Running away

First to Greenwich Park where we took in a photographic exhibition

at The National Maritime Museum -

The Great British Seaside.

I have never known the lime blossom to be more

blissful and poignant.

There was a whole avenue of it to drink in.

That along with privet blossom is the scent of childhood summers.

And then today when the kerfuffle and cacophony reached its apogee

with the arrival of more scaffolding and men with nail guns,

we went to Igtham Mote.

But even that was too noisy for comfort so we set off

(at midday) on one of the estate trails.

Unfortunately we timed our arrival back home with the work still in full swing,

and the music on the roof had increased in volume with our absence.

Someone had brought along their own playlist.
Bobby Darin was an improvement on talk radio but

my first choice for the scaffolders would have been

I think it was the first pop song I ever heard.

Rose parade

No black spot.

I've no idea why not.

No special treatment was applied,

so it is just an unexpected blessing.

The window boxes are covered in black spots however.

Slate dust showers down on them daily.

Some respite today perhaps

as the builders haven't arrived.

They move in mysterious ways.

Perhaps the van will be blamed.

Or the remote relation in hospital.

Or the football.

When is the first England game?

It's going to be a long slow job.

Advanced blokeish

My blokeish was severely tested this morning

 with the onset of the World Cup.

Thankfully I'd had time to acquire a few holding phrases

about the sacking of the Spanish manager

and I knew that Russia were playing Saudi Arabia today.
I also remembered to ask about the burnt out starter motor on his van.

Our roofer assured me that he would be home by 4 
to watch the opening game

but he was so voluble that I lost the drift after that 

and had to excuse myself with a parting shot about Robbie Williams.

Weak I know, but as I am also trying to learn some Japanese

for grand daughter's pre-school teacher this afternoon

my vocab is getting a little muddled.

The song of the moment on the roof is just the first line of 

Everybody Loves Somebody. On repeat.

O-skare Sama deshta

Brushing up my blokeish (again)

Some serious home maintenance is needed.

Well,

perhaps not quite as bad as

this.

But this is the view from here

for the foreseeable future.

We escaped to Kew Gardens 

to see the newly refurbished Temperate House

with its pristine

new roof.

While ours was being ripped off.

And now, while you look at these fish who know not a day's worry 

about leaking roofs,I must go and practice.

My blokeish is terribly rusty and 

disconcertingly, they are right outside my first floor window.

I can hardly hear them though over the noise of the

falling slates and the tinny radio.

Kitchen tour under cover

I am lucky to have a sizeable kitchen.

Size isn't everything though.

The work triangle is abysmal. 

The huge window is to blame.

Glorious though it is to have it centred on the best view of the garden,

it makes a U-shaped layout impossible

and as a galley it is too wide.

It is cold too being NW facing.

So cold, that we have belatedly bitten the bullet

and decided to get double glazed windows.

To the right of the window is a fridge and plastic box 

and baking tin cupboard.

Above the fridge is the inaccessible cupboard for

biscuits, crisps, chocolate and cakes.

The 'children' can all access this with ease now.

I still have to stand on a chair, which is just as well.

There is normally a butcher's block under the window.

It blocks the heat from the radiator.

The range stove (not an AGA, I've never wanted one) 
is in the chimney breast

and the sink unit is to the right of it.

Here are the crockery and glass cupboards, 
with a dropped level work surface for pastry and bread making.

The liquidiser, kettle and coffee machine all stand out on top.

I don't have a food processor since it went 'phut'.

 This is where we eat.

The shelf normally houses various plates, jugs and Poole Pottery jam pots.

The picture above I wrote about here and here and here.

Twenty years ago I had a bench made to store toys.

The Play Doh basket is still in there.

It may be needed again.

The tiles are very warming.

The butcher's hooks hold my utensils.

The mantleshelf above that holds yet more jugs and vases.

The sink unit has three cupboards above

which hold all the spices, oils, vinegars

and miscellaneous bottles and jars.

The three shelves hold a selection of the newly culled cookery books

presently in favour.

Fruit bowls stand on the corner unit and saucepans beneath.

The door to the left goes into the utility room.

Everything is in there being covered in a fine layer of dust.

The mess is indescribable.

I know the men are doing their best but there is hammering of masonry

and drilling of plaster and none of it can be avoided.

I am sitting upstairs and am also

covered in a fine layer of dust.

The men speak a very rare version of Farsi Blokeish.
They are from Afghanistan.

Now go and visit Sue.

She has a lovely new red floor.

Something you may not know about me

Some people like shopping for clothes,

some people like shopping for shoes.

