Sorted

I tackled my slug-ravaged seed packets,

in much the same way as I had the kitchen cupboards

although with slightly more reluctance

to observe the use-by dates,

because if this Methusela seed

was capable of germination after 2000 years,

I felt that a three-year-old seed had a fighting chance.

These old-fashioned wage packets were 

just the right size for re-packaging them.

Next up, the washing of the flower pots.

Comfort zone

China tea, the scent of hyacinths, 

wood fires and bowls of violets -

that is my mental picture of an agreeable February afternoon.

Constance Spry

Her house was lovely.

It was comfortable in a way that was not as usual 

in 1910 as it is today.

For instance, there were several bathrooms,

invariably provided with delicious essences 

for softening and scenting the water

which was always hot.

The beds were soft and sheeted with the finest linen.

The Rising Tide - Molly Keane

and from Agatha Christie's The Hollow,

Midge a shop assistant,

 on being told she would understand the class struggle better

if she were a worker:

'I am a worker. That's just why being comfortable is so attractive.

Box beds, down pillows -

early morning tea softly deposited by the bed -

a porcelain bath with lashings of hot water -

and delicious bath salts.

The kind of easy-chair you can really sink into...'

Midge paused in her catalogue.

'The workers', said David, 'should have all these things,'

...'I couldn't agree with you more,' said Midge heartily.

Our daily lives are full of stress,

much of which is unavoidable.

I believe that if our homes cannot provide 

some kind of refuge or respite from that stress,

both physically and emotionally,

then they have failed in one of their most critical functions.

From supporting the body at rest or during relaxation -

physical comfort at its most basic -

to most elemental pleasures that put people at their ease,

comfort provides a necessary sense of renewal.

For me, comfort is neither mindless luxury 

nor suffocating indulgence:

it is the essential breathing space 

in which we can simply be ourselves,

surrounded by the things we really like

rather than things we think give us status.

Sir Terence Conran

I shall cleave to these 

images as the house is

colonised again by the electrician

in pursuit of The Fault

and the builder  eliminating the cause of

The Mould.
P.S Can you still get bath salts?

The upside

of one of your little birds

 leaving the nest

 and flying off into the sunrise

is that they might be a homing pigeon at heart

and come back bearing flowers

as a cheerful reminder for you

when they go again.

Who dunnit all?

This arrived in the post today.

I have never been a particular fan of crime writing,

beyond a lazy enjoyment of Miss Marple 

(always Joan Hickson please) and 

Hercule Poirot (David Suchet) on television.

I bought it on the strength of a description of the Queen of Crime

 in 'An English Mystery - Agatha Christie' by Laura Thompson.

'All her life she was fascinated by the ordering of a home.'

In her 1957 book, 4.50 from Paddington,

she created a character called Lucy Eyelesbarrow, 

an Oxford graduate who,

 'in addition to scholarly brilliance,

had a core of good sound common sense.

She could not fail to observe 

that a life of academic distinction

was singularly ill rewarded. 

She had no desire whatever to teach

and took pleasure in contacts with minds

much less brilliant than her own. 

In short, she had a taste for people,

all sorts of people - and not the same people

the whole time. 

She also, quite frankly, liked money.

To gain money one must exploit shortage.'

That shortage was the post-war loss of servants.

'Lucy Eyelesbarrow did everything,

saw to everything,

arranged everything.

She was unbelievably competent 

in every conceivable sphere.

She looked after elderly parents,

accepted the care of young children,

nursed the sickly,

cooked divinely,

got on well with any old crusted servants 

there might happen to be (there usually weren't)

was tactful with impossible people,

soothed habitual drunkards,

was wonderful with dogs.

Best of all she never minded what she did.

She scrubbed the kitchen floor, 

dug in the garden,

cleaned up dog messes,

and carried coals.'

The secret to this happy life was that 

she only did all these things for a fortnight at a time,

never booked herself for more than six months ahead,

 charged the earth

and took frequent short luxurious holidays.

I have yet to discover if she is an accomplished

murderer too, but will let you know.

Flower show

I cut my collapsed Paperwhites

and put them in a pressed glass jug 

in the sun

at Rachel and Jane's behest.

The sun breaks through

I have seen the sun break through

to illuminate a small field

for a while, and gone my way

and forgotten it. But that was the pearl

of great price, the one field that had

the treasure in it. I realize now

that I must give all that I have

to possess it. Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after

an imagined past. It is the turning

aside like Moses to the miracle

of the lit bush, to a brightness

that seemed as transitory as your youth

once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

The Bright Field by R.S Thomas

All photos taken from a moving car,

on our house quest.

Triumphant

The fisherman's float

'She slept till very late the next morning -

a lovely sleep,

all the time she felt as if

she was sliding

between glass

and water.'

From The Rising Tide - by Molly Keane

Photo taken from my archives,

since light levels and energy levels

rather too low for photography.

An important decision re house was taken today

and I am relieved but tired.

Thoughts being marshalled.

New avenues being explored.

Enthusiasm being rekindled.

Now I must sleep on it.

Circular

I had cold feet all morning.

The Gas man came,

switched the central heating back on,

 I stood well back.

'Running sweetly,' he says.

'Must've been an airlock'.

'That noise was the pressure building up.'

Lloyd, the missing electrician rang.

Came and put a temporary fix on the kitchen lights.

'There's a live earth in your lighting circuit,' he said.

'You're not protected.'

Offered to return late February.
I thought we should move more quickly.

The opticians rang twice.

The estate agent rang.

No decision from second vendor.

Rang again while I was wielding a red hot wok.

 The offer now accepted.

They'd like to move quickly.

The pressure is building up.

I had cold feet all evening.

Can't see the way forward

even with all the lights blazing.

I need to take a step back.

Here's my temporary fox.

Sleeping sweetly.

Doldrums

meaning listless, despondent, inactive, stagnant, 

in a slump.

The cure for this?

Empty one kitchen cupboard,

decant all useable comestibles into clean jars