been, but a delicious way to welcome Christmas and celebrate all that we hold dear at this time of year.

Mummy kindly came along to cheer us on, whilst Daddy was detained playing bassoon in his own concert. What a musical weekend, albeit amateur. New research this week demonstrated once more the beneficial effect of music (in this case choral singing) on both physical and mental health (I linked to it on the Wherwell Singers website here), though anyone who plays or sings in a amateur group hardly needs reminding of the therapeutic affect of a rousing tune.

We wended our way into Winchester this morning to watch Max's league match against Petersfield, though it was something of a walkover: they had scored a try within the first minute and went on to win 67-0. Max scored a try but didn't have too much else to do, though they followed the match with a Christmas Feast at a local curry house and came back fully satisfied.

Vicki meanwhile had a relatively quiet time at Oxford, not having been called for further interviews beyond college and course interviews and test, and of course has no idea how it all went. She came back though with a fabulous coat from a charity shop so has a tangible reminder of her visit to accompany her memories. Martin picked her up yesterday morning after a super-fast journey, so they treated themselves to coffee and a quick tour in time to get back for Martin's Veterans' rugby match. They, too, won, and Martin too scored a try, so holds his head high.

I thought I would leave you with this picture from Max's birthday treat, which took place belatedly a couple of weekends agp. I think the Paintball centre figured out who's birthday it was. Makes a Mum proud...

Just Visiting

2011-12-07T18:23:00.004Z

One of the Quads at Magdalen

What a simply gorgeous winter morning. This is Vicki's lodging for the next few days, not a bad little spot, a large room with fireplace and old windows looking out over the deer park at the rear...

The wonderful things you get to do with your offspring. Back in the day parents just didn't get involved in university applications. I remember trecking alone through snow-bound motorways on a 30mph coach service to reach Durham from Bristol hours too late for my interview. My parents had nothing to do with it and didn't see the delights of Durham in the flesh until they finally braved the drive one Christmas.

Now University Open Days and even Interviews are full of parents and teens, those over 30 wishing fervently they could do it all again, desperately trying not to influence their offspring but soaking up the atmosphere all the same. Oxford this morning was an absolute treat: we parked easily and couldn't stop smiling at the beauty of Magdalen College. Vicki is oh-so-lucky to have the chance to stay there for a few days, albeit with the pressure of interviews and tests and a constant worry as to who is watching what. Do send your thought-fairies her way if you have time!

December

2011-12-07T17:52:00.001Z

At last it is beginning to feel a little Christmassy here in Hampshire. The weather has turned from mild to frosty and cold, so at last the fire is lit and we can snuggle up in scarves and winter woollies without feeling overdressed. Being on the chilly side myself there is nothing I like better than several layers of snug, preferably with added vest and hot mug warming my mitts.

The Pineapple Book Group met for a festive meal at the pub last night, a good turnout and some tasty food from a venue that has in the past suffered from long waits and mediocre servings, so the new managers are obviously working some magic. It doesn't take long for good (or bad) reports to circulate in a village so hopefully their investment in ensuring we had a good evening will reap rewards.

Max's team won again at rugby on the Isle of Wight this weekend, though he chipped his front tooth again and we ended up with another trip to the dentist on Monday morning. Fortunately the senior dentist was available and fashioned a much better replacement, more aligned with the remaining tooth. All in all an improvement, though it did mean I missed my Zumba class, so I can blame Max for my extra weight this week!

Glass Half Full

2011-11-27T12:26:00.001Z

The brakes seized up on my little red car this week: the one that is driven by me and all three driving offspring.

Luckily, it happened right here on the driveway and we were able to call out the RAC to find the problem (thank you Tesco for the Home Start coverage) and have it fixed at a local garage. Bemoaning the fact that we were once more restricted to ferrying children for a few days, I suddenly realised that it could have been a lot worse. Brakes and failure should never occur in the same sentence, I am so grateful they met in the quiet of our drive.

Max was in the paper again this week at the centre of a rugby photo, though completely unrecognisable: this is him:

Actually Martin was much more pleased with this picture of Max making a textbook catch:

But enough of Max. Vicki had some great news this week, she has been called for an interview at Oxford in a couple of weeks. Regardless of whether she is offered a place, she will get to spend some time at Magdalen College, which is absolutely beautiful. The interviews and tests take place over a few days, which will be gruelling, but if anyone is up for that challenge it is Vicki. Good luck gorgeous girl!

Martin has been out and about making lots of contacts in the chip industry, so investing in the future of Silicon Agility (a cup which had better runneth over 'ere long) whilst I have been clerking some interesting meetings at local schools, and participating in our first Choir Committee meeting.

Talking of which, our Christmas Concert is now just around the corner, though we had a bad start to an extra rehearsal yesterday so I think our dear conductor Dale is panicking. Another of those "some good, some bad" practices that does not augur well, but you always need a few bad rehearsals to get you concentrating properly, right? That glass, too, had better be full by Saturday 10th December...

Performance

2011-11-13T16:27:00.002Z

Max and his friend have just returned from a rugby match (they won) and made themselves a hearty lunch of bacon, eggs and bagels, chased down by the fresh carrot cake Vicki made this morning. Now they are ensconced in the barn playing the newly-released computer game Max bought himself, so I suspect we will not see them again until hunger strikes once more.

Max made it to the paper this week: Martin took some lovely shots of their game last weekend, winning against stiff opposition (and Max scored a try), and the local rag published a good write-up and pictures:

More here:

In other news: Vicki breathed a sigh of relief after sending off all her University-related documents, including UCAS forms, personal statement and sample essays, so now we have fingers firmly crossed that she will be offered a place somewhere good.

As usual, Vicki has been out virtually all weekend, at work, then out to dinner with friends, and now off rehearsing with Encore, so we have seen little of either her or my car. Lucky for her that Martin's car is always around these days, in past years I would have been using my car far more in his absence.

We had four extras here this weekend as our choirmaster is putting together a new group and they were all meeting up in Wherwell for a weekend of rehearsing. I ended up going out for dinner with them all last night and Martin kindly ferried us back and forth, what a star. He was collecting Max and a friend after dinner in Basingstoke too, so ended up with an evening to himself. I had thought he might be lonely, little knowing that this gave him the perfect opportunity to try out Max's new game!

Martin and Max also went to see the new Tintin movie this week and came back full of it, plenty of blistering barnacles and Tintin-esque exploits in spite of some bad reviews. I was happy to leave them to it as was just finishing tidying Rosie's room after the paint job: everything was away and clean by the time they returned with fish n' chips (a rare treat for us) so it all worked out very well.

School clerking is back to schedule, with a training course one evening last week (on the new Academy Status the Government is encouraging schools to adopt, giving schools a corporate structure that may not sit well with their more usual focus on encouragement and achievement) and another this week. I have also completed the clerking Performance Review (in unpaid time of course) which drew appreciative noises from my Chairs of Governors, including from one "I know I can totally depend on Kim to be reliable and conscious".

My mum will be proud of me, forty-something and still able to stay conscious when required. It's a gift.

November

2011-11-06T21:04:00.002Z

Suddenly people are counting down to Christmas: the shops already flourish trees and garlands, and we are beckoned to start our Christmas shopping, lest we run short of time.

It's true that the time between October Half Term and Christmas Hols seems shorter by the year. This time we hardly noticed Halloween, the children having outgrown dress-up parties (though Ben did borrow a ghoulish mask when he returned last weekend) and though we sold plenty of cotton Halloween bunting our own home remained free from anguished souls.

Bonfire Night, by contrast, remains worthy of mark. Vicki and Max favoured the Winchester display, along with all the teens this side of Stonehenge (I tried to drop Vicki off in town and ended up in a complete jam), whilst Martin and I celebrated with friends at a local village display.

Barton Stacey is barely a mile from us, and hosts an excellent display every year on the village playing fields, complete with roaring fire and mulled wine/burgers/beer tent for sustenance. Trawling the web to find its start time, I discovered the entire village burned down in the eighteenth century due to a spark from the blacksmith's shop: it would have taken too long to cycle to the nearest fire station. Sometimes you have to appreciate modern communications.

The display was a joy, though marred for me by the loud music. I prefer my fireworks to the accompaniment of "oooh" s and "aaaah"s and the fizzling crackle of tinsel explosions. Still, we had plenty of time to chat afterwards over chilli and drinks at the Dodsons', renewing old friendships and wondering at the mixture of fire and alcohol with ne'er a thought for errant offspring. A goodly and very British evening.

This morning I was up at 8am to collect Vicki from a sleepover, calling in at Winchester's car boot en route, where she picked up a beautiful little Shakespeare book to send her Spanish friend as a thank you present. Max and Martin went off to a match, returning triumphant (and Max had scored a try too so was chuffed). Martin spent the day on First Aid course yesterday, but had to rush onto the pitch only once and all was well.

Meanwhile I managed to sort out a basic website for the Wherwell Singers, having foolishly offered to add dates and times and ending up with a re-vamp (one day I will sort out the one I am TRYING to get done!) and also painting the ceiling in Rosie's room which has suffered from brown stains since the hot water tank leaked in our absence many years ago.

So we reach another Sunday evening. Martin cooked Sunday dinner today, a delicious lamb stew, and Vicki is even now preparing crumble and ice cream. The fire is lit, I am in my PJs (having changed from painting garb) and I have been putting my feet up reading the paper with a view to writing more articles. This is the life!

Man at Work

2011-10-27T19:02:00.001+01:00

Why do these things happen all together?

Back from our 'holiday' we caught up on work, and I toddled off to choir practice yesterday evening. Our Christmas concert is coming along nicely, and we rounded off the evening with dinner at a local pub and sing-song. Max had meanwhile returned from rugby practice and Martin had amazingly decided to do some ironing (I fear his shirts may have idled too long at the bottom of the basket, with no school uniform to chivvy them along).

Sadly this was all too much of a shock for the ironing board, which collapsed in a heap and despite Martin's tender first aid has resisted surgery.

Meanwhile our kitchen has been giving off unpleasant smells from its bowels (well, the most hideously-difficult-to-reach corner under the side and corner cabinets) and taking courage in both hands I decided to investigate. My fear was that a dead mouse was lurking beneath, and when the hoover sucked up something furry I fled to the barn for male assistance.

My Good Man came to my rescue and found a mere soaked rag: soaked in smelly, dirty water leaking from the main kitchen drain and creating an effective stinky swamp. And you know how fond Martin is of plumbing...

Suffice to say he spent several hours squished flat into the bottom corner of the kitchen cupboard, periodically handing out mouldering pots of slops and swearwords. What a man.

The plumbing is trussed and its brow mopped, its bedding changed and aired, even the nasty bits of grubbiness in inacessible corners have been surgically scalped and cleaned. Everything is finally back in the cupboards and the kitchen smells like a kitchen.

I just need to buy a new ironing board and we will be back where we started.

Happy Half Term

2011-10-27T11:11:00.005+01:00

It is Half Term Holiday week here in Hampshire, and though spurning a family trip to France we have nonetheless eaten up the miles.

Max was invited to stay with a friend at his father's house in Sheffield, leaving on Friday since the school was closed for teacher training. He has just returned full of praise for the father's cooking, an excellent bike ride across rugged tracks and some serious online gaming: boy heaven.

Vicki meanwhile has had no opportunity to use her A' Level Spanish since a school exchange trip in her first year of GCSEs. We have harangued friends and acquaintances alike over the past few months seeking an exchange or working trip so that she can immerse herself in the language she hopes to study at University. Our neighbours came up trumps two weeks ago when their daughter in Alicante found a willing teenage exchanger, and we hastily arranged dates and flights so that Vicki is even now, we hope, flexing a foreign tongue.

Thus Martin and I found an opportunity scarce seen in 20 years: a couple of days to ourselves. The Bells Senior generously agreed to let us stay with them in Somerset, and we have just returned from a time-travelling couple of days. I had forgotten how lovely it is to enjoy time a deux, have proper grown-up meals and days bare of lifts and appointments.

Mummy and Daddy were in fine form and wonderful hosts, allowing us to take off for rambles over the hills which pounce upon the Somerset levels from every angle, or pop up, rounded like upturned mixing bowls. We clambered up Glastonbury Tor in the wind and sunshine, ambled around Wells and foraged amongst delightfully quirky gates and stones at reclamation yards.

Back to Broadlands for G&Ts, scrummy food (including some angelic mini figs and Martin-melting Stilton) and excellent company, we feel thoroughly rested and caught up with family news and views. Thank you for a lovely few days!

Inflation Frustration

2011-10-16T11:46:00.002+01:00

I am becoming a middle-aged moaner.

I grew up with parents who still treated finances as Man's Business. Daddy would know what was coming in, pay the bills and mete out an agreed weekly sum for Housekeeping. Mummy marshalled the money, guarding the £5 petrol allocation, planning meals for seven (including dessert every evening) with rigour and shopping comparatively so that she was sure of the best deal, though it might take more time and energy.

We learned at her apron to plan ahead, make fresh and nutritious family food and keep an eye on prices. It has stood me in good stead, never more so than over the last two frugal years. So perhaps I notice more than most the sneaky little ways of supermarkets. I think it unlikely: I suspect we are all annoyed every time we see a four-pack of tinned tuna marked up to £6, knowing this is merely to allow them to claim huge savings when they put it back down to £4.

I meant to buy ham this week, mostly for packed lunches so it didn't need to be too good. It has been several years since producers started adding water to meat products, and I have never understood the need. Is it really only to trick us into thinking the extra weight is actual food? Why would you want your ham, mostly used for sandwiches where sogginess is your prime enemy, to leak fluid? It used to be only the cheapest re-formed (and probably coloured too) hams that were interfered with in this way, but checking in Sainsbury's all but the most expensive hams declared themselves to contain 'no more than 20% added water'. No more than? You can bet they mean 'as close to this as we can get away with' . That is one whole fifth of the weight replaced by water.

My gripe is to doubt that Inflation figures take into account such smoke and mirrors. Is the pot of honey in the 'basket of goods' used to calculate the Consumer Prices Index a proper old-fashioned standard one pound (454g) jar, or have they hoped that we won't notice honey is increasingly sold in smaller 340g jars? That's only 75% of what we used to get for the money. Or the biscuit bars I used to buy for packed lunches, spending up to £1 for a pack of ten. Now in addition to shrinking each bar, there are often only 8 in a pack and the price too has increased so that few packs will cost less than £1.30. That's over 50% inflation.

I could go on and on, as could any of us who shop for food on a budget. Even filling your basket with generic and basic unbranded goods no longer brings inflation-busting relief. Does the CPI take this into account? It turns out that when the Government changed inflation targets from the Retail Prices Index to CPI in 2003, this not only removed items such as mortgage payments and housing, but also allowed them to use a figure that effectively took account of a shopper buying cheaper brands as prices went up, masking the increase and effectively removing it from the account. So though August figures from the Office of National Statistics show CPI inflation at 4.5%, for those of us running a household the RPI of 5.2% is closer, even then failing to account for supermarket shenanigans.

We have cut back heavily on entertaining in the last couple of years. Two of the children are rarely here, so we are effectively feeding a family of four when we used to feed all six (and often more). In spite of buying fewer treats, more economy brands and basically one third less food, our Housekeeping Budget has remained stubbornly consistent. If that's only 5% inflation then I'm a giraffe.

Squeaks

2011-10-14T19:06:00.003+01:00

I was about to post another moan, so some light relief betwixt and between.

Things I remember from this week:

Screeching to a 'controlled slow pace' on the wooded bends near our home as a beautiful stag with huge antlers careened across the road before me, two more rearing up just in time to avoid landing on my bonnet;
Screeching a swearword at a car which overtook my bicycle the following day on said road when I could clearly see another car approaching the blind bend (I called him a bozo): the other car slowed to check I was OK, and Menace Driver waved in apology...or maybe he recognised me?;
Squeaking as a great brown blob zipped past my head as I brushed my teeth this morning, bleary from the shower: it turned out to be a wren which had flown through the barely-open bedroom window;
Squeaking silently as I shook endless spiders, moths and mice from their homes in the garden shed, finding treasures within;
Laughing as pheasants raced back and forth across the road in front of me, hopping over a freshly-squished squirrel (with a fetchingly perfect brush).

I think they call it "Country Living".

Quantitative Queasing

2011-10-09T09:56:00.006+01:00

So the Government has decided effectively to print another £75 billion and sprinkle it liberally around the City. Push a button or two and the deed is done.

Now, I am on nodding terms only with figures, they pass me by and in general I am happy to treat them as someone else's business. Leave all that to the capable minds of bankers and accountants, report back to me only when I need to pay proper attention. Yet these particular figures demand a second look as they pass, huge and black and blocking out the sun.

Doesn't that mean that the sterling exchange rate will automatically go down? Isn't that what used to be termed 'devaluation', and wasn't that a bad thing? I thought Britain was a net importer of goods, especially now that lots of home-grown businesses are failing to weather the storm. Surely 'printing' money will mean we have to pay more for those imports, stifling businesses who rely on them in what is, after all, an island economy, and adding to inflation?

Why didn't the Government choose to use this 'extra' money to fund small-business loans (directly through the virtually state-owned banks if necessary), road-building schemes, any number of other projects that would have created worthwhile jobs and set the wheels of commerce rolling once more? I know only too well how tightly one clings to every penny when there is no solid employment; know too the joys of indulgence once the brakes are off. Only a job stands between spendthrift and thrifty spending, and it is those joyous spenders we need to nurture right now.

I told you I didn't understand money. But I bet there are lots like me, watching the Government and Bankers and Economists and wondering: do they?

Glorious September

2011-10-01T17:14:00.001+01:00

What a simply gorgeous week it has been. Warm and sunny with clear blue skies and no wind, a proper Indian Summer.

The garden is caught between seasons, leaves crisped in the sun and falling to a crunchy delight underfoot, none of the usual soggy weight. The lawn so soft and fresh, healthy after a wet August and simply heaven on bare feet, but also providing a soft landing for the multitude of apples and pears tumbling from the trees in a rich harvest. Never has our garden felt so good!

And on top of all this the vines are turning their seasonal hue. Like New Jersey in the Fall, rich reds and browns mingle with the sun and blue skies in a feast of colour. I cycled to work on Friday in crisp morning sun, and by mid-morning was glad for the excuse to stop on my way home to pick blackberries and take a rest from the uphill heat. By the time I was home the handlebars were blackened with berry-juice so I left the bike at the door...

I ended up popping some Vintage Union Jack Bunting round the other side of the house too, though it was somewhat overwhelmed by the natural colours:

All in all a good week to be in England, as Big Brother has doubtless discovered (after featuring as a Page 3 Pin-up this week in The Times) and nearly makes up for the envious tales we hear of Little Sister's wonderful time at the Great Barrier Reef. Well, it is her 40th birthday, definitely worth a treat. Happy Birthday Jenny!

A Very Pleasant Day

2011-09-25T12:44:00.007+01:00

No drama, no excitement, nothing important happened yesterday, just a regular September Saturday. But I found myself smiling contentedly on several occasions, and that has to be good.

Martin returned safely on Friday from his trip to California, having enjoyed the training and the opportunity to refresh his presentational skills, not to mention a chilly thrilly flight in Paul's Trike Paraglider. We had a delicious cooked breakfast together, my favourite meal of the day, and lingered over good coffee catching up on the week.

In spite of jetlag Martin and Max set about cutting the new blackout rollerblinds for Max's room to size, fitting them perfectly at his oddly-shaped windows. I took the chance of a cycle ride in the warm sun, taking my old bike and a pile of bunting orders up to Longparish in time to catch the post, dodging a pheasant and narrowly missing conkers as they tumbled from the trees. Once back I raked up the first fallen leaves from the driveway, softly prodding free the slippery moss and collecting a pile of bird-dropped twigs for kindling.

Delivering eggs to the neighbours, I had a long chat with Dick and Mollie, who have volunteered to see whether their daughter can find anything for Vicki to do in Spain for a week to get some language practice (and Paul has offered to do the same) so one way and another there is hope that something will turn up.

Martin went off to play rugby, Vicki was at work, and the sun was warm, so I decided it was time for some exercise and spent the next hour mowing the lawn, letting the hens peck around and get giddy on the fallen apples. The pears are ripe and last few flowers blossoming, so I was able to haul in a basket of fresh produce, admiring the creeper which is gradually dappling the back of the house with red.

In the evening we visited the theatre in Salisbury to see Alan Ayckbourn's play "Way Upstream", which I had booked as Martin's birthday treat. Such a good evening, a funny and at times dark play set in a single scene: a real boat floating on real water in the middle of the theatre! It's so long since we have been to the theatre together, a real treat to spend a proper evening in each other's company, so rounding off a happy day.

Did I say "No Drama" ? Well, you know what I meant.

Nottingham News

2011-09-19T22:40:00.001+01:00

Rosie went back to her second year at Nottingham today, a feat of juggling involving an early run to Winchester after Max missed the bus and cadging a last-minute lift back for him from a school rugby match (they won 54-0). We managed to fit her trunk, new bike, bedding, books and clothes in between pots and pans and a variety of second-hand crockery and jangled our way merrily northwards.

Rosie is sharing a house for the first time this year, and they seem to have found a beauty: seven of them in a detached, characterful house not far from campus with plenty of friends nearby. Rosie has a top-floor room with treetop views and a double bed. Luxury!

There is even a parking space for visitors.

Luckily Vicki offered to cook dinner for us whilst I was driving home, so with a glass of wine and fresh lasagne inside me I am a recovering numb-bum-Mum.

Martin of course escaped driving duties as he is in California supposedly working to find customers for his distributorship. Looks like hard work indeed:

He spent the weekend with our British friends Jenny and Paul, who are clearly making the most of the American lifestyle. Paul sent these pics from his i-phone as a storm thundered over Hampshire, heavy rain setting car alarms blaring and thunder rolling across between patches of brilliant blue. Nice work if you can get it!

Playing with Food

2011-09-17T08:16:00.001+01:00

Leaving the children to wash up when there are leftovers to play with is obviously an invitation to sculpt mashed potato so that it scares your mother witless when she opens the fridge door...

Potatoes courtesy of Ron and Grace
Mash courtesy of Martin (I was out at a live National Theatre screening in Winchester)
Horrible Head courtesy of Rosie and Max.

Max is Sweet Sixteen

2011-09-14T17:22:00.000+01:00

... or maybe not so much of the 'sweet'

He spent the morning of his birthday (Sunday) out playing a tough rugby match, then since the squad was missing several players (at County Trials and some injuries) many of the lads, including Max, played for the entire 2nd match too. A very exhausted set of boys arrived back here afterwards for an afternoon of junk food, computer games and presents. Many thanks to all who contributed, hopefully your personal thanks will be on their way shortly!

Cooling Down

2011-09-08T09:00:00.003+01:00

After a long and lazy Summer life is finally getting back to normal.

Max returned to school this week as virtually the oldest in the school, now Year 11 and with one of the earliest birthdays. Annoyingly for him two other lads share his birthday, and we didn't get in quickly enough with party dates so his celebrations will have to be stretched a little.

This is the big GCSE year for Max, though he did well enough in his modules in the Summer to prove to himself that he can indeed do well if he works hard. Go Max! He is still enjoying rugby and returned just before school started from a weekend tour with the Rugby Club to Jersey, where they trounced the local teams. A great start to the season, and once we have invested in some MORE rugby boots he may even be able to feel his feet afterwards.

Vicki is off again this weekend to another festival, with worried mother fretting over the chill winds and rain on top of the cold she acquired at the last one. College started for her too this week, rumours that the local bus was being withdrawn provoking fears we might have to arrange individual transport (Vicki rather hoped the best option would be for her to drive herself in). The bus manager has now confirmed the buses will run, so all we have to do now is part with £600 and Vicki's travel will be sorted.

This is of course a big year for her too, with UCAS applications due in shortly (does she know to which Universities she wants to apply? Will her Personal Statement and grades be good enough?) and then A levels barely 9 months away. Yet she has plenty to enjoy in the meantime, with Encore Youth Theatre having already started rehearsals for their February production ("Summer Holiday") and a long summer vacation in store to recuperate.

Rosie doesn't return to Nottingham for another couple of weeks, during which time we need to hoard sundries for her student house, starting with trips to the car boot sales and Ikea, where we also hope to pick up some blinds for Max's new bedroom and the Chill Room we plan to fashion from the spare bedroom. Ben is hoping to crash here at the weekend with his band Skyskratcher, currently on tour for the first time, so the barn too is being put to good use.

Martin is working steadily at his new business, trying to interest chip-designers in using him to sell their wares in the UK, and is off next week to a training course in California during which he will hopefully have a chance to catch up with Paul, his best man. The money continues to pour out on this and other necessaries, including a new car (new to us) to replace the Ford I hated from the moment it set tread on our drive. Hard to believe a box of metal can have such character, but I am delighted to have seen it go, and the replacement, though more expensive, is no more nor less than a car. In neutral. Result.

My own days continue to be busy: the school clerking is picking up again now that term has started, and I have been working two mornings a week for a local lady Solicitor, albeit as a somewhat over-qualified secretary. I bill her for "Business Services" as it makes me feel better. Wherwell Singers started up again yesterday evening and Dale has found some glorious music for our Christmas Concert: it will be a real treat to turn up to the chilly church of a winter's eve.

Book Club too was back this week, an evening filled with good food, wine, laughter and lively discussions centering around a book which made us realise how very much our lives differ from those of working girls, wives and mothers barely 50 years ago. We do have lovely lives, each in our own, chosen way, and in spite of money worries (all lamenting the huge increase in fuel prices and huge inflation in food bills) we found ourselves a contented bunch of middle-aged mums. What more could we ask of life?

Normandy Porn Mags

2011-09-02T17:54:00.002+01:00

I forgot to post this picture we snapped at a local Librarie in France showing a shelf full of eye-candy for the lads (Martin was practically drooling)...

Pacman Returns

2011-08-31T21:55:00.002+01:00

I finally persuaded Max that it was a good idea for him to move into Ben's room last week. We had reasons aplenty, viz:

Ben moved out to a student house two years ago
He has been home to sleep for barely a week in total during the past year
Max's room is closer to our noisy shower-pump, waking him early even on holidays
Max's room is also closer to the neighbours' garden, sufficent for the piping voice of a four-year-old to break through his Sunday slumbers (well, it was her birthday)
His room is the smallest in the house
It also needs a good clean and paint-job.

So we dragged all of Ben's bits over to the barn for sorting and set about painting out the two-tone design he had chosen about ten years ago. Martin sorted out some dicky wiring and he and Max made up some new shelving, including a trophy shelf above his bed. It was at about this point, with both bedrooms effectively out of action, that Ben phoned to say he would be coming home to stay overnight in a couple of days...

I tried on several occasions to get hold of Ben by phone, but he is always on a strange schedule (asleep in the morning, gigging until late) and always out of credit so he can't call back. Eventually I left him a text message to soften the blow of arriving hom late at night to find he has no bedroom. Rosie felt it was unfair of us not to ask him first, perhaps fearing that her own room might be recaptured whilst she is away (don't worry Rosie, not for a while yet!).

Back to one colour, filled and sanded, ready for new colour!

Rosie kindly helped out for the whole time, giving artistic advice and encouragement as well as sharing the paint-load (Vicki was at a festival), and between them they sorted out a Pacman theme with passages, yellow dots to gobble, several Pacmen and a number of ghosts.

Three cans of paint later we had finished the basics and then the fun started, drawing lines and painting dots, making templates for the characters and painting on a chalkboard for good measure.

So now Max is busy moving his things across, having a good weed through his clothes and posessions for a really fresh start. I was in his old room trying to clean up so that we could move Ben back in there when Max's friends popped up for a look yesterday, and judging by the whoops and cries they thought it was pretty cool.

Job done. And when Ben finally got home he loved the room and asked Max why he hadn't moved in there long ago. Good old Ben!

August Bank Holiday

2011-08-29T23:02:00.000+01:00

Ben paid us a flying visit this weekend, the first we have seen of him since Easter. Term has finished and he has been on the prowl for holiday jobs (to no avail) and fitting in gigs with his band, who are off next week on a 9-day tour. Heaven knows where they find the expenses, venues are hard on new bands until they have something of a following, and at Guildford prices Ben is barely managing on his student loans.

At least we had time for a quick catch-up, feed-up and haircut, the chance to see the brothers together (Max now nearly the same height as his big brother) and check whether Ben minds Max taking over his bedroom. Rosie was here and kindly ferried Ben to and fro, so strange to see them going off in the car, two adults in charge of their own destinies.

Vicki was not around, stuck in a muddy field somewhere in the pouring rain with little sleep and loud music and having a blast: it is Reading Festival weekend. Meanwhile we parents decided if we were not entertaining or ferrying children we might as well go out ourselves, so we met up with friends at the local pub (The Cricketers was simply heaving so we retraced our steps back to find the somewhat more upmarket Plough with barely a soul, methinks they may not last long). A gossipy and chatty evening, followed by port and the last of our French cheeses, coffee and chocs chez nous, made an enjoyable Bank Holiday Weekend treat.

On Friday night Martin was given tickets to a Jazz evening at Stokes, the bistro where Vicki works in Stockbridge, to take some photos, so he and I spent a lovely couple of hours listening to the singing and enjoying a free glass of Fat Bastard wine and luxury BBQ. In fact Martin is getting quite a following for his photography, having taken some super photos of another friend's wedding last weekend (another delicious meal and chat with local friends in a delightful garden marquee).

We have become quite a fixture at Stokes, actually, as Vicki treated us last week to a meal there for our Anniversary! The restaurant is on the top floor of the lovely old building which has been graciously decorated with deep colours and fine artwork, despite its history as a showplace for loose women when Stockbridge was a destination for London's finest. The food was absolutely delicious, a really super treat, especially as Vicki provided a taxi service both ways allowing us to indulge. Excellent!

Speaking of finest, we treated ourselves to a meal this evening from Tesco's 'Finest' range of foodstuffs, since they are doubling Clubcard Points on these items for the next week. Given our heavy use of their credit cards for food, fuel and fripperies, we have accumulated a fair number of Clubcard points, sufficient for an indulgent feast of ready-made Indian foods this evening. Quite a luxury for those of us who generally avoid those aisles entirely, though the waste bin is suffering from the surfeit of packaging

So it is back to work tomorrow, though school doesn't start for another week. I have plenty more to tell you but that will have to await another moment. For now, suffice to say life is rolling on apace and we have enjoyed a good Summer to date, topped off this evening by a feast of blackberries fresh-plucked on our cycle ride to Longparish this afternoon. Bon Appetit!

Summer Holidays

2011-08-17T22:52:00.001+01:00

The laundry overflows with towels and t-shirts, the car full of sand, stowaway maps and sweets, and we boast tans, sun-dried hair and overlong toenails. Yes, we are back from holiday!

Rosie and some friends from university left for Normandy a few days before us, to spend some peaceful time enjoying the farmhouse and its surroundings. They managed to get four of the bikes working so were able to cycle into St. Sauveur for supplies, though since the bike trailer failed they ended up buying reels of duck tape to secure their loads (including a crate of beer!) to the bicycles, which must have been quite a sight.

Max, Martin and I were delighted to arrive to an excellent meal out on the back terrace as the sun sank gently down, thoroughly enjoying being entertained by four lovely young women. How times have changed! Hannah, Susie and Selina were excellent company for the few days we spent together and with Rosie they kept the house ringing with warm laughter.

Emma getting used to Lady Drivers

Late bonfire at the lake

After the girls left there were just Max, Rosie, Martin and I, as Vicki stayed at home to catch a plane with friends to the Algarve, and Ben was finishing off term with some gigs. All the better for a spot of windsurfing: Martin was able to stand in the water in secluded Portbail harbour at high tide and with Max and Rosie tethered on boards give them turns trying to stay upright. I took a load of pictures but sadly my (new) camera failed to save them so I have nowt to show.

On the second day of learning both teens were able to uphaul and get windsurfing short distances, a fantastic achievement reflecting both their persistence and Martin's good teaching. Unfortunately the tides did not permit further attempts, but we will be back! Meanwhile both Martin and I were able to have a blast around, and it was great to feel the thrill of the wind and sail once more.

Cousin Rachel was staying with Granma and Grampy so we invited them over to dinner on Martin's birthday when Robert and Maxine were also around. We barbequed Martin's favourite Normandy sausages, and with some delicious fresh salads and baguette, flowing bubbly and wine provided by our guests, followed by Granma's birthday cake and some fresh-picked blackberry crumble, a merry evening was had by all.

Fooseball in the stable with Rachel and Granma

We managed to find some new places to go, one afternoon taking a leisurely cycle ride along pretty country lanes with a map, some water, and blackberries lining the route. We passed a really pretty little chapelle, and stopped at a tiny bar for hot chocolates to avoid a wave of gentle rain, then found a fairytale Rapunzel tower on the way home (sadly private). The heavens opened as we reached home so after hot showers the fire was lit and we spent the evening playing games and dining on rich bourguignon.

On another day we cycled over to the new Chevrerie to see the goats and buy some fresh goats' cheese. The farm is just across from Phillipe's new home and has become well-established in the two years since they began, attending local markets daily and now with over a hundred animals.

The Chateau at Crosville was open for an Antiques Fair so we called in there and enjoyed refreshments in their courtyard before having a cheeky wander around amongst the riches. It is a lovely old place, but such a huge renovation project. I suspect not much had changed since our last visit, but the fair was busy and they have started to host weddings and serve meals so perhaps they are beginning to recoup some of the costs.

Refreshments for the cyclists

We also managed to get some work done on the farm: I put a second coat of paint on the kitchen walls and ceiling, and we spent a while on the island in the lake hacking down brambles (and felling the rotten tree) so that we can now land there once more.

Martin had brought over a spare gate so after some hard work he managed to fix in a post and sort out the bedraggled fencing so that at last we can keep the cattle and sheep away from the hide and edge of the lake. One day we may even manage to fix the overflow so that the water stops leaking out...

Martin also managed to get the old Rangerover going so he booked it on the same ferry (but only just!) and we travelled home in two cars, one belching thick black smoke as it chuntered slowly along. We celebrated our Wedding Anniversary with a bottle of champagne on the ferry home, and collected Vicki from the airport next day after her equally happy holiday.

So what next? Two cars on the drive have failed their MOTs so Martin has a bit of a headache. I have been catching up with orders and updating Zigzag's website, whilst the children have been catching up on Facebook and friends. Ben is due to play at a gig in Winchester later in the week so we hope to see him soon, now that he has finally finished term at ACM. Eight machine-loads have made inroads into the piles of washing in the laundry, so with a fair wind and a bit of tinkering we should be back on top of things after our lovely break. A good thing too, as there is a definite hint of Autumn in the air today...

Serbian Success

2011-07-30T08:59:00.002+01:00

Post rescued from drafts folder where it has languished awaiting a picture of the trophy, to no avail...

Max went on tour last weekend with the Winchester Under 15 squad, to Serbia of all places, Martin accompanying them as assistant coach.

They had a rude awakening on Friday at 4am to catch the coach to the airport, but all the transport arrangements seem to have gone well until the coach broke down on the way back to Winchester. I picked up Martin and two very tired boys on the Monday, still polite, and in good spirits after winning the competition and bringing home a huge cup for their clubhouse.

The squad was put up in an orphanage and were served dubious food, so really appreciated their proper beds and meals once they got home, which must be another worthwhile lesson from a tour.

Wiinchester Fashion Week

2011-07-29T23:18:00.006+01:00

The inaugural WFW is underway: Vicki and the team have taken root at Fashion HQ in Winchester, kidnapping bunting, clothes and kettles as they marshall their models and minds for a week of talks, catwalk shows and displays in the name of fashion.

Granna kindly volunteered to do a talk for WFW on "Hobble Skirts and Harem Pants", charting the rise of novelty fashions a hundred years ago which still influence fashion today. Auntie Viv and Uncle Trev, already in Hampshire for a sailing treat, arrived to boost the audience and we spent an entertaining hour listening to an excellent and informative talk illustrated with images galore. We are very proud of you both, Mr. and Mrs Bell!

Max had meanwhile finished his last day of school in Year 10, and called to be collected from a party on a soggy phone after having jumped in the river with i-pod and mobile both on board. An expensive moment, though they may yet recover.

We ate late, Rosie managing to lure Trev into a sneaky 'magic trick' which allowed her and Max to snaffle food from his plate.

Daddy was sure a flickety-snatch would allow him to extract himself, and demonstrated with some success... so then it was Trevor's turn. But deary-me, a wicked glint came into his eye. You can see his contrition, however, as I turn off the camera to wring out my clothes...

Next day Elderly and Pitifully-affected-by-uncontrollable-spasms-Great-UncleTrev kindly drove us in some luxury to the Park n' Ride, whence we did a brief walking tour of Winchester in sunshine, ending with welcome snacks in the Cathdral garden.

Then it was home for some cooking and relaxation before returning to the WFW catwalk show at the Guildhall, a feast of fetching fashion covering young flesh to a greater or lesser degree, all done with great music, high heels and flashing photography so that it felt as though we were somewhere far more exotic. A first for me and very illuminating it was too, though I fear we were the oldest group there by some considerable margin.

Back home we enjoyed drinks and dips in the garden whilst Martin cooked up a delicious BBQ, and it was warm enough to enjoy coffee around the firebowl outside whilst we played Cross Sticks to great hilarity.

So now the house is quiet once more: I was out at 'work' at a local solicitor's this afternoon (office jobs) and Martin was out discussing proposals with some acquaintances. Max is at the pub as I write, washing up, whilst Rosie and some Uni friends who have come to stay for the weekend are at the other pub (a closer walk home). The list of jobs for tomorrow is growing but it is wonderful to have finally reached the Summer Holidays. Now if I can JUST remember how to un-set my alarm we can have a proper lie-in!

Vicki Passes her Test

2011-07-29T22:32:00.000+01:00

Wahay, another teenager hits the road! Vicki passed her Driving Test a week ago today, at 8.10am in busy Winchester traffic at the end of a long week of college and work and Fashion Week planning. She has barely been home since, so I haven't had the opportunity to take the customary "driving" pic, but here is one of the promotional pictures of the WFW team:

Great job Vicki, now we are really going to have to fight over the car!

Happy Birthday Rosie!

2011-07-17T13:28:00.002+01:00

Rosie's 19th Birthday this week was a relaxed affair: I was out playing tennis in roasting sunshine when she rose, late, to a fresh egg breakfast, and we made fresh rolls for lunch, leaving them proving gently in the sun. Vicki and Max were out at college and school so Martin, Rosie and I enjoyed delicious bacon, avocado and salad rolls as a treat, with homemade (with garden mint) mint choc chip ice cream whilst she opened her presents later.

The last Harry Potter film was released on Rosie's birthday so we pootled off to see that in 3D (very good) then took ourselves to an Indian restaurant for a lovely family treat. Thank you Rosie, so glad we can enjoy your treats too these days!

Unfortunately my camera was out of charge, so I took a couple of pictures yesterday when Martin was installing some much-needed extra shelving in Rosie's room:

Before

...and after!

We have had hedgehogs on the driveway and lawn this week, a cute little baby seemingly perfectly happy to root around in broad daylight

Vicki has been working two evenings as she has Winchester Fashion Week meetings this weekend, and it has been difficult to fit in any driving practice. Max completed his last formal exams for the year but still has another ten days at school so let's hope they will continue to learn rather than rely upon films for the rest of term.

As for Martin and I, we have been trying to get the new Zigzag website moved across and running, but facing endless difficulties, not least of which involved me losing the week's orders, so a lot of catching up to do today. Martin has been researching some new ideas, which has taken a lot of his time, so one way and another we are still chasing our tails.

Meanwhile Martin's car has been back to the garage and diagnosed with terminal illness, so we have to somehow find time and funds to replace that too. Luckily our trusty little red Peugeot 206 is coping brilliantly with her varying diet of old/ learner/new drivers and I am keeping her spirits up with appreciative chat and regular washes. An appropriate prescription for the entire family, I suspect.

Eating up the Miles

2011-07-09T09:26:00.000+01:00

In spite of the fact that none of the family commutes to work, we continue to rack up the miles.

This week saw Martin back up to the airport for another flight to Paris to demonstrate one of the products in which he is attempting to garner interest, popping in to see Jon and Zac en route, then back up to Henley for a business meeting. Max has meanwhile been working in Leckford at the John Lewis Estate for a fortnight's work experience, ferried back and forth by car most days and enjoying huge hot lunches mainly consisting of sausages. They gave him and box of chocolates and lovely Thank You card yesterday, so he is hoping there might be a part-time job there at some point.

Vicki and I spent another enjoyable Open Day wandering around colleges and hearing from yet another university that it is the best, and I dropped Rosie in town early this morning for a coach trip to see friends in Manchester (virtually an all-day ride, but far cheaper than the train).

Incidentally, Open Days are a fantastic people-watching experience, as you invariably see Mother-and-daughter or Father-and-son combinations, at any rate a parent and their offspring, sharing so many common features (hair colour and curl, smile or physique) that you could pair them speedily from a crowd. Sometimes seeing nothing of myself in my own children, it is fun to stand back and see that genes do indeed play a dominant role in moulding the next generation.

We also had a quick visit from Ron and Grace this week, en route from Normandy, and bringing with them delicious fresh cherries, French beans, carrots and more. Why is it that carrots these days from British supermarkets taste so bland and look so watery? These French ones, fresh from the market, have so much flavour and crunch. We intend to collect more fresh fruit and veg today from the Pick-Your-Own farm, if the weather holds up: Max was mortified to miss our last visit and doubtless the strawberries will not last long.

Meanwhile I need to drop eggs round to the neighbours, post an urgent bunting order, get Vicki to her Saturday job and then make something for friends who are celebrating their 50th birthdays this evening. Must dash!

Fathers' Day

2011-07-02T07:38:00.000+01:00

[I just found this post lurking in my drafts folder, somehow having omitted to press the 'publish' button several weeks ago now. Sorry Daddy!]

I was lucky enough to spend time with my father this Sunday, since he had kindly ferried my mother and sister here for the weekend. A wonderful opportunity to wish him a Happy Fathers' Day in person.

It is only now I am coming to appreciate how arduous it must have been to be the sole earner in a family with five children, all with very different ambitions and needs. Our recent experience of juggling priorities on little income has thrown into sharp contrast any discrepancies in our outlook, rendering critical those changes of emphasis that in a wealthy household would simply seem an affectionate indulgence.

When I have toiled hard to eke out a profit from a handmade treasure, I am hard pressed to appreciate the need for another computer backup device. If Martin spends an entire day trying to conjure enthusiasm from potential clients, he does not relish the sight of an M&S bill for underwear. How much simpler life must be when money is abundant.

My parents never had a lot of money, yet we were never poor. I hated wearing the box-pleat skirt that was cheaper than my friends' versions, hated being left behind when the rest of the class went on foreign exchanges. But my parents were always there behind me loving me, supporting me and believing in me. And you know what? I can laugh at the skirt and the trips now, but will always treasure the reassurance and confidence I gained from knowing that my parents loved and cherished me.

So Thank You, Daddy, for all that you have done for the five of us. We remember some of the hard stuff, but I bet we can all clearly remember the weekly treat of doughnuts at the shops, the huge bucket of honey, and the time you fell in the river to entertain us. Dads: made to treasure!

London Revisited

2011-07-01T18:02:00.002+01:00

Our trusty driver delivered us safely to Gerrards Cross this week after well over two hours in the seat (who knew Motorways really do save so much time?). Vicki did a great job and got in plenty of practice both ways, and we are back safe and sound.

We have been visiting Open Days at both UCL and LSE, which were most interesting, including as they did sample lectures about Art History (fascinating) Philosophy (mind-bending) and Spanish, plus tours of their amazing locations in central London. In between of course we foisted ourselves upon Jon and Sam, principally to catch a glimpe of wee Zac, who turns out to be the most handsome and placid baby. With everyone enjoying some relaxation it is a very calm and happy household, and it was very kind of them briefly to let us share it. Thank you all!

We managed to get tickets to see War Horse whilst in London, an amazing show, the horses are fantastically realistic and very clever. To me the actual writing was somewhat clumpy, but the folky country-song accompaniment was effective and the animals certainly stole the show. Definitely worth a visit, and suitable for any age.

Having a spare couple of hours we also tried out Boris's Bikes, enjoying a mad trip up Oxford Street (we could have chosen better) but failed to pick up a map of the hire points which turned out to be unwise as we wasted time tracking them down. But the bikes are a delight, really smooth and easy to ride, and they made a great talking point with Londoners happy to share their experiences. Next time I will pick up (or print off) a map and we'll be away.

The National Gallery was about to shut when we happened upon it, but we managed a hasty whirl around some famous art, ever grateful that access to such massive buildings and important works remains free despite our straitened times. We watched a little street performance outside in the shadow of Nelson's Column with red buses and Big Ben in the background, the attractions of London as a base manifest.

Still, back we are in Hampshire, both girls are off at Blissfields Festival this weekend, the Hat Fair hits Winchester with music and festivities a-plenty, and the sun may even shine. So many lovely places to live.

London

2011-06-28T21:11:00.000+01:00

I have just collected Rosie from the London Coach after her whirlwind visit toWimbledon!

She and Jess took the coach yesterday and decided to try out Boris's bikes when they arrived at Victoria, so spent a fun couple of hours getting across London to their friend's house. This morning they were up early to get to Wimbledon for 7am: Rosie was the 1,500th person in the queue and got in easily. It sounds as though they had a lovely day, getting close up to the action on the outside courts, watching lightning-fast men's doubles and some action on the screens.

I have no time to be jealous as Vicki is driving me over to Jon and Sam's tomorrow so we can say hello to Zac en route to London University Open Days. And Martin is considering a trip to London too to a trade fair... we may be Hampshire bumpkins but we still enjoy dipping our toes back in town from time to time.

Strawberry Sunday

2011-06-26T21:33:00.000+01:00

Ahhh, the sun shines and all is well in the world.

A relaxing weekend of lazy freedom: just we three girls in the house, no schedules to keep, no guests to entertain, and yes the sun came out to join us.

We popped into Chilbolton Fete on Saturday, held in gorgeous private gardens with cream teas, Pimms and a jazz band. Bought some books for the boys and met two separate friends full of the joys at getting re-married in the next few weeks. Very sweet that both couples are so excited despite years of experience, one of them absolutely bursting to tell me the news. I think some Bespoke Bunting may be in order.

Then on to Stockbridge to take some pics of Zigzag Bunting festooning the delightful deli there for their British Weekend. I lent them my sets of Union Jack bunting normally reserved for charity events, since a friend has recently started working there, though it would probably be more astute to set a hire fee. Still, it all looked very good and I have taken some promotional pics.

Our neighbour brought round some freshly-harvested new potatoes and lettuce, so we were able to have a truly fresh omelette and salad dinner and lazy evening. Then today has been the most glorious of sunny days, all the more welcome after the recent drought and deluge.

Our lawn appears to have the plague, nasty black patches spreading widely, so Rosie and I spent some time yesterday raking out the moss that Martin has evidently killed in the hope we can re-seed and rectify the damage. The lawn is so long after weeks of rain and cold that I planned to tackle the mowing if the sun shone today, but try as I might I could not start the mower, so sitting reading the Sunday papers in the sun seemed a reasonable option. Betweentimes I managed to do a lot of trimming and cutting back, Rosie helping with endless runs down to the burn pile, whilst the hens enjoyed a rare forage amongst the greenery and Vicki embarked upon a much-needed clear-out of her room.

We took a break to pick strawberries in St. Mary Bourne, returning laden with fruit and veg for supper, and I enjoyed a warm walk in the sunshine, listening to our choir songs on my Ipod (and singing along) whilst enjoying the pretty scenery nearby.

Then back to leftover wine and quiche, more fresh salad and a very fresh mini-pavlova. Sometimes the simplest pleasures are the best.

Singing in the Rain

2011-06-23T15:40:00.001+01:00

I resisted Photoshop's prompt to 'increase saturation'.

Well, you can't really see from this picture (unless you enlarge it sufficiently) but this was one heck of a downpour! Our drains and gutters couldn't cope and you can see standing water by the house and on the drive, and a haze as the sheer volume of water rebounds off the barn roof. We had to bring in buckets to stem the water leaking through the garden-room roof, and even lit the stove to cheer us up.

It has been a jolly wet and chilly couple of weeks. Our post-concert party on Saturday was supposed to be in the garden of a pretty thatched cottage in Chilbolton, but there was a sigh of relief when I offered to host here where we could at least be indoors. As it turned out we had a wonderful evening. Mummy and Daddy brought Kerry over with them, so it was a treat to catch up with her.

The Wherwell Singers' Summer Concert was such a pleasure, for once we were confident in our accompanist and our amazing conductor Dale was on supreme form, his delight in the music enticing us to sing with greater passion and musicality. By the time Vivaldi's Gloria finshed resonating around Stockbridge church both choir and audience were a sea of smiles.

There was plenty of food and wine here for the party and thanks to my wonderful family the washing and clearing-up was finished in record time. A joyous day in spite of the weather!

Martin spent the weekend in Normandy, having been in Paris for meetings during the week. He caught up with his parents and managed to do a great deal of gardening with them, so everyone had a busy few days. Thank you all. No pictures so here is a lovely one of Martin, taken by Vicki:

We delayed Fathers' Day for Martin, but I was able to cook Daddy an indulgent brunch, and I am hoping that in spite of having to work for his supper, he enjoyed his weekend too. Happy Fathers' Day to an excellent Daddy! xxx

Coming Home

2011-06-19T17:56:00.000+01:00

The very epitome of a student leaving Hall at the end of her first undergraduate year, n'est-ce pas? Stray Viking helmet from a fancy dress party, errant golf club ditto, towel that nearly missed the packing, empties scattered hither and yon, crumbs of birthday cake from a last-night celebration, and a fetching streak of bleach-dyed tresses framing her smile.

I collected Rosie from Sherwood Hall on Nottingham's University Campus on Friday, arriving at noon to find a happy bunch of friends settled in her room. They made the perfect removals team, I barely touched a thing as assorted bags, bedding and her trunk made their way to the car. A last lunch, many hugs and some freshly-released results and we were on the road, scarce believing that so much has happened in the blink of an eye since Rosie stepped into this new world in September.

She has had a wonderful year, doing well in and enjoying her Classical Civilisations course, gaining a diving qualification and friendships along the way. They have a house sorted out for next year and are looking forward tremendously to the added independence and responsibility this will bring.

And see that spider plant in the photo? It has stoically survived in Rosie's room year after year, braving dust and drought, so accompanied her 'up North' where it has thrived. A burgeoning simile for a teenager flourishing in pastures new, but not one I dare use, for said plant has been so fertile that its babies have gone home in many directions. Absolutely NOT a simile, just a healthy and happy plant.

Growing and Growing...

2011-06-12T15:09:00.000+01:00

It was Max's end-of season Rugby Club Dinner on Friday, so the boys got togged up and were looking rather smart. The mums went out for a drink and meal elsewhere, so a good evening was had by all. Max's squad had a very successful year: having been promoted to the First Division they came a close second, with some very strong matches.

Actually, the mums figured out that most of the A squad are the youngest in their families, maybe it toughens them up!

Battle of the Bands

2011-06-09T08:09:00.002+01:00

Ben's band Skyskratcher were in the final of the ACM Battle of the Bands last night: they didn't win but had a fantastic evening and sounds as though they made a few contacts too, so good result. There are some photos here if you would like a peek.

In other news: Vicki is still learning to drive, she drove back from a day out with friends at Alton Towers today. Took me under an hour to get there, but the journey home turned into a two-and-a-half hour marathon due to an enormous tailback. Still, plenty of hill starts and slow creeping, which makes up a large part of a driver's life.

The Book Club took a last-minute trip to the theatre this week, to see Alan Bennett's The Lady in the Van, a funny and beautifully-observed account of the lady who in real life pitched up and lived in her van in his garden for 15 years. A lovely evening, do go and see it if you can, Hull Truck Theatre are touring the production for a few months.

Zac Turner born 7 June

The mega family news is of course the arrival of Jon and Sam's new baby on Tuesday, a little boy called Zac. We are all itching to go and visit, but since I haven't finished making his present yet we haven't even sent off our cards. I had better get sewing today (well, sewing more that is, the bunting is still going strong). Congratulations to you both on your new family, so much fun and delight in store!

Good Morning, Deer

2011-06-06T08:26:00.004+01:00

The countryside is full of surprises. I have just sat down to check on business emails (we are plagued by a BT problem at the moment that is preventing these from coming through, not good for customer relations) and looked up to see a deer sprinting up the drive! Martin surprised it at the bottom of the garden as he went to see to the hens, and it found its way back up here and out towards the road. I wonder whether he caught up with Max, who had left just a few minutes earlier?

Calmed Down Dear

So a little catch-up since I am here. Ruth was due to come for lunch this weekend to celebrate her birthday, but has been ill with an ear infection and is wisely staying put. Meanwhile Martin met up with his Best Man, Paul, who is over from California on business and to celebrate his father's 80th birthday. Paul was the very first student I met once I had done some rudimentary unpacking on my arrival at Collingwood College, since he was my next-door neighbour. We were appalled to realise this is nearly 30 years ago.

We spent an entertaining evening reminiscing and hearing about life back in the US, where Paul and Jenny have settled with their family for good. It is so odd to sit with someone you knew so well, still the same person with the same features, albeit a little more rounded and grey, the same sense of humour, voice and quirks. Reassuring, in fact, to find that we have changed so little in so long.

Meanwhile Vicki had some friends over for a meal (so strange to see them at the wheel with their L plates) and Max and Martin took themselves off to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean 3D film, the perfect occupation for a cold, rainy Sunday.

I have no idea what Ben and Rosie are up to, having failed to get hold of them over the weekend , but I see their applications for student loans for next year have hit my in-box. Perhaps there will be some benefit to having a low household income this year?

Drink and Be Merry

2011-06-02T09:07:00.006+01:00

Half a pint of Guinness and my mind's a whirl. Drink, like food, is so evocative - I am swept back to sharing my first ever sip on a blustery December day in Edinburgh, on day-release from Durham in the company of bubbly Carrie and her tumbling Guinness-hair. She had taken Martin and I to collect some photography bits from her Dad, and we stopped en route to buy genuine haggis and later a Guinness.

It is a drink that has seen me through pregnancies (the iron content of course outweighing the alcohol) but not parties, somehow more suited to those post-choral (I said CHORal) trips to the pub. The Museum Loft Singers retired to The Lamb in Andover for a drink and a song, accompanied by a fiddle and Guinness: thirst-quenching, long and satisfying.

Somehow this social coda is missing from the Singers, or perhaps I am just not part of it. We usually practice an easy amble from the pub, though have only once made the trek. But this evening, fresh from our rehearsal in Sparsholt's daisy-dappled church, we spent a happy hour catching up in the pub, and I enjoyed my black velvet.

We are trying so hard to sing in tune and without recourse to the music, our conductor cajoling and reprimanding in turn, spurring us on to be braver, more gentle, "less lyrical". We know what he means, and just sometimes we see a glimmer of how it might be. Surely that's worth a celebratory clink?

Maybe the Singers are more reserved. I have sung with these people for over a year now, I know which of them makes a prize-winning tiramisu (Steven, I am sorry if you thought I was claiming victory, I bow to your superiority); which of them are related and where some of them live. But I really have very little idea about their lives, what matters to them, their true personalities and foibles. And I suppose really they know little about me. Strange that friends made through my family, whether at the school gate or through countless carpools, know more of the real me than those whom I meet on my own terms.

But perhaps that is also the joy of those focussed gatherings. A couple of hours' concentration on notes and collaboration and we discern real choral progress. The frustrations of a day haranguing business bankers over their poor service, ferrying teens back and forth to meetings, chasing lost deliveries and household hygiene, fall away as we are obliged to focus on the moment. Maybe it is precisely in this separation that the pleasure lies.

Still, it was lovely to finish up with a little chat in the pub last night. I learned of another singer with offspring at Nottingham University (so back to carpools then). I glimpsed Jo's photos of her son's wedding. And the Singers now know just a little more about me and Guinness.

Life Goes On

2011-05-29T16:29:00.002+01:00

I really need to whip out my camera more frequently, having nothing to show you from the past week or so, though admittedly this is in part due to unseasonally cold and windy weather. We are certainly paying for those warm April days..

So this will be a tedious catch-up more useful to me as a diary than of interest to anyone else: feel free to click across to your facebook friends for more scintillating news.

It is already Half Term, so we have kicked back our heels. Vicki completed her last AS exams on Thursday so finally has no pressing reading or revision and can chill. Good timing as of course now is the time to start looking into university courses for next September (can they really be halfway through sixth form already?). We have just booked up to spend a couple of days in London next month so that she can visit some Open Days, and I have bagged tickets to see War Horse whilst we are there. Plus of course we are keeping fingers crossed we will be able to sneak a peek at the new baby in the family by then...

Max has done some of his GCSE modules and has another next week, but for now is getting on with tidying his room, mowing the lawn and arranging a BBQ for friends. He has sorted out some work experience for a couple of weeks in June, and is also due to go off with the rugby team to Serbia for a brief tour, so has plenty to look forward to. We may even finally get around to painting his bedroom this summer (I did manage to sew some blackout lining into his curtains this week so at least he can sleep in beyond 5am).

It has been a windswept, chilly week for my parents and in-laws to share a narrowboat 'up North', and although they claim it has heating and a stove Martin and I are hoping they have kept warm hearts too and haven't fallen out in such proximity! So far as I recall, the last time my parents stepped on a narrowboat was just after Ben was born, when we shared a lovely holiday with both sets of parents ( plus baby) on the canals. In between, we had our own family holiday during which said baby (by now around 10 years old) stepped straight off the boat and into the water, forgetting we were afloat. Mind you, with a combined age of over 280 years, those currently afloat must surely have more sense?

Our hens are laying well these days, though one suddenly kicked the bucket a while back, to be found solid under her perch in the morning. No sign of fox or illness, so we have no idea what happened there. The rest remain chirpy, thank heavens, and we are now selling surplus eggs to friends once more.

Martin has been assiduously collecting spare wood and now has a fine and extensive stack of chopped logs drying for next year. He has also been tidying out the garage and fixing and digging, whilst I have been chopping away at the nasty prickly shrubs that have taken over one of our beds - seems to me if they are ugly and evil they have no place in our garden, but now I have to hope the more benevolent plants will spread to fill the gaps.

The bunting business is coming along nicely, and I have finally worked out how to make changes to the new website so the re-launch is beginning to take shape. My friend Jill and I are managing a weekly tennis fixture at the shabby local courts, where at least we can blame the gravel and weeds for our peculiar shots. Choir has been fun as our concert pieces take shape, and I am even ahead on the Book Club reading.

We have suddenly become conscious, though, of time passing. It seems like years (ah, so it is) since any of our friends popped out babies or were wed, so my brother's imminent arrival feels as though it is to a different generation. Plus this week we went to our first 50th birthday party. None of us feel we can possibly be near that age, and certainly Deborah doesn't look it. I wonder how much longer we can kid ourselves we are still young and vigorous? Dyed hair and glasses aside, it was a merry and yes youthful gathering, at least in our hearts, which is where it matters.

Winners

2011-05-26T09:45:00.000+01:00

Still deep in exam season here at the lair, so thought I should catch up a little. It is the end of the rugby season, and Martin's Vets team managed to have a series of celebration dinners, all including a certain amount of alcohol: Max was very amused to find himself reproaching his father...

Anyway, Martin was awarded 'Players' Player' so was very chuffed: this is him with his award, and since Max and I had just cycled back from the Longparish Fete with his haul of coconuts from the coconut shy, he is in this one too:

Accredi-bloomin-tation

2011-05-15T20:47:00.002+01:00

Chastened by my failure to rely on singing qualifications last week, I have spent the entire weekend putting together a file of documentation to prove my prowess as a Governors' Clerk.

I was not going to bother with this, preferring to indicate other qualifications in lieu, but the Local Authority pay staff to harangue clerks until they get on with it, and when I suggested I could get the bulk of it done this weekend (they were threatening me with time limits) the lady effectively snorted at me down the phone and suggested I defer to next year.

I have ended up printing off endless copy documents, writing explanations, annotating and editing and explaining, and now have an A4 file ready to send off for preliminary review. Fingers crossed that any suggested amendments are minor as I have had it up to HERE with paperwork.

The rest of the family are worse off, however, as two of them have exams starting this week. I am so glad that era of my life is over. Wait, what am I saying, here I am taking MORE exams.

A glass of wine beckons...

Shameless Promotion

2011-05-14T19:46:00.001+01:00

I am hoping that by doing my best to help Ben promote his band at this early stage in his career, he will remember his Mum when I am old and doddery and he is a rich music star...

Skyskratcher have entered an online competition and they need people to vote for them. All you have to do is go to this link and just beneath the video there is a star-rating. If you click on the stars you can make them read up to five stars....click and you have voted!

Thank you very much for your help in launching a wonderful career.

Laughing in the Face of Adversity

2011-05-11T14:49:00.000+01:00

Well, I said I would let you know, and it turns out that no, I can't sing, at least not well enough to be considered for any solo. In the grand scheme of things this doesn't matter at all, but I sure hate to fail. I didn't even manage to put a brave face on tackling the ironing this afternoon.

But at least two good things have come out of this. First, a good friend read my blog and sent me a lovely and reassuring message; and second my dear Father-in-Law sent me an epic missive on the dangers of 'Multiple Diplomatosis', a condition characterised by misplaced reliance on certificated achievements. Thank you both!

Plus of course I have learned never to try to bake for people on a diet. Which means I can keep the source of that delicious chocolate aroma currently wafting from the oven for the family. Mwah-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha.

Testing Times

2011-05-07T09:07:00.015+01:00

Every year I forget just how early exam season starts. Our undergraduates pitch more or less straight into exams this term, GCSE language orals kick off the season for Max's year in a week or so, and AS levels too are over before Half Term. The family is (should be) in a whirlwind of revision.

Trundling along in the background are all those other tests too. Vicki took her Drivers' Theory Test this morning (and passed), and I am supposed to be cobbling together a portfolio of my clerking work to obtain some kind of grading. One of those qualifications that is not worth having, I suspect, but who knows, if someone should decide they need a lowly clerk, at least I would have something to wave beneath their noses.

Well that's the theory. I have relied for so long on good O' levels, A' and S' levels and Degree in addition to Law Society exams and Articles, that I have never felt the need further to prove my worth, confident that I can do a good job if I put my mind to most things.

Yet lately I have felt foolishly intimidated by the qualifications of others, in the small world of our local choir. The first question I was asked upon joining was What Grades I Have. This flummoxed me as I could not see the relevance of my distant attainments in History et al. It turned out that all three of the girls chatting so amicably had achieved at least Grade 6 in singing and were in the throes of further exams.

Well, I have always enjoyed singing, but who knows whether it is good or not? Tunes loop through my head, as doubtless they do for most folk, and if there is no-one around I join in with gusto. It has eased the ironing and enlivened scrubbing for many years and makes me happy.

Singing in a choir adds to the fun, trying pieces I never would have heard, exercising body and mind and providing a complete break from the niggles of life. But when this week our lovely conductor Dale suggested I audition for a simple solo, I felt under-qualified.

The trouble, I think, is that it is hard to trust people to say what they mean. I know Dale wants everyone to have a go at everything, so of course encourages members of the choir to audition. And when I tried yesterday to sing the piece in front of him, he was kind enough to say I had a nice voice. Well, he couldn't very well tell me it was rubbish and never to darken his (very pretty) door again. Did I want to do the solo if I got through? Yes of course, it is a challenge and a new experience. But do I trust that I can actually sing well enough not to embarrass myself and the rest of the Wherwell Singers? Well, no.

And I think it comes down to this. I don't know whether I can sing well enough or not, as I have no certificate to prove it. I have heard enough duff and flat singers in my time to know their fellows rarely tell them their faults, instead murmuring with British politeness about the weather. Those who play an instrument can at least blame their tools: one's voice is a more intimate matter. Just as adding make-up helps to present an acceptable face to the world, so a voice can be trained to greater purity and accuracy, but it is still the same old face, same old voice, and maybe that is just not good enough.

Perhaps so many years of encouraging children to do their best in exams and prove themselves have finally undermined my own confidence. Does 'No Certificate' truly equal 'No Ability'? Yes but No but...It is certainly true that a qualification, however lowly, does attest to some degree of talent, demonstrating not just to others, but also to ourselves, that we can do it.

For now, having neither the time nor money (nor, let's face it, the inclination) to pursue singing qualifications, I am thinking laterally. Bribe Dale to let me do the solo, then he will be obliged to make sure I can jolly well sing it or risk ignominy for us both. Thus it was that I took along a batch of freshly-baked oaty cookies to my audition. How was I to know he is on a diet?

There are other faults with this solution of course: for any of our children reading this, turning up to a job interview with goodies in lieu of grades would court disaster. But just now and again maybe we should try even when we don't know whether we are qualified, hoping hard work and a following wind will pull us through.

I will let you know how it turns out. Fail and I will know to sing only to my laundry and trust in solid qualifications in future.

Landmarks

2011-05-01T08:15:00.002+01:00

We no longer have Four Teens! Ben celebrated his birthday here with us, between returning from France and zooming back to Guildford for a Battle of the Bands heat (which they won). He is a fine 20-year old and we are very proud of our helpful, considerate and talented young man. Unfortunately the pictures I took have become corrupted, so no pictures of the lovely lad on the day, but he had super presents and a celebration take-away before a night out with his friends.

We also now have another driver in the family: Rosie passed her driving test this week with flying colours and has managed to squeeze in a few trips by herself (and to help me out) before she goes back to Nottingham. Congratulations Rosie!

Rest and Relaxation

2011-04-23T22:05:00.003+01:00

We are just home from a wonderfully sunny and happy week in Normandy, lots of time spent on the beach, roaming the fields and pottering on the water or round the house, and though Martin and I did get a few jobs done they were of the enjoyable rather than onerous variety.

Vicki stayed at home this time, preferring to meet up with friends and get some revision done (and doubtless enjoying having the whole house to herself), but since we took along two of Max's rugby friends we were quite a carful. Everyone got along very well and the mix made for some entertaining tales and great evening games at the kitchen table!

The teenagers all enjoyed driving Emma around the fields, and Martin was able to enlist the boys' help to load the trailer with most of the wood that our wayward farmer had lopped off our trees.

The weather was great, warm from the start and for most of the week we had clear blue skies, only needing sweaters when we were out late or in the sea breeze. Tides were low during the day so we took the Blocarts to St. Remy on the second day and spent ages in perfect winds jetting up and down between games of boules, Lampard beachball and beachcombing.

We tried to go fishing one day at a local lake, but it turned out it was for professionals, so instead we bought a ghastly-looking fish and some prettier prawns for dinner.

Granma and Grampy treated us all to lunch another day, after which we took the hooks and nets down to the beach to dig some crabs out at the low tide. We ended up with several little lobsters and pregnant crabs (which we put back) but went home with eight of the tasty-but-angry etrilles which are much sought-after locally.

Ben managed his withdrawal symptoms well: he had left his electric guitar in Guildford, but Rosie brought along the old acoustic she has been teaching herself to play, so there was rarely a moment when you could not hear a guitar playing in the background, a delightful accompaniment.

With the warm weather Max and his friends had numerous BB gun fights in the copse, cooling off in the canoes along the river: one evening they set off for a paddle at 5pm and eventually got back home at about 8pm, having made it all the way to town and back and thinking they had been about an hour!

The old archery set we bought at auction years ago came out in the courtyard, and an old chess set provided gentler amusement before dinner

Having bought a little guide to the year's Vide Grenier (carboot sales) Rosie and I had a super morning exploring a nearby village, and on another occasion managed to do a tour of the local depots-vente to bring home some more chairs for the kitchen so that we can now seat ten comfortably.

What else? We had a bonfire down by the lake one starry evening, burning some of the cleared brambles and enjoying s'mores and puzzles, breakfasted daily on croissants and masses of fresh baguettes on the patio in the sun, and visited Camp Paton.

I managed to forget my camera charger, so borrowed Martin's to take some shots of a few bits of bunting ready for the new website

So now we are back, rested and sun-kissed to an equally sunny Hampshire full of bluebells and blossom. Lots of customers placed bunting orders for the Royal Wedding despite the website being closed, so I am trying to see what I can get done within the limited time available. Max and Vicki are getting down to revision for exams in the next couple of weeks, Ben is on his way back to Guildford and Rosie is currently out babysitting to replenish her funds after managing to buy a wetsuit for scuba-diving at Decathlon on the way home. Within days the house will be emptying and timetables back in force... but we still have a few days more to enjoy the Easter break.

Happy Easter everyone!

Spring Fever

2011-04-10T19:29:00.003+01:00

How can time fly by so fast? At this rate I'll be claiming my pension by the time I wake up again.

So here we are on a Sunday evening, glass of wine in hand, haviug just snorted down an enormous bowl of fresh guacamole made by Rosie. I went to pick up Vicki in Winchester this morning and she texted early to suggest we meet at the carboot there: they have a vibrant sale every Sunday morning and this morning was so warm and sunny that it was a lovely excuse for cheap retail therapy.

I came home with a rolling bag for fetching cumbersome bolts of fabric from my suppliers, some pretty earrings, Easter goodies, a recent roadmap for my car, hordes of buttons from some old lady's button box (our duvet may finally seal where it ought) and miscellaneous holiday reading, in addition to an entire bowlful of avocados for £1. Vicki drove us home safely through woods sporting a few blossoming bluebells and Martin had cooked up a breakfast feast to welcome us back.

Things move so quickly these days, and life is so busy, that it is hard to remember quite what has been happening. Rosie is home from Nottingham and having a lovely time in this sunshine meeting up with friends for BBQs and catching up. Vicki is revising for AS level exams which start before long, and has already had her Spanish oral, whilst Max is trying to ignore the fact that he too has GCSEs coming up in a month.

Ben is coming home for some R&R tomorrow, so we will be spending our last few days with four teens: he turns 20 next Friday. His exams seem to have gone well, and he has been playing plenty of gigs so is getting valuable experience in the music world.

Martin has meanwhile decided to try to set up his own business, so is spending time researching potential customers for a software sales job: a difficult area to get into as it will all be commission-based (and therefore incur costs before income) but it is an area he knows and is good at, so we have our fingers crossed.

Talk to me later about bunting: for now I am on politeness-only terms with our great British Union Jack, having turned around many orders over the last month, mostly generated by the Royal Wedding. Lovely to know that Zigzag Bunting now graces a new gift hall in Harrods, decorates Liberty's, is in many Agent Provocateur shops and Shoon shoe shops, plus is ready and waiting to adorn pubs and restaurants (including Heston Blumenthal's in Bray and what the owners consider "the Middletons' favourite pub")...and we are still busy with an order for Viscount Linley's shop just along from the Abbey. Lots of opportunities for beautiful photographs if we could just find the time to get there!

I lost a tooth this week: after root canal treatment I was due to return for the final work, then on the Friday (of course, just before the weekend and when no dentist is open) managed to crack down on something, breaking the tooth in half. The dentist was as frustrated as I at all the wasted work (and expense) so now I have had an extraction and will need more expensive bridge-work or a face-mask to cover the ancient visage. Blerggh.

To make myself feel better I booked an appointment with a Winchester hairdresser who had done a friend's hair well to suit her face, so I have now been fettled a'top and feel like a new woman, in spite of the old and crumbling teeth.

The garden is awash with blossom, the hens are beginning to lay (two-and-a-half eggs per week each so far) and Max spent the entire afternoon yesterday mowing the lawn for the first time this year. BBQ and freshly-mown grass, now there are some evocative smells.

Happy Mothers' Day

2011-04-03T19:12:00.001+01:00

Sitting with my feet up playing with my new website (Zigzag Mark II designed to be simple to amend but with a steep learning curve for the computer-illiterate) whilst the children make dinner. Loverly-jubberly!

Rose brought me tea in bed and plucked some daffodils for the kitchen, and has been sorting out the washing, bringing me tea and tasties all day. Vicki was at work but is now back and cooking, and Max has returned bearing gorgeous tulips, having been slogging it out on the rugby pitch at a tournament all day (returning very weary, perhaps also due to having had friends for a sleepover last night!). Ben called to wish me a Happy Day and catch up with his news, so I am feeling chirpy and beloved.

Excellent news from Gerrards Cross: Jon has been appointed a partner at KPMG, the little star! A brilliant achievement, doubtless well-deserved, and absolutely fantastic timing, what with another little jingle on the way and the time to take a breath or two before embarking on this new venture. Hearty congratulations, little brother, we are very proud of you!

So a snippet from Ben's newly-recorded video to sign off. Skyskratcher launched their debut EP in London last week, Martin managed to get there to cheer them on and came back full of what a good night they had had. He may not be earning any money but Ben is certainly putting in lots of effort to great effect. Click on the link to enjoy:

Skyskratcher Video

Happiness is...

2011-03-27T20:51:00.005+01:00

Ping! Its Spring!

The clocks went back this morning and the sun shone all day, our garden daffodils have caught up with the rest of Hampshire and burgeon midst the pretty-little-bluebellish things and soft primroses, the magnolia has burst forth and the hedgerows are sprouting fresh green coats.

It is such a delight to go anywhere at this time of year. Vicki finally has some time to do some driving practice, and it is a pleasure to go out with her with no purpose other than to wend our way along new roads, taking the challenges as they come. Today we came across a lot of roadkill (dazzled by the sun?), cyclists and walkers taking precious space on blind corners, and our local horse and cart plodding lazily along without a care. Rural bliss.

Mind you, I am sure the children don't see it that way. Cities beckon the teenager with enticing lights and busyness, hectic rush... and no roadkill. Vicki is opting to join friends in London this year "to plan fashion week" whilst the rest of us pop across the Channel to sample French cuisine for a week. Ben is keen to come with us this year, and Rosie will be back home this Friday so will be with us too. Max is bringing a couple of friends so it will be an interesting mix!

Meanwhile we are the proud owners of some new hens. By gum, if we had known that hen inflation was to rise so rapidly we would have bred fresh chooks from our broody girls last year. We paid £7 a hen when last we bought, this year it was a cool £20 per bird. Serves us right for living within commuting distance of the city, you might think, but we trawled far and wide and it seems that nation-wide, poultry-keeping is making a glamorous pitch for the headlines.

Hopefully they will grow in beauty!

We have delayed for weeks thinking we might find something cheeeper (hah) but when even basic layers cost £15 you might as well go the whole hog, as it were, and buy something that looks fetching, lays big beauties and has a modicum of resistance to living in the wilds. We ended up with six Black Rock and six grey girls called Blue Rangers, but also known as Bluebells, which seems appropriate! All I can say is, they had better bloomin' well lay or I will be out there squeezing them to popping point.

Yet the maternal instinct in me is chuffed to have girls at the bottom of the garden once more. They are always ready for a chat when I appear with cold spaghetti or innards-of-the-squash delights, and the simple pleasure of plucking a warm, fresh egg from the nest still brings a smile. Perhaps my mind has dulled after all these years out of formal employment, or perhaps as one gets older one just appreciates the simple things more.

I met up this week with some friends to watch a film and have supper. Several of us had work the next day (me because I had taken Friday afternoon off to play tennis with a friend, bliss!) and it troubled me that the others were working because their stressful (and extremely well-paid and high profile) jobs required it. With Martin out of work for so long, I have been re-thinking my attitude to money, and finding that provided we can glean the odd bit here and there, it really is not so bad to have no bounteous paycheck every month. Admittedly we are currently on the wrong side of the balance sheet (a hefty £2.5k Council Tax bill certainly made us sit up straight) but it does mean we both have the flexibility to take advantage of those spontaneous moments: a friend offering the first game of tennis in a year, a chance to meet up with our son at his London gig. Blessings in dsguise n' all, we should be counting.

And in that vein, having been prompted by foreigners singing the praises of their foreign climes, my spur-of-the-moment top ten reasons to love Britain:

1. Singing in the rain. No, really. Sometimes you just need to go out in the grey and wet and holler and splash... and be it winter or summer, fresh sparkly rain or the sodding heavy plaster-your-hair-to your-cheeks business, you feel better for it. Well, it saves on the Valium.

2. Bluebell Woods. I am on tenterhooks, the green leaves are bursting forth and the woods are ripe for popping, I don't know what it is about the blue of English bluebells but put me in Harewood Forest on an April afternoon with blueness and beauty all around and I could stay for a thousand years.

Fecund in the dry woods

3. The waft of a Sunday Roast as you walk into the kitchen on a chilly afternoon. I know you can cook this anywhere, even in Australian sunshine, but I am sure it just wouldn't smell the same. I love that family feeling of a warm and sultry kitchen, when everyone has been out and busy, the light dims and we light some candles. Pop to collect a child and they can smell the dinner on your clothes, warm and fuggy. I know why Nigel Slater wrote Toast and I am with him all the way.

4. Sparkling moonlit nights with a misty haze and frosty glistening ground. Max cycled back from washing-up at the local pub last week (how prosaic can you get) on his return urging his father to nip out and photograph the beautiful scene. At 11pm. He is 15. I love him.

5. Winding country roads where beauty or the beast could be around the corner. We have foxes, pheasants, rabbits and deer crossing our paths homeward; horses and carriages, heavily-laden sewage-spreaders and the occasional stream of cycle-enthusiasts competing along the Test Way. It's a risky road, but never dull.

6. Thrilling, Fabulous, Fireworks. OK, I know you can have these anywhere, indeed they are becoming ubiquitous, yet I still stand in wonder at the local village fireworks on Bonfire Night, starry-eyed at the beauty and sheer prettiness of those golden rainshowers and the warm crackle of the communal fire. We always bump into people we know, the children always find some friends to scoot off with in the dark, and I always clutch my warming mulled wine remembering the first bonfire night we enjoyed at Ascot Racecourse with Ben in a backpack and frost on the ground and the whole world at our feet. Sparklin' good.

7. Father Christmas wrapped up in ermine and redness against the cold, with his jingly bells and merriment. I have always loved Christmas, tinsel and tat n' all. On our first Christmas back in England after a sojourn in the USA we came out of our beautiful village church after the midnight service to find frost and starlight and Father Christmas in his sleigh and bells and snortling horses and I couldn't see for tears of pleasure. Soft at heart, me, but it makes me happy.

8. The smell of Fresh Air. In the States they sell, it, you know, you can buy a spray to make your washing smell as though it has been out on the washing line. At least it shows I am not imagining the fresh, pure, wonderful smell of freshly-dried washing. Like the smell of freshly-bathed babies there is something intangible but instantly identifiable in the scent of washing fresh of the line. Don't mock me, it's a cheap pleasure.

9. The Barbeque. Yes, I know this features heavily in the list of foreign delights, and I would be the first to admit that the British BBQ can be a touch-and-go affair. Yet perhaps this is part of its attraction. It might be a damp squib, but with a touch of luck and a sunny disposition, the British barbeque is a fantastic feast. The fun is in the anticipation, the spare pullovers and emergency gazebos, all adding to the heightened pleasure when it all comes out prefectly cooked and is shared amongst happy friends and their families. Together in adversity, exuberant in success.

10. Too much to list! A crackling fire on a winter's day; walking to the village pub in the snow, throwing snowballs and greetings to villagers old and young; watching from the sidelines as your son scores a try at rugby in the weak February sun; cheering with proud eyes as your daughter brings alive a very English theatre; walking the paths of students through time on a beautiful campus knowing your daughter is enjoying her life; cheering 'til your voice breaks at your son's fantastic musical gift...

In the end, I suppose, we could be living anywhere. The joyous times rest on people, not places, and the memories laid down can be accessed from anywhere. We have lived in different countries, sampled different lives, and it all comes back to one simple thing: carpe diem and don't worry about the rain...

Golden Oldies

2011-03-14T23:17:00.001Z

It is always hard to think of your parents as youthful, since they are forever a couple of decades older than you. Yet since being middle-aged and old-fashioned in my teens, my parents seem not to have aged a jot.

So it was with pride that we celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary together on Saturday, fifty whole years since they tied themselves one to the other and joined their bloodstock for posterity.

Max and Vicki painted a golden banner to welcome Granna and Grandad to their celebration luncheon with a golden theme (though it appears we forgot to disguise the dustbins, zut)

Jon and Sam arrived to blow up balloons and help decorate, then served us all with a toast and some delicious rose champagne

Dress was 'golden' and some of us entered into the spirit with zest, though we are still not sure about Mummy's golden chain theme...

Jenny and Ally and family had sent a lovely congratulations picture, as had Rosie, so they were here too in spirit to wish the Goldies well.

We dined on Golden Fish Pie (yellow cherry toms), golden salad, golden treacle tart and golden lemon delight, and with the soundtrack of Abba Gold album and a beautiful guitar composition sent across by Ben as a Golden Anniversary gift, I think we did the occasion proud.

Kerry has magically come back to the family fold, it was wonderful to see her in fine fettle (apart from a dreadful chesty cough) and sharing this special day, and an Air Vice Marshal even dropped in from Saudi Arabia to add to the fun (but I have no pics as Max, Photographer to the Stars, had retired by that point).

We had a gleeful game of Mr and Mrs during which we found out more than was proper about Mummy and Daddy's courtship (and I thought is was all stiff upper lip and corsets in those olden days?)

Then it was out for a breath of fresh air at Chibolton Common before more alcohol, cheese and salmon and some new-found footage both of Mummy and Daddy's wedding day (they were so young and beautiful!) and eclectic family moments. Delightful!

We all had a lie-in on Sunday morning then Martin cooked a delicious breakfast and we adorned their car a la newly-weds with balloons and tinsel a-plenty for their departure

Happy Days! They are off to France in this morning's glorious sunshine, whilst Martin is off on his first business trip in months, Jon and Sam are off to Barbados with their 6-month bump, Kerry is back in Wales and Big Brother back in the heat and dust, leaving lil' ol' me with a dead e-mail, dead car, 250 metres of Union Jack bunting to sew and lots of happy memories.

Congratulations, Daddy and Mummy, you are amazing, wonderful parents and evidently not too bad at the being-married bit either. We salute you! xxxxxx

Skyskratcher

2011-03-11T22:41:00.001Z

Ben has been very busy with his Guildford band, Skyskratcher, as they plan to launch their Extended Play CD at their headline gig next week at The Bowery in London.

Having re-formed in September Skyskratcher seem to have found their feet and have been playing gigs in and around Guildford and London, which must be setting them back financially but giving them great experience and exposure.

So now they are spending every spare moment (not to mention borrowed funds) finalising the recording, sorting out art and printwork, so as to have plenty of CDs to give away next week... here's hoping the Radio DJs like what they hear!

I can't figure out how to pop a picture here, but this is their EP trailer, have a listen!

Ski Bug Strikes

2011-03-09T22:20:00.003Z

For many years we have toyed with the idea of a family skiing holiday: only Martin has any expertise, Ben, Rosie and I having taken a couple of lessons up Mount Hood whilst in Oregon, and the littlies having enjoyed tubing in the snow. I am sure we would have had a wonderful time, but each time we totted up the cost it ran into thousands, and knowing we would want to go again and again we never dared take the plunge.

As it turns out, this is a good thing, or we would have had no savings to tide us over this scarily-long period without work. Max, however, was in luck, having signed up for the school ski trip to Austria just before Martin was made redundant. A few weeks of trawling around friends and we managed to beg and borrow sufficient ski gear to keep him safe and toasty, though since the only helmet on offer was pretty pink we did invest in a proper man-helmet through a local ski outlet store.

Thus whilst we were trekking up and down to Winchester with Vicki during half term, Max and his friends were on a long coach journey to Saalbach in Austria. They were staying in a chalet with a short coach-drive to the slopes, and sorted into groups according to experience (though with slight of tongue and a couple of trips to the local dry ski slope under Martin's tuition, Max managed to get himself in the Advanced Beginners group).

We heard nothing from them all week,always a good sign where the risk of injury runs high, and Max finally made it home on Saturday afternoon in time to see 'Our House' after a recuperative nap (well, a deep and much-needed collapse on his bed).

He had an amazing time, they learned loads, had a fantastic instructor who let them show off to the lower groups, allowed them to do jumps and generally thrive on the outdoors and speed. A couple of pics from his disposable camera will give the gist, though there are none of him...I think they were all too busy when skiing to bother with pictures.

I think I want to go skiing...

A Day in the Life...

2011-03-06T13:50:00.003Z

Since this is my lazy way of keeping a diary I decided that from time to time I ought to record the humdrum daily goings-on at home which bubble along in the background whilst everyone is out and about achieving.

So this is my yesterday, so far as I recall (alas, I have probably already forgotten the half of it, which in terms of mundane chores is probably a good thing both for me, the doer, and you, the reader).

My snazzy new digital alarm automatically gives us a lie-in from our usual 7am start at the weekends, though in practice it makes little difference as both Max and I wake up regular as clockwork: I heard him in the shower not long after 7 and he soon scampered down the stairs to take up his post on the barn settee, snuggled against the cold in eiderdown and tiger slippers, to play on his new XBox game. I lay idly running through lists in my head and tossing up whether to brace myself to make a pot of tea to bring back to bed.

After a quick breakfast (fresh bread from the machine, buttered and marmaladed, yum) the laundry beckoned so the conveyor-belt once more stuttered into action: clothes from the rack into the washing basket (or dryer for a quick soften); machine on with the first load of the day (our bedding, it being a cold but bright blue morning auguring well for a spot of fresh-air drying); baskets sorted and a pile left on the stairs for onward delivery at some point.

Ten swags of dyed Union Jack bunting were also cluttering up the airing rack, so I managed to get these pressed, folded and neatly boxed up with printed Invoice and pretty tissue-wrap, sealed and addressed ready for posting.

Vicki had been out with friends at a party in Winchester and stayed over, so needed a pick-up before work (there being no suitable buses) and it turned into a useful round-trip. Yesterday was the inaugural World Book Night, a publicity drive by publishers to encourage wider reading, and I had signed up months ago to be one of their book distributors.

Choosing a book we had read at our own Book Club, Rohinton Mistry's 'A Fine Romance', I offered to collect 50 books from the bookshop (luckily adjacent to a Waitrose offering the option of a trolley to transport two huge boxes back to the car) and now had to find a way to distribute these during the day. The computer was already fired up so I spent a while putting together a notice informing people about the giveaway and its purpose, so that I could leave a basket of books at Vicki's coffee-shop.

So to Winchester I wended, leaving Martin changing the oil in my little red car, and remembering to pack Vicki's black work clothes too. Then back to Stockbridge, still basking in sunshine (but -0.1 degrees according to my snazzy phone) I dropped Vicki off at loos to change and took the basket of books into Stokes, where they were readily accepted.

Stockbridge has wonderful shops for browsing, so I took a wander to get inspiration for a couple of gifts I need to give in the next few weeks, and distributed a few more books to surprised and grateful ladies en route. It is a lovely feeling giving away something that you know will bring enjoyment... but I did wonder afterwards why it was I had approached only women with my free books: this is after all a novel set in India with strong characters of both sexes, no trite aga-saga.

Having dropped my bunting at the post office it was home to find Martin was about to leave for a veterans' rugby match. Max helped me hoover and clean up from breakfast, then I made some soup for lunch and some more bread, plus a chocolate cake to take to friends by way of thanks for their ski-kit loan. Max helped me sort out the freshly-laundered gear (including a jacket that had to be washed in special formula, I hope I did that right) and we ticked everything off back into return bags.

Meanwhile there had been some orders and enquiries on the Zigzag email, so I dealt with these, and in doing so found that someone local was offering bubble-wrap on Freecycle. Having just signed up to this service I am amazed what people will offer for free: all sorts of furniture, clothing, electricals etc and even simple items like recycled packaging. I emailed the bubble-chap and found he is right next door to where we are going to return some apres-ski boots: result!

Max helped me write a thank you note and I packaged up some bunting for a thank you too, together with more books (on the basis that everyone I met that day would be offered a good read) then set off leaving him to pop two lots of washing on the line. The round trip took quite a time by the time I had chatted to everyone, and had a welcome cuppa at Anne Clare's whilst apologising for a tenacious stain on the white ski jacket, but I even managed to drop some more books at Chilbolton's friendly Post Office and now everything is back where it should be.

Now look, I can't remember at all what happened in the afternoon! I know I chatted to another friend to arrange lifts for this evening, sorted out some recipes for guests next week, washed the kitchen floor and changed more beds, made more adverts for the free books, took copies round to our immediate neighbours and also discussed hens with the nearest (we are trying to find some good hens but those available locally cost £20 each, which is far more than last time and perhaps not worth it, though they were beautiful and laid well). These neighbours are planning to share the hens with us so I need to keep them up to date.

Well then I know I made some fishcakes for dinner and did some more hen-research betwixt and between, though all too late to call the suppliers so I will leave that until Monday. Martin handily collected Vicki on his way back from a winning match (though he played only 10 minutes) so we had a quick supper before heading out to the 40th birthday party of a musician friend, Paul, who had invited most of his band and choir and friends to join a musical evening in Whitchurch.

Vicki and Charlie, both pupils of Paul, wanted to play something for him, so we turned up early to the party to see if they could do their bit before heading back to the cast party for Encore, which clashed. They ended up waiting ages to go on, though this was probably wise as it meant the ceilidh warmed up the audience. Vicki sang amazingly, and with Charlie on guitar they made a really good sound, it was a perfect tribute to Paul and he was very chuffed. Martin whizzed them off back to the cast party in time to catch plenty of fun, and since Vicki was staying with friends afterwards for more partying we didn't need to fetch and carry again until this morning.

It was great to catch up with friends from the old choir, and Martin managed to chat to a friend who might be able to source some hens for us, so though we left the party relatively early it was a good evening, and we were home in time for me to enjoy curling up with a good book before a sound night's sleep.

And this morning? Well, Martin was off with Max to rugby (they won their last league game of the season), I collected a bleary-eyed Vicki, and now we are off to do some driving practice whilst the roads are quiet. More washing is on the line, lunch is on the way and the conveyor belt continues!

Excellent Madness!

2011-03-04T12:32:00.005Z

How do teenagers, often denigrated as lazy, charmless sloths, manage to pull off such an exuberant and stimulating show?

Encore Youth Theatre work their teenage cast hard, with a fantastic ensemble attitude, mutual support and respect. This year's show, a musical woven around Madness hits like 'Baggy Trousers', 'On the Wings of a Dove' and of course 'Our House (in the Middle of Our Street)' left audiences whipped up and full of smiles.

Show week in February Half Term is always overtaken by dress and technical rehearsals as the cast have their first access to the Theatre Royal stage in Winchester, followed rapidly by a week of performances culminating in a double-run on Saturday. Judging by the swirl of energetic dances and frequent costume changes I thought they would all be fading away by the time Saturday's matinee performance was over.

Yet there we were, proud grandparents, Auntie Kerry and the family, bowled over once more on Saturday evening by excellent singing and acting, topped with a thoroughly dazzling display of teenage energy.

Vicki had a cameo role this year, as a barrister seducing a (tiny) judge to save Joe from prison:

and at one stage was touting drugs in a market scene

She and the other specialist dancers turned up in so many different costumes their wardrobe must have been huge:

Backstage Slinky Reds for 'Wings of a Dove'

Prison Arrows

...and pretty whites

We were thrilled to see Vicki doing so well, she has great stage presence and enthusiasm and it was a huge treat to enjoy 'Our House' with our gal. Well done Vicki!

Keeping My Mouth Shut

2011-02-28T20:27:00.007Z

Zigzag News

2011-02-22T16:35:00.003Z

Gosh, the house is quiet! I finally finished doing a load of bunting for Harrods and sent that off this morning, plus took Vicki into town to get last-minute things she needs for the performances this week (they have just been allowed into the theatre today so have a full run-through and tech. rehearsal then a proper dress rehearsal tonight, they will be pooped!).

So I have a quick moment to share these lovely video clips CBBC sent over featuring some quirky bunting we made them for a TV ad:

So as you see bunting is keeping me busy, plus I have been out at the NEC sourcing new fabrics at the craft trade show, and trying to sort out a new website so it is easier for me to manage...

The reason the house is quiet is of course that despite being half term we have barely anyone around! Both Ben and Rosie are away, and Max is in Austria on the school ski trip: we have heard nothing (which is hopefully good news) so keeping our fingers crossed they have some snow and are enjoying themselves. Jealous? Moi?

We are babysitting a neighbour's rabbit for a few days, actually the offspring of one of our own (theirs lasted longer than ours!) and have also been researching hens as we are looking forward to having our own eggs again before too long.

Meanwhile Martin has cleaned out the henhouse and the garden room is overflowing with paperwork as we try to get our accounts done. Money, Money, Money.

Slimy Mud

2011-02-17T17:25:00.002Z

Lest you think Spring has completely sprung, I give you Max last weekend:

The Under 15s were playing New Milton in the New Forest and it continued to rain for virtually the entire match, a veritable mudfest. Max was being trialled in a new position, which meant he had the ball a lot more often, and consequently Martin got more photos of him.

Hmm, this must have been earlier in the match

You will be pleased to hear they won 17-12 and came home very happy!

Fair Spring and Spring Fair

2011-02-13T14:21:00.003Z

Snowdrops competing with the septic tank vent

This week has seemed really to herald Spring: the snowdrops are out everywhere and crocuses popping up in the romantic heart shape Martin planted in the lawn (aaah). Even the bluebell sprouts are beginning to show in Harewood Forest. In yesterday's bright sunshine we all felt life was good.

It was a busy week for the business, making Union Jack bunting for a West Country hotel and fielding requests for quotes from all and sundry, including Harrods (keeping my fingers crossed on that one!). The Royal Wedding is certainly stirring up interest and national pride.

I took a day out to drive to the NEC in Birmingham for Spring Fair, an annual showcase of wholesale goods including home and gardenware, toys, jewellery and much, much more. The Fair takes over many of the NEC halls and I didn't cover anywhere near the whole lot in my day, though managed to visit Designer's Choice, who used some of Zigzag's Vintage-effect Bunting on their stand to great effect:

I had fun wandering the stands, meeting importers to discuss where I might find items I am researching for a new venture. With the growing popularity of bunting I found some delightful varieties, which I am inclined to start selling through Zigzag as a cheaper option to our handmade-in-England treasures.

Plenty of food for thought, an easy journey, and I got out of cooking dinner too. Win/win!

Victoria is Seventeen

2011-02-11T21:46:00.000Z

The weeks just fly by, and I have missed recording a birthday. Sorry, Vicki, I don't have any photos and I am two weeks overdue, but a belated Happy Birthday to you!.

We did of course wish the wishes on the day, though hardly saw Vicki: she was out on the Friday evening, then up late on her birthday morning and out to work at the lovely Stokes of Stockbridge all day in her waitressing role. Stokes has opened in the newly-refurbished old petrol station in Stockbridge and has a brand new coffee-shop and restaurant, where they treated Vicki well on her birthday.

That evening she was out with friends for a Come Dine With Me, and next day was back out again to Encore rehearsals, show week being now less than a month away.

Vicki did have a brief moment on the Saturday evening to enjoy a glass of bubbly and her presents, including driving lessons, make-up, jewellery and lots of lovely cash! She took friends out to see Black Swan at the cinema this week and came back for pizzas and birthday dessert, but has yet to take the wheel in the car.

You have such a busy life, Vicki, so much to juggle but much to look forwards to, too. Be good to yourself, remember we are always here to help, love and support you, and have a wonderful year of being seventeen!

Filling the Land

2011-02-11T20:48:00.001Z

I do try to do my bit for the environment. I have used my own bags and boxes to collect groceries since long before it became a fad, insist on eating any leftover food for lunches before cooking up something fresh, try to combine car trips wherever possible and we even keep teabags for a second dunking.

Yet it galls me to see the quantity of metal and plastic we have cast to the landfill in the last year. Both our washing machine and boiler were written off, two laptop computers died, two mobile phones ceased to function, my iron fizzled out, we replaced a dying toaster with a newbie (though Ben is still making use of the cast-off)... suffice to say there is a rather large burial heap somewhere in Hampshire with our name on it.

This week our kettle died. It had been bubbling well past boiling point for some time, steaming up the kitchen a storm, then finally giving up the ghost. You would be surprised at how annoying it can be not to have boiling water readily available.

Anyway, I looked out the receipt for the kettle, in case it was still under warranty. I found not one, but two kettle receipts, one fifteen months old, and another fifteen months older. And guess how long the guarantee lasts? Yes, twelve months apiece. Turns out this is the third time we have replaced our kettle in three years, each time casting the old to be dumped rather than seek out a repair.

And today I continued the crime: I bought a replacement at Tesco's, the same model (more fool me) but 2/3rds the price we paid last time, making it worth the gamble. And this is the problem. If a kettle costs only £10 you just know you couldn't repair it for less.

Yet all these electrical goodies used to last for so much longer before the geeks came up with built-in obsolescence. People used to repair things, take them apart and investigate before consigning them to the waste-basket. Nowadays we rarely so much as lift a screwdriver.

So yes, our family is contributing to heinous landfill with eyes wide shut. Our hopes, for the time being, rest on this leetle keetle lasting for a minimum of three years. Watch and wait...

Theatre at the Cinema

2011-02-06T09:42:00.005Z

Have you seen Derek Jacobi's King Lear? It is hard to believe that this brilliant actor is 72 (I checked) and yet able to flit around the stage in his madness, or carry his dead daughter Cordelia lightly and alone. He spends some time in this stark, scenery-less production either on his knees or moving in an effortless fool's dance, yet never seems to be truly old despite his daughters' accusations.

Having studied Lear for A' level many years ago the words kept popping into my head as they were spoken, miscellaneous quotations suddenly finding their anchor. It was a beautifully moving production and much enjoyed by a sell-out audience at the cinema in Winchester.

Yes, that's right, we saw Lear beamed live from the little stage at the Donmar Warehouse in London, so felt we were there in the audience, though seated comfortably with our glasses of wine amidst friends. This was a Book Group outing, and Martin kindly ferried us there and back in Minty, seats swivelled so that we could chat facing each other whilst Vicki enjoyed the privacy of the passenger seat. In a twist of fate, though she, too, is studying Lear, their coursework had to be handed in earlier this week.

Michael Grandage's version of Lear has received fabulous reviews, and the play is now touring for a few months. I highly recommend you see it is you have the chance, and do keep an eye open for future plays beamed to your cinema, it is an intimate experience and far cheaper than visiting the theatre!

We are Separated

2011-02-05T13:20:00.001Z

Some things in life start out as a great idea. You have high hopes and finally take the plunge, sealing your union with a small piece of gold jewellery. You rub along well enough for what seems like ages, getting used to each other and wondering whether you did the right thing, but eventually decide it is time for a change.

Yet that very act of change is a struggle. Bonds vouched in gold do not yield with ease, friends advise and offer their help but in truth only you, yourself, are capable of mustering combination of force and sensitivity required to break free.

Yes, dear friends, I have finally separated from my earrings. The set stabbed through my lobes on my birthday had remained in place long enough but just would not budge: friends and family had tried in vain to force the backs from the posts, and I was beginning to feel chained up. Even a return to the piercing shop for assistance had proved fruitless (and necessitated being rescued by Martin when the car refused to co-operate)... suffice to say, regrets, I had a few.

But an evening out with my good friend Sarah at the local pub resolved me to try one last time, and with the assistance of some therapeutic alcohol (no, not on the ears) I gritted my teeth and pulled and pulled and pulled.

So now I have the pleasure of trying on different styles and seeing what suits me best. Only not really, because the trauma made my ears sore again so I have been forced to invest in a different set (not so fierce) of simple gold earrings that I can leave in until everything has calmed down once more.

A bit like a marital split really. The grass looked greener away from that strong bond, but the strife of breaking free caused damage that will take time to heal. And I still can't flit around with that extra sparkle. Good thing Martin loves me either way!

Winchester Fashion Week

2011-01-27T09:13:00.001Z

Vicki has been involved in a whirlwind of planning meetings in the last few months as a group of talented young people bring together a brand new event for Winchester in the form of Winchester Fashion Week.

The Committee has managed to secure use of the Guildhall and other venues in the city for a week of fashion shows, film exhibition, frock swaps and much more, including themed lectures on fashion from a certain Mrs. Bell, and held their launch party at a smart cocktail bar in Winchester on Monday.

Martin was away for a break in Normandy with his parents, so my friend Claire and I had a lovely time sipping cocktails and admiring the professionalism of the launch, from themed models and decor to scrolling graphics and an assortment of beautifully-produced leaflets.

The team were generous with the credits, which included one Samantha Bell, who has been brilliant in advising the team and using her contact list to the full. Thanks Sam, your name was up there on the wall projections with a mix of fashion shots and enticing messages.

The Launch marks the opening of the website and it is full steam ahead with the project, though they are struggling to find funding in the current climate. It should, however, be a great success and they have an amazingly talented team. Well done Vicki!

Beyond Sweet

2011-01-15T21:46:00.003Z

What happens when Yummy Mummy becomes plain old Mum?

Magazines feed merrily on tales of birth and motherhood, focussing on the excitement and trials of the newborn, how Daddy can best be involved, and how Mummy can juggle work and play to ‘have it all’.

Young families too are celebrated, school-gate friendships and competitive cake-baking fondly smiled-upon as Mummy co-ordinates play dates, piano lessons and homework for her jolly tribe. Jools and Gordon cavort with their tousle-haired tots across our Sunday supplements as icons of family life.

Yet these children will grow beyond the primary school. Parents will no longer be welcome to hold their hands, kiss better their wounds or choose their clothes. A teenager’s teachers no longer greet you by name, his friends may be completely unknown to you and as his wings spread, so too does his desire to try new things. In short, Mummy becomes Mum and family life must adapt or perish.

Our four teens were all born within five years, so we played happy families with the best of them, juggling feeds and nappies, playdough and parties. For part of their childhood we lived the ‘Mom and apple pie’ American dream, delighting in the child-centric lifestyle and throwing ourselves into Halloween, Preschool and T-ball, whilst our children seemed even more cute with their sun-bleached hair and darling British accents.

When we returned to England we chose a pretty, rural village with thatched cottages and a good school, which for a delicious couple of years all four children attended together. I became a Governor and enjoyed reviving some of the working skills dormant since switching from City Solicitor to Mother-of-Four. Life was still a jolly jumble of family meals, parties and playdates and there was no problem that couldn’t be fixed by a visit to the school or a friendly chat between mummies.

Ten years down the line and things have changed. Four teenagers take up a lot more space, their friends are noisy and they clean out the fridge in a trice. Their band practices scare the hens and their driving lessons scare me. Our little darlings are growing into adults, and I can no longer solve all their troubles.

Being a Mum to teenagers is a whole new ball game. They need their space, but they must continue to respect the family’s rules. They need their privacy, but must learn not to abuse it. Learning to drink, drive and live your own way, but moderated by good sense and respect for others, is a tall order for those years when your hormones are raging and body growing apace. You rely on Mum to wash and iron, cook and clean and drive, and for a while forget that you also need Mummy, a cuddly bundle of unconditional love, support and nurture, to see you through good times and bad.

I enjoy having teenagers. I marvel at how they have grown physically to resemble us, as we in middle-age grow more like our own parents. I see the embryonic rhythm in my sons’ gait reflecting my husband’s feet-apart walk that grows more like his own father’s every day. I am delighted as each discovers what fascinates them, so as first a son then a daughter goes off to university the knowledge that they are finding fulfilment as they fledge tempers the quietness of a half-empty family home.

Yet it is that very quietness that I find the hardest. In a large family there is always noise and chatter, comings and goings, extra friends to accommodate or ideas to discuss. Conversation is never forced, silence a golden rarity. Over Christmas our home was once again full of family and fun, yet as I waved the second child off to a new term this morning I felt an unaccustomed sadness.

For a few weeks we will be down to just the four of us: hardly worth cooking dinner, especially when most evenings at least one of us is out at work, at a rehearsal or team practice, Parish Council or Governors’ meeting. Our trusty people-carrier has been relegated to haulage duties, so rarely do we need its 8-seater capacity for people. The empty bedrooms give the house a silent echo.

I need to get over this feeling, not least because of course the teens still at home sense it too. They miss the vigour of busy family life, always someone to share the washing up, laugh at jokes, and sympathise when their parents are wrong. Yet there are plenty of bonuses. Visitors can find a warm bed at a moment’s notice, there is space around the table for friends and relatives, and running only two children around leaves more gaps in the schedule for... well, running them around even more.

Having always maintained to friends that cooking, cleaning and washing were the same for six as for four, I have found this not to be true: apart from the endless muddy rugby kit produced by youngest son, the washing pile is smaller, the milk lasts longer in the fridge and if I could just get used to cooking for four we would use less food. This all means that there are gaps appearing in my days when I can turn my mind to a new business idea or write about something close to my heart.

Well, in theory. Because the other thing about teenagers is that they switch on your ‘Worry’ gene. I used to worry when they were younger of course, whether they would be dry at night, say please and thank you, learn not to lisp. But teens detonate a new species of worry-bomb. Will they drive safely? Will they know when to say ‘No’, and when to seek help? How will student debt affect their lives? What if they don’t eat properly, or fall in with a bad crowd? Their lives are in their own hands and I still want to share the responsibility.

As Mum I am learning to stand back a little, letting them make their own mistakes when they cannot learn from my own. But the Mummy in me still wants to do it all for them: looking over their shoulders as they drive, cook or party to advise and cajole, seeing the bigger picture where I fear they do not. It is harder by far to be Mum from a distance than Mummy in the nest.

And this I think is the biggest challenge of motherhood: to know that a teenager needs to wriggle a little, break free of his shell and make some test-flights. Sometimes things will go awry, lessons will be learned, but with a following wind and a bit of luck the child you nursed and encouraged will learn to fly free and become a confident and independent adult.

Yummy Mummy may sell magazines, but she needs to grow alongside her children. As Mum I learn to look on and cheer from the sidelines. But the Mummy in me will always be there with a worried brow and armfuls of hugs ready to give love and support for a lifetime.

Buying Love

2011-01-06T19:38:00.002Z

Well, I know that they say money can't buy you love, but I sure love what money can buy.

I indulged in the luxury of a shopping trip alone today, blissfully allocating some of the birthday money in my purse to enjoy a cup of coffee and cake when refreshment beckoned. What a treat! Martin had promised to help Rosie learn how to parallel park (not a skill in my armoury, and anyway I spent so much time with her driving hither and thither yesterday that I felt justified in leaving them with my little car and waving a cheerful goodbye).

I have needed a new pair of jeans for, oh, about a year, and kept putting it off. Stripping down to knickers in the freezing (yes five whole degrees below average I see) winter weather, with all the huffing and casting-aside of layers that entails, is bad enough, but add the grim fact that shopping for trousers makes me feel mis-shapen and you can see my point of view. Is it me, or do trousers nowadays either leave your whole belly-button-mummy-bulge midriff on show, or have space for a bumbag to be stashed inside the back?

Well, today I tried on about twenty pairs, including the famed 'Not Your Daughter's Jeans' at £129. I came home delighted with a pair from M&S at £25 (see, I saved £104, our savings are safe in my hands). There was also some luxury moisturising cream, wrist-warmers and a cheap but large-faced watch in my haul, not to mention a cosy woollen jumper that I have promised myself not to save for best.

I am not the kind of girl to be bought, as a rule, but a successful day shopping for myself and knowing I am spending money that is properly my own and need not be hoarded for essentials feels good. Money can buy me love, yeah, yeah, YEAH!

Pampered with Hampers

2010-12-30T09:49:00.002Z

I have just been enjoying some fresh-baked brown bread slathered with the most delicious 'Nonpareil with Bergamot' Marmalade courtesy of Fortnum & Mason. Having sampled a number of their goodies over the past few days I am able to pronounce the reputation of The Queen's grocers well-deserved.

It was very exciting to receive this beautiful box just before Christmas (the delivery man slid down the drive most warily)...Ron and Grace had won a Fortnum's hamper and very kindly sent it our way. Inside was a lucky dip of treats, from divine chocolates to speciality tea and coffee and a range of fine wines (already whisked away when this picture was taken)

Thank you, Granma and Grampy for a delicious treat, which I fear may have vanished completely by the time you next visit us in February!

PS: For the record, Bergamot is a yellow fruit the size of an orange with a citrus fragrance, related to the Seville orange. Non-Pareil on the other hand seems to be a fancy way of saying 'a pellet of coloured sugar', and given that this would become mere sugar in the marmalade-making I am less impressed by its inclusion!

Testing, Testing...

2010-12-29T18:05:00.001Z

Having received a new mini camera for my birthday I have now spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out how to transfer pictures and video clips to where I want them. This one should have been included in my Christmas post but let's see whether it is better late than never!

...and if that works, maybe I shall try this one too:

Whoopppeeeee!

White Christmas

2010-12-28T13:17:00.003Z

What a festive, friendly family Christmas!

The week beforehand flew by: we finally managed to ice the cake, the children creating some wonderful figures for the top including a dragon, classy tree and Santa, whilst Martin added a Harry Potter (because he could!).

Our plans were changed a little by a welcome visit from Charlie, delayed on his return to Oregon from university in Scarborough by the snow delays at Heathrow, so we were able to catch up on news of Michele and family whilst showing him something of Winchester and luring him to help decorate our gingerbread house.

Jon and Sam (and bump) arrived on Christmas Eve just as we finished laying the table, cleaning and cooking for the next few days: the barn beds were made, heaters blasting, fridges a-cooling (though in fact most of our drinks remained outside in plastic buckets in the snow for the duration) and dips a-mingling. We had put the children hard to work when we finally realised the ice was not melting but making the drive and paths perilous: Max and Rosie worked hard hacking away at the ice as Martin stocked up on firewood.

The Bells junior rolled up in their 4x4, and for once we refrained from sarcastic comment, since not only were the roads still slick in places, but their recovery operation after Mummy and Daddy's scary slew on the M4 in Cardiff provides sufficient justification for any number of frivolous once-in-a-lifetime safety gadgets.

Sam had baked me a wonderful chocolate birthday cake so we indulged from the start, and the kitchen was soon heady with the scent of fragrant candles, tea and bubbly and delighted anticipation. Mummy and Daddy followed soon afterwards, in fine form despite their tangles, and we were all more than usually conscious of counting our many blessings.

After a noisy game of Cranium we dined on salmon pie followed by a cranberry tart and a very chocolatey yule log, with lots of lovely alcohol provided by our guests. The warm fires and family chat continued through breakfast on Christmas morning, following which we gave our gifts to Jon and Sam before they wended their way to Sam's family for Christmas dinner.

It turned out to be a Handmade Christmas, with hampers full of chutneys, jams, granola and goodies exchanged to our mutual delight.

Kerry's Maggie Thatcher Nutcracker, however, managed to dominate the proceedings even when we stopped playing with her in favour of Sam's I-pad:

The men were able to retire from time to time to the old pool table in the garden room, with Jon delighted that I happened to take a picture just after he had won a game: I think the tally was in Daddy's favour if truth be told.

We set off for some fresh air early afternoon and found that even the local fields in Longparish were slick with compressed snow and ice, making it risky walking but providing some fun for the more agile amongst us

The teens enjoyed the slides and crusts of ice on the stream whilst the fresh air gave us an appetite for the feast to come. We popped into the pub on the way back for a warming drink, then back to Christmas Dinner and our enormous 9kg turkey (which in fact was the perfect size for Boxing Day and leftovers).

Too full to enjoy Mummy's mince pies and dessert we retired to the fireplace and presents around the tree: a veritable fiesta of wrap and ribbons, with lots of delighted faces as everyone seemed to receive lovely and thoughtful gifts. We ended up having late drinks and snacks around the kitchen table playing Cheat and Go Fish, a noisy ending to a busy and satisfying day.

Boxing Day saw us having a late breakfast before Sean, Julie and James arrived around lunchtime (Matthew didn't come as he was unwell) and we filled the kitchen with chatter. It was good to see them and catch up before they head off to Saudi Arabia for a couple of years in February - no more chances to borrow Sean's flat in Canary Warf (where Vicki landed with her friends for a busy dip into London Life for a couple of days this week).

We dragged the crew out for a short walk around Winchester, though the ice was still perilous, and back for a spread of easy leftovers and game of 'Who' around the table before they set off to see Julie's family for a late evening reunion. Then it was back to cosy fires and chat and another late brunch the next day before Mummy and Daddy left for home and we put our feet up.

So now we have the joy of a fridge full of tasty morsels, plenty of leftover wine (and we forgot the Sloe Gin!), new clothes, scents and literature to explore, and of course a lot of happy memories. Thank you all for a very Merry Christmas.

Snowy Birthday

2010-12-27T18:32:00.004Z

There is something about the way the dates fell this year that has made the Christmas Holidays so far seem perfectly timed. A whole week to enjoy the snow and excited anticipation before the big day.

School and college broke up on Friday, by which time both Rosie and Ben were also back from their studies, so we had a fun weekend in the snow which had stayed white and fluffy due to repeated topcoats. By the time my birthday came round on Monday there was ice everywhere and though the main roads were clear the country lanes were a challenge. But it was wonderful to waken to a whitened world, which made it seem all the more cosy at home.

Martin gave me some gorgeous lilies and roses and whisked me off to Salisbury for a relaxed wander around the shops and cathedral.

It snowed heavily all the way there and during the day, giving us a great excuse to stop for hot chocolate and dive into shops any time we felt chilly. We looked at fountain pens, jewellery and watches but didn't find anything quite right, though it was fun (for me at least!) to look.

Family will know that I failed to have my ears pierced as a teenager due to a certain queasiness at seeing friends thrust spiky hardware through their lobes. This feeling has not diminished over the years, and I have yet to help either of the girls with their aural jewellery. Still n' all, there are some very pretty earrings about, and I have never survived more than an hour in clip-ons without acquiring a dull headache and sore lobes.

So when I enquired at an old-fashioned jewellers in Salisbury about how one obtained the requisite holes, Martin took a visible step back, and almost fell over when the kindly staff referred me to a local tattoo parlour called Sharp Practice. I don't think I would have gone in, but it was on our way back to the car and so far I had not managed to find a birthday present.

I did feel rather out of place amongst the brawny tattoo models and designs, not to mention display cabinets full of intriguing but squirm-inducing body-jewellery. For example, perhaps for my 50th birthday I will be up for a 'Flesh Corset' ?

Uuuuuurrrghh.

So in twee little old lady mode I asked to have my ears pierced and kept my fingers crossed that no-one had pre-arranged to knock me out and attack me with a hole-punch. The girls there chirruped that they had had several ladies in their seventies come in for piercings, and an eighty-something in for a tattoo. Oh but I live a quiet life.

There was a shaky moment when she fired the gun into my ear and it stuck there, whilst Martin rolled around laughing at the prospect of me walking around with fetching pistols dangling from my lobes. But we came through and I was awarded a lollipop for being a good girl. I rather think I might press for a proper pair of earrings for my present once my lobes have got over the insult.

We survived the skids and judders of the return journey sustained by our rich pickings from Waitrose, returning to a birthday-decorated kitchen and tea and presents from all and sundry, including a gorgeous overnight bag from Daddy and Mummy, a makeover, roses, good read and choccies from the children and a lovely boozy-fish-n'-salady-choccy meal to round off a lovely day. Thank you my darlings, a very Happy Birthday to me!

Footprints in the Snow

2010-12-19T22:42:00.002Z

Tra-la-la! We are all home again and it has snowed, happy days!

Martin and Rosie drove over to Guildford on Saturday morning, having abandoned plans for Rosie to drive on Friday due to the heavy snow and ice. In the end, Martin drove and even he managed to skid nastily on the A303 ramp, necessitating a rapid change of wheel. Still, they made it, Rosie got to see Ben's home, and they all returned safely in time for a belated bacon butty brunch.

Friday was the last day of term for both Vicki and Max, but they were both off with friends for the afternoon, so Rosie and I took a leisurely walk with our buckets and secaturs and made a bountiful wreath for the front door on our return.

Today Max's final rugby practice and party were cancelled as the roads thereabouts were very slippery, so we just needed to get Vicki to her final Encore rehearsal before Christmas. Once she had been safely delivered the rest of us went for a walk to The Plough in Longparish, somehow taking a long time to cover even the shortest distance (the snowballs were plentiful and in the boys' case, accurate). A welcome Guiness/tea/hot chocolate and plates of chips were devoured before we raced back for Rosie and I to see Encore's "Mince Pies" session, a sneak preview of some of the show numbers from "Our House". A fantastic show as usual, so lively and brilliantly choreographed, excellent singing...we are looking forward to February!

Rosie and I went on to catch the last evening of the Christmas Market at Winchester Cathedral, which looked suitably festive with a fresh dressing of snow on the fir trees and wooden huts, and sampled mulled wine and hot chocolate as we wandered through the pretty streets. We are so lucky to live near such an attractive town.

Indeed our local villages merit a word. Looking for a local tutor to help Rosie with her Ancient Greek, I happened to meet the lady who lives in the beautiful old rectory next to Wherwell Church (where we were singing last weekend) at a girls' night out on Friday. Toni knew that a daughter of the family at Wherwell Priory, currently in her third year at Cambridge, is a talented linguist and studying Classics...the upshot was an imptomptu lesson for Rosie this morning in the snowy Priory house. An excellent excuse to drive along their private roads and bridges and see the village houses from their river-side, all snowy and unspoilt: it was a lovely, though brief drive.

You probably can't make this out, but here's the evidence that even teens are seduced by snow: the print of a bare foot in the freezing white, when wellies are barely a hop away. And yet more: does a wise mother let her children out in the snow in their PJ's?

It's a shame those tiger-slippers don't make a more appropriate print, that would really have scared the neighbours!

December Delights

2010-12-16T20:46:00.003Z

At last we have a Christmas Tree! We waited a little longer than usual this year, but found ourselves the perfect specimen in a whirlwind trip last weekend, which involved Rosie getting some driving practice, Vicki having a shopping spree and me just about making it to choir practice, late but luckily not as late as the bride! We had been scheduled for an afternoon rehearsal due to a winter wedding taking over the church for the morning, but the bride was very late so we ended up hiding in the car park until she had climbed into the beautiful waiting Rolls, then shooting past bemused guests to claim our turn.

Our concert went very well. Twinkly Christmas lights lit up Church Street and there were beautiful rose garlands round the lych-gate and at the church entrance thanks to the bride. We sang well, though we were ill-supported by the professional organist brought in because our elderly (eighty-something) rehearsal organist is a little shy of performance. The Pro. made a complete hash of it, from the opening bars of The Messiah through the solos and beyond, missing out lots of notes and worse still hitting wrong'uns all over the place. However, we had a wonderful evening, with plenty of mulled wine and mince pies to warm us in the interval, and the relief of knowing that most of the second half was unaccompanied.

We managed to fit in decorating the tree amidst rugby and shopping runs, Encore rehearsals and more rugby, and it now sparkles as only Christmas Trees can as we trot up the drive. Ours will never be an elegant tree, we are much too attached to old ornaments, tinsel and colourful lights, but it brings a warm glow and a smile, what more could one ask?

Rosie is back from Nottingham with a roomful of washing and tales of good cheer, now catching up with her Winchester friends and trying to fit in some driving every day in the hope of passing her test before she leaves. She is having a wonderful time, marred only by the difficulties of trying to learn Ancient Greek at high speed and without much help from her tutor.

There is a sprinkling of snow out there again this evening, Martin is rubbing his hands in glee as this means he will be distributing Hotmax far and near, and every little helps. I think he rather likes his role: Martin the Bringer of Warmth.

Max and Vicki have their last days at school and college tomorrow so we are truly on the countdown to Christmas. And all I have left to do is finish shopping for presents, start wrapping, plan and cook food, collect greenery and make a wreath, bake for neighbours (ooh and bake dessert for girls' night out tomorrow), ice the Christmas Cake, finish making bunting orders, sort out bedding, food and entertainment, not to mention signing off and filing various minutes and papers for school meetings this week and in preparation for more early in the New Year. But first I am going to switch on some carols, light the fire and bask in the twinkling glow of Christmas.

Getting in the Spirit

2010-12-09T20:56:00.003Z

Oooh, those bottles of Sloe Gin we made a while back are just begging to be sampled. The fire is lit, it is suitably cold and frosty (has barely pushed above -3 outside all week) and I have a definite yen for warming alcohol. Yet as soon as we taste it we shall know whether it is a triumph or a rather sad time-wasting disaster. Dare we burst the bubble yet?

Meanwhile we have had our penultimate rehearsal for the glorious Christmas Concert in Wherwell church on Saturday, carols and all. I do hope that children in primary schools continue to sing traditional carols, it is wonderful to sing old favourites knowing that old and young alike will join in and enjoy.

The church has been perishingly cold, not to mention dangerous as the path is like ice after the snow. I fear we will be out in force on Saturday afternoon shovelling for all we are worth to ensure the local biddies will be fall-free.

We have smart new binders for our choir music, emblazoned with our new logo, though at last night's rehearsal I found it difficult to both hold the file and turn internal pages efficiently: by the time we are jostling together in full flood on Saturday there will be a serious risk of music chaos. No matter how hard poor Conductor Dale strives to make us learn the music by heart, those of us with accompaniments rather than pretty soprano tunes still rely on the harness of written music. God forbid anyone should drop their binder. Martin has kindly fettled a holes-n-treasury-tags affair to mine this evening, which looks the perfect solution. An angel.

Vicki had an early start last Saturday, meeting with friends at King Alfred's statue in the heart of Winchester to be taken to the venue for their photoshoot for the Fashion Week publicity material. From what little we heard it seems to have gone well, in spite of our skid as we left a roundabout on the outskirts of Winchester before 9am. Well, I was scared.

Max spent Sunday morning at a County Trials, having been selected by his team manager for his rugby prowess. He didn't make it through, but should be very proud of having done well enough to try. Well done Max! This picture is actually from their hard-fought match last week: a league match against the top team, which they were unlucky to lose 15-16.

Rosie sent news that she has passed a preliminary diving exam, having become a member of the scuba club at Nottingham. Doubtless we shall hear more once she returns for Christmas tomorrow evening. Ben meanwhile has been surviving the cold in Guildford by having Tesco deliver his shopping. Harrumph!

Ben, like us, had two 'snow days' last week, when the snow lay too thickly for local schools and colleges to open. The snow was several inches thick here, so pretty and soft, and we took advantage of all being at home to wander across Chilbolton Common to the pub, where we bumped into most of Chilbolton!

Sadly the publicans missed a trick: they took food orders but were dreadfully slow: we ended up leaving two hours after ordering when our pizza had not arrived. If I ever run a pub, there will be fresh soup and rolls, or an endless supply of American pancakes...indeed ANYTHING hot and sustaining in copious and cheap quantities. It would be a hit, no? The internet now alerts parents and locals alike to school closures, so smart publicans are well placed to make a meal of their good fortune.

On a more festive note, I inadvertently made a huge batch of mincemeat today (I hadn't looked properly at the recipe or I would have halved it) so we have fresh pies and some sausage rolls awaiting consumption. Plus Martin and I treated ourselves to a little Christmas treat (in lieu of the now absent company 'do') and trolled up to the Cricketers in Longparish at lunchtime for a most relaxed and luxurious lunch.

Ahhhhm in the mood!

Christmas Presence

2010-12-05T10:07:00.001Z

Having blogged about my Christmas Presents list last week I feel a need to rectify the balance. For Christmas is of course more about those present.

Even our youngest chatted happily to me this week about how Christmas is more enjoyable for the fact we celebrate it together. In these days of connectivity over the digital super-highways you would imagine physical closeness and real life conversations would have less attraction, yet for most of us there is great pleasure still in shared and happy occasions.

Christmas for our children this year will definitely be less about presents: we have finally given sacks the sack and with another career-less year under our belts they have been reminded that it is the thought that counts. A difficult idea when your friends all seem to receive bounteous gifts which must surely represent greater love?

Added to which, our eldest two are now over 18 and thus beyond gift-giving from all but their closest relatives, at a time when they are running up huge debts investing in their futures.

And yet. It will be lovely for us to have Ben and Rosie back for their Christmas holidays and once more muster six around the table. Granna and Grandad are coming to celebrate Christmas with us, and we hope to see both my brothers and their wives and children, including the growing bump whose tenancy was announced this week. How's that for a proper Christmas presence?

We will be toasting absent sisters as we celebrate with food and wine, grateful that in this increasingly secular society we remain loyal to an annual celebration of family love: for really that is what Christmas has come to represent to most of us. And if I were a priest this would not trouble me in the slightest: what better way to reinforce tradictional values, selflessness and loyalty than through family ties, especially when we remember a little 'thank you' for what we have.

Christmas Wish Lists

2010-11-30T21:35:00.002Z

Less than a month until Christmas and my gift-box is bare...yes sadly I have yet to purchase a single prezzie for my nearest and dearest.

Not for want of trying, I hasten to add. I have asked them all so often what they would like that they are getting fractious, never mind that they risk the old flesh-coloured-tights-and-Brut-Shower-Gel combination pack fall-back gift. They don't know how lucky they are.

So after a little research I have decided to start my own Birthday/Christmas list to get the ball rolling. Here are a few things I would be delighted to own;

Fingerless gloves

I am the coldest person I know, and will make THE most miserable old lady. For now, I am happy as Larry if I am wrapped up as cosy as can be, which means wearing fingerless gloves on those numerous occasions when I am desperate for warmth but need my fingers for mouse/keys/steering wheel... Any fingerless gloves will do, but if someone could work out how to make some long enough to extend up the wrists and keep me properly toasty that would be wonderful.

Legwarmers

Aha, there is indeed a theme here. I have decided that legwarmers are wasted on the young, and I would like to adopt them for myself. How delicious to have snuggly warm ankles whatever the footwear? I presume I can adopt those legs and shoes too of course.

Deciding this was all getting a little olde-worldy, I felt an innovation was in order. So lest you accuse me of middle-aged tastes, here is my tilt towards modern invention: the heated mouse. What an ingenious idea, wish I had thought of this:

Methinks today's chilly snow has influenced my choices, perhaps I should revisit this list when the cold snap has passed. After all, those of us with birthday and Christmas in one giddy week mid-winter need to have an eye on our summer's desires. New sunglasses, anyone?