Let me loose in a specialist horticultural, arboricultural and forestry outlet

on an out of the way light industrial estate

and I'm in my element.

Admittedly I have to dust off my Blokeish,

but look what I got.

It's an extendable pole lopper with a twelve foot reach.

Just the job.

Here's where it all started.

Or perhaps it lurks even further back in the blood.

My maternal grandfather (after a stint as a teenager, opal mining in Australia)

studied forestry in Germany and then joined the Indian Forestry Service

and served at Chatrapur, Berhampore and Parlikimedia

in the north of Madras Presidency.
Me, I'm controlling brambles, ash and sycamores
in the south of England Residency.

Meanwhile back at the ranch 2

Paul the decorator disappeared off the face of the earth

despite being booked in yonks ago to paint the kitchen,

in order to make good the depredations of

Lloyd the electrician who also went awol.

It was supposed to happen while we were

conveniently out of the way in Japan/ Paris.

I didn't much relish the thought of a week without a kitchen

or having to find a new decorator.

But then Danny appeared.

He visited to estimate,

produced a detailed written quote by 6 a.m the next day,

at an astonishingly reasonable price,

arrived at 8 a.m as promised,

covered everything with clean dustsheets,

wanted no drinks,

played the radio quietly,

made no fuss,

didn't talk blokeish,

didn't need to 'pop out' for a couple of hours,

had a reliable van,

took two useful initiatives,

finished work at 4 pm,

and completed the job in two days,

one of them a Bank holiday.

He came back today to check all was well 

and noticed a couple of nearly invisible missed spots

which he cheerfully put right.

I feel as though I have stepped into an utopian world.

The one where you are not almost given a parking ticket,

and palpitations,

outside your own house for having one wheel 

on the dropped down kerb

because the bin men had left the bin blocking the driveway

and you couldn't drive in,

and you had considerately left room for the bus to pass;

by an off-duty parking attendant who has himself parked

behind you with both wheels on the kerb.

Blokeish

Took the car to my favourite tyre shop this morning -

a father and son outfit

with a fund of interesting car-related 

and road-rage stories.

I struck lucky, there was another customer

waiting by his Skoda,

and I was able to listen in on some Blokeish.

'Wossit got ven,

fur'ee, fur'ee two?'

' Fur'ee four that side

Fur'ee free this side.'

'Izat awight?'

'Wossit sposed ter be?'

Small side step shuffle while scrutinising the oily concrete.

Deep frown.

Thrust hands deeper in pockets.

'Me mae said it was ve wishbone.

Ain wo cobble roun lars time.'

Now he's lost me.

Inscrutable pause.

Pace round the car.

Bounce the car expertly one side.

Bounce the car expertly the other side.

'Where you go then?'

'Awover'

Wo? Sarf east?

'Awover.

Centrul.

Aw rahnd.'

Look up at sky.

Look alertly around at passing cars.

Glance uncertainly at me.

Look away quickly.

Take a phone call on hands-free mobile

plugged alien-stylie into ear.

Repeat most of the above

but louder, pacing in small circles.

Meanwhile my flat tyre has been removed

and inspected.

'Oh dear is it a nail?'

'It's not the naail.

It's where it's wearin' on the rim

with it being down.

Can't do anything with this I'm afraid.

Arl check the others.

Back one's legal.

This one's awight.

This one - s'awight bu..

Sympathetic grimace.

Close, not got long.

How rich are you feelin'?

And then I curious thing happens.

I realise that I have started to speak Blokeish too.

'Woss the damage?'

I've go' a drive tomorrow.'

Frown at car.

Look anxiously at bloke.

Suck teeth? No perhaps not.

'Change 'em both I would.' 

(Did he say mate? 

That would be the complete seal of approval.)

'Can I leave it wiv you?

I've gotta go down the dry cleaners.'

'Come far?'

'No jus' the top of the road.'

'Givus the key then.

And it'll be all done and dusted when you come back.'

'Cheers. I'll be back in thirty.'

It's not fluent, but it's not bad.

They say immersion is the best way to learn a foreign language.

Blokeopolis

As I paid up he said ruminatively,

'I look at those tyres and wonder

how many miles they will travel.

They tried to take a Mondeo round the world

without using any ferries.

They took it through a service tunnel 

when the Channel tunnel was being dug

but it got stuck on the ice at the Baring Straits.

They left the engine running all night

but the exhaust pipe still froze and they had to tow it away.'

Gotta dash.

Gotta see a man abaht a dog.