Thanksgiving

2010-11-26T09:12:00.005Z

We awoke this morning to the clearest of blue skies and the crisp crunch of frost glistening in the garden. I won't be saying this when the children are peering through the dark to find their way to morning buses, but for now our corner of Hampshire is serenely beautiful. Sending Thanksgiving wishes by Facebook to friends in America I couldn't help giving a few thanks of my own.

Yesterday evening was another 'proud momma' moment as Vicki received her GCSE certificates at school along with most of her year. She was listed in the programme as one of the highest achievers, and then was called up again to receive an award for her skills in Modern Languages. It is a great pleasure to be able to join in hearty applause for your child, and I hope that Vicki knows just how proud we are, not just of her exam success but in so many ways. You are a lovely person, Vicki and we are right here behind you to love you and support you as best we can. Mostly you don't see it, but just now and again enthusiastic clapping is the best way we can show you how proud we are of you as you grow into a wonderful young woman.

Well now, what else has been going on this week? The announcement of Prince William and Kate's engagement set off a rush for Union Jack bunting, so I am off shortly to order some more fabric ready for the nuptials in April.

I spent way too much time this week sorting out clerking matters for the two school governing bodies I support, though luckily we are now reaching agreement that I should be able to claim for some of this extra time. Schools are being hit hard by the Government's decision to withdraw many pots of funding upon which they rely, and whilst there is no indication whether and how these will be replaced, Headteachers are struggling to plan strategically and fix their budgets. It is a hard time for many, though I happen to agree with the sentiment behind Julian Knight's poorly-expressed statement this week that many have 'never had it so good'.

Meanwhile rehearsals are going well for Wherwell Singers' Christmas Concert, though I have had extracts from The Messiah reeling constantly through my waking hours these last few days. I gave in yesterday and put the whole shebang on loudly in the kitchen as I stirred up the fantastic mix of fruit and alcohol that forms the unlikely basis of Christmas Cake. Truly, I look at this heavy, divinely pungent mix every year and wonder how it can possibly be raised by mere eggs and flour to several inches of relative lightness. That's a Christmas Miracle right there.

Six Weeks 'til Christmas

2010-11-12T17:30:00.004Z

I must be ageing at an accelerating rate: I thought we had ages to go until Christmas, until someone told me today it is a mere six weeks away.

SIX WEEKS? I haven't even thought about presents for friends and family, have no idea what I would like for my five days of fun, and neither Christmas Cake nor Pud are maturing within whiffing distance. Me, who loves the smell of dried fruit bloating in spirits and the cosy crusty mince-pie sensation. I really must pull myself together.

Not least because I have a Christmas Fair to attend on Sunday: in a moment of madness I agreed to take a stall at Kilver Court in Shepton Mallet, on the tenuous grounds that Jenny used to live near there and an old friend from Durham is now their Events Manager.

Having taken stalls at a few craft fairs in the past I had vowed never to do such a thing again. They are enjoyable for a short while, and are useful for raising one's business profile, but people rarely actually buy any bunting so it always feels like a lost cause. By the end of the day it all seems like too much effort for no reward.

Never mind, this time I have made all kinds of little extras to test the waters, and Mummy has kindly agreed to come to my aid for the last few hours, so provided we are not stuck in a poky corner with no light and scarce visitors it should be OK. I will let you know.

In the meantime we have some friends coming for dinner tomorrow night so I need to sort out some food. Wherwell Singers rehearsals are going jollily (it should be a word: my friend Jane at Primary School always claimed that 'welly' (as in well-ly, not the boot) was the perfect adverb). In fact Conductor Dale has had a little gleam in his eye for the last few weeks, were he a woman I would suspect him of having a baby or an affair, but whatever the reason our Wednesday evenings in the church are fun and fruitful.

Max's team won their league match last Sunday, and Max helped set up the winning try (with a mention in dispatches) so is well chuffed. Martin tried out his improved lip and suffered no ill effects (though they lost badly) and Vicki took herself off to London midweek to join the student protest against tuition fee rises. We were not at all sure how we felt about that: these events always end in trouble, but Vicki's year will be the first to face bills of perhaps £27k for tuition against Rosie's £10k, a hard pill to swallow, and it is surely right to feel free to make one's voice heard. Needless to say we were relieved to see her back, albeit four hours later than planned due to chaotic traffic jams in London.

So that was the week that was. No pretty photos: but luckily for you I can show you how beautiful Zigzag Bunting looked on TV this week. Eastenders saw two weddings and by a quirk of plot our bunting graced both. I have no idea who these characters are (but I know Dot Cotton when I see her). Anyway, for your edification and delight.I present to you The Queen Vic and another wedding venue bedecked in bunting. Good eh?

Bonfire Night

2010-11-06T08:06:00.015Z

I love it when things come together without any plan.

Rosie has been home as this week is "Reading Week", an apparently-widespread invention permitting students to return for some home comforts whilst their lecturers presumeably hone their begging techniques and chase what few government subsidies they can before the axe falls.

I drove up on Monday to Nottingham through sunshine and beautiful red and golden trees, the weather this year having prompted some rich autumnal displays. It takes less than three hours from home, including a coffee stop, so is a good journey with Radio 4 as my companion and plenty of ideas and plans to mull over against the thrum of tyre on tarmac.

Rosie was waiting to take me across campus to one of their several cafeteria, where we enjoyed a tasty pasta lunch before strolling around the buildings where she has lectures and down to the big lake at the bottom of the hill, filled with ducks and scampering squirrels. It really is a super campus, with a feel of the countryside despite its proximity to town, and the buildings feel welcoming: there is an air of purpose and it is a lovely place in which to study.

So Rosie has been back all week catching up on sleep and family, writing her first assessed essay and translating Ancient Greek.Yesterday Martin took her to see 'Despicable Me', the latest 3D movie, which we saw together last week.

Then we realised it was Bonfire Night so headed off down the road to neighbouring Barton Stacey, renowned locally for their firework display.

Arriving just as the first fireworks exploded above, and lured by a roaring bonfire, we stood warm and in wonderment at a superb display. It was a balmy night and clear so the colours were fabulous. I know fireworks are an extravagence but the huge and friendly crowd was entranced by the noise and colour, and there was a lovely feeling of village celebration in the air.

Vicki ran into friends early on and has ended up staying overnight. Max was working at the pub but is off to the Winchester display tonight so will not miss out, and Martin and I bumped into no end of friendly faces so it was a convivial evening for all.

A shame that we were woken abruptly at 5am this morning by the burglar alarm (those ghosts again) and I couldn't get back to sleep, but at least I have broken a record: two blog posts in 24 hours!

Whilst the house is quiet I am going to write to the Parish Council to turn down their offer of a clerking job (it looks like a lot of work for little reward and I have plenty on my plate), plan my week so that I have made enough bunting and Christmassy bits to take to the fair next Sunday at Kilver Court, sort out Agenda and Notices for two school Governing Body meetings to go out this week, and plan a dinner party for Saturday. But first I think Martin might welcome a cup of tea in bed...

Mellow Fruitfulness

2010-11-05T11:01:00.005Z

October Half Term has been and gone, November has arrived and the shops are full of rich reds and golds and good cheer. I am usually the first to complain at hints of Christmas before December, but for some reason this year I am quite glad of the warm glow and sense of anticipation. Perhaps all that singing in the church is doing me good... Hallelujah!

Actually I circulated Wherwell Singers with the link to the Silent Monks' Hallelujah Chorus, an oldie but funny if you haven't seen it. Keeps us smiling whilst we practise anyway.

We had a lovely trip to France over Half Term in spite of the French protests (this time over their rising retirement age), arriving in warm sunshine with plenty of time to walk around the fields and woods.

Lots of chestnuts had fallen so we were able to gather a bucketful and spent the week munching roasted chestnuts each time we lit the fire (plus they were delicious in the boeuf bourguignon).

One of the apple trees we planted around the back (by the tin barn) has also fruited magnificently this year: just a couple of metres high and absolutely covered with ripe red apples. We gathered them all into the wheelbarrow and sorted the best to be brought home (they are sweet eaters) whilst those which had been nibbled or were mis-shapen we carted over to Grampy's in Potybail.

Max and Vicki proved adept with the apple-crusher in Grampy's garden and made very short work of several buckets of fruit, which we then pressed through his apple-press, yielding the most delicious fresh apple juice ever. We drank several litres within 24 hours, then brought the rest back to England where we shared it with anyone passing through (including Granna and Grandad on their return from collecting their long-lost wedding film from Uncle Ron, Hoorah!) and the rest is fermenting away into what will probably be a potent cider. Hic.

We also harvested a big bucket of Jerusalem Artichokes, some fresh bay leaves, a few blackberries and some sunflower seeds. Not a bad haul. The fig tree in the paddock is also covered with fruit this year, nowhere near ripe so I presume they will not make it, but a lovely sight nonetheless.

We returned in time for Max to have friends over for a Halloween party and sleepover in the barn, Vicki to get to Encore rehearsals, and Martin to complete his rugby coaching course. However, arrangements for these events proved dicey since our internet/email had somehow ceased to work during our absence. BT confirmed there was a fault on their line, but their engineer pulled his hair out trying to find it so we were stuck in limbo for a few days.

I was astonished at how dependent we have become on this service - I couldn't find out what orders and queries had been raised with Zigzag during our absence, Max could neither check his party arrangements (all through Facebook) nor play any online games, and Vicki couldn't access the college website for research. We ended up finding a spot huddled against the wall by the tv where our laptops could 'see' our neighbours' WiFi, so begged them for access numbers and spent an odd few days wearing out the carpet along the wall.

Magically, normal service has now been resumed, even as BT phoned me to say they still couldn't track down the fault. Perhaps those Halloween ghosts were busier than I thought?

Middle Classes Face Cuts

2010-10-22T20:31:00.002+01:00

You would have to be buried pretty deep in a media vacuum to have escaped this week's dire predictions of middle-class misery following the announcement of the Government's cunning plan to escape The British Debt Mountain.

Most seem to have concluded that the middle classes will foot the bill, prompting a flurry of speculation as to just who is Middle Class. Radio 4 carried a ridiculous phone-in during which it was claimed variously that being middle class means eating cous-cous, caring about the poor and needy, having a university education (doesn't everyone these days?) or 'keeping your ketchup in the fridge'. Suffice to say this was a daytime Radio 4 programme so the audience was somewhat biased.

I suppose we are lucky to consider ourselves middle class, having the luxury of a good education and a nice home. Yet right now we are on an income scale which would entitle us to all kinds of financial support, were it not for the crude way in which these systems operate.

For example, many of our children's friends have received the Education Maintenance Allowance (up to £30 per week for staying in education) whilst studying for A levels, in spite of having parents sufficiently well off to afford frequent foreign holidays and a high standard of living, in part because the system does not recognise for example that separated couples may each contribute to their child's needs. I have been the first to deride the EMA for this simple reason: it gives students receiving it an unfair advantage over others. What normal parent gives their child £30 a week even if they can afford to do so? Certainly not us, not never, and not now.

Well this year our family income would easily entitle our teens to this support, but we are denied it because the benefits system works a tax year in arrears: they look at your historic rather than actual income to determine your eligibility. In our case, we would have been able to claim from next September (based on earnings up to April 2011) even if by that time our income had risen substantially. Oh but the beauty is, the government has just axed EMA from September. Hah!

Luckily we are sufficiently 'middle class' to weather that news, but there must be plenty of others less resilient. Surely it can only be those on a permanently low income who will truly suffer from such cuts? In which case how exactly are the 'middle classes' to fare worst? Yes, Child Benefit is welcome, but most people on median earnings can manage without: to the truly poor it would be a grave sacrifice and is rightly protected.

Which is all a long-winded way of saying perhaps 'middle class'-ness does really come down to household income, leaving us on the wrong side of the fence. No wonder we were all so down in the dumps when the anniversary of Martin's redundancy came around last week.

On a more practical level Martin took the Face Cuts message to heart at the weekend, receiving a blow to the face during (well in the opening minutes, much to his chagrin, of) a Veterans rugby match. He split his upper lip sufficiently to be referred to the maxillo-facial experts at Southampton Hospital (to whom we are once again indebted) where they eventually had him in stitches.

He is strangely unreceptive to jokes about their failure to sew his lips together or his inability to smooch, and remains unmoved by my pleas that he coach rather than play. Still, he is taking a coaching course this week so who knows, perhaps it will not all have been in vain.

London Calling

2010-10-12T15:39:00.008+01:00

Auntie Jenny paid us a visit this week, sparing a day from her Round Britain Whizz to pop over to Hampshire and catch us up with news and speedy-pictures of Katy, William and Tom, renovations at their lovely house in Turramurra, their plans and ideas, whilst Uncle Ally valiantly held fort and blogged so brilliantly that we felt we were all there too.

It has been a week of sunshine, perfect for a stroll along Stockbridge High Street to watch duck and trout, meander the pretty shops and sample the new deli (and ignore the phone call from a researcher asking for some bunting for urgent use on Alan Titchmarsh's TV show, oops). Such a pleasure to catch up with my little sister, over from Australia and all glowing with health and happiness after a busy week seeing friends and relatives and enjoying some rare adult-time.

We took a brief trip to Winchester next morning, enjoying more chat and shopping, including a significant spell in White Stuff (thank you for the heart necklace Jenny!) and a snack at The Slug and Lettuce which lived up to its sluggish name whilst we sat enjoying the sunshine.

There was barely time for Jenny to pack and then re-pack her bags (cleverly losing one third of their weight in the process, I wish I knew how) than we were off to Chalfont to meet up with the clan. At the last minute this included not only Kerry, but also Mummy and Daddy, so it was a real family celebration: wonderful to see Kerry looking so well, and to celebrate big brother's promotion to Air Vice Marshal whilst enjoying a delicious spread. Thank you Jon and Sam for setting the carillon a-ringing once more!

Next morning Jenny and I took the tube into town, but managed only to reach the coffee shop at The Museum of London before dumping bags and settling down for a good coffee and chat. Time flies so fast! Having just left the tube at St. Paul's it was odd to see screens showing that St. Paul's Cathedral had been bombed in the Blitz exactly 70 years ago

So it was goodbye to Jenny, who will by now be back in the bosom of her own family: thank you for visiting us all, and please come back soon!

I had time to scoot around the museum, beautifully laid out with a history of London through the ages, from the time before 'London' existed right through Roman times, plague and fire, through mock-up shops, pleasure gardens and prison cells. I am definitely coming back with the family for a better look and would recommend it to anyone. Even the museum shop had rather superior offerings: aye, that's some London Bunting you see right there, a mere £93

Next port of call was The Desgner Wedding Show down at Battersea Park, where I wanted to see the latest fashions and themes with a view to keeping Zigzag up to date. Businesses including photo-booth hire, Raj Tents and sumptuous floral displays all think they may now be booked for my parents' grand Golden Wedding celebration in March. Well, I could hardly tell them I was getting married, and hesitated to claim it was for my daughters...

Best of all though was the lovely Alison Russell, whose grandmother taught her to cut silhouettes and who now cuts at all kinds of events: she did a quick one of me whilst we were chatting, and if I were really organising a big bash I would certainly book her.

The courtesy bus back through Chelsea dropped me off in Sloane Square so I was free to wander the shops there, including the gorgeous new VV Rouleaux full of ribbons and trims, then up Sloane Street where I caught sight of these utterly crazy boots - that's a six inch stiletto with fur-boot top. Only the rich...

A visit to Harrods and its amazing food halls used up the last of my time so it was soon back across London to Kings Cross for a slow tube out to Jon's (we picked a day when their commuter line was under repair)stopping for a welcome cuppa before an extremely quick journey home.

Strange how the rules of time and space may warp. Events have conspired for almost 20 years to defy any family re-union, yet just this once it all slotted together perfectly, just as Jenny's suitcase obligingly expanded and we all managed to travel from far and near to meet for this one special occasion. Don't you just love it when that happens?

Toast to Autumn

2010-09-30T14:40:00.003+01:00

Season of mellow fruitfulness indeed. I love Autumn, the chance to wrap up in jumpers and dig out cosy winter boots, watching as your world turns russet and golden. Being a cold-blooded creature I am rarely at ease in t-shirt or bikini, but give me sleeves and woolly tights and I can relax. Winter's cold has not yet gripped, yet the fireside glows as a treat. Scrummy!

It is a superb year for blackberries and gathering more this week I surprised several deer (some in the above field) and no end of pheasant and grouse, plus squirrels enjoying the bumper crop of acorns. Sloes too are ripening early this year and provide ample excuse for an afternoon saunter in the sunshine.

So now we have our first batch of Sloe Gin maturing in time for Christmas, whilst the spares went into the pot with our apples for a Sloe and Apple Jam. Waste not want not!

Meanwhile I have yet to master the art of cooking for four (or more usually three, since one or more of us is often out at dinner time) and we are eating rather too many leftovers.

Our absent teens seem to be enjoying life. Ben's latest band seems to be breaking up, a shame after he had such high hopes, though doubtless there will be more. Our elderly neighbours have just donated their spare TV to him, so Martin is planning a quick visit this week to make a delivery and cast a fatherly eye over their digs.

Rosie seems to be forever out, though we touched base briefly in the week when she called to discuss wheher she should buy a £25 book which will need replacing next term. She had just finished her first lesson in Ancient Greek and found it all double Dutch... I recommended an early trip to the second-hand bookshop, musing that such requests for advice (perhaps more accurately, veiled requests for financial assistance) are probably on the wane.

Max's team won their first league game of the season, though I still cannot fathom what it is they are doing most of the time. Vicki is learning the rules of lacrosse and enjoying her new A level subjects, and Martin ran a good time in the New Forest Half Marathon on Sunday. Meanwhile I am getting down to some house-cleansing which may not be scintillating but shakes away the cobwebs both literal and metaphorical.

Classics Award

2010-09-22T14:31:00.000+01:00

With apologies to the rest of the family, here is Rosie yet again (well, she is away now so perhaps we won't hear so much of her goings-on), this time accepting her Sixth Form College's award for Classics a week ago. The citation commented that she had 'blossomed' this year and her proud parents were on hand to clap enthusiastically as she received her award from Lord Lieutenant of Hampshire Dame Mary Fagan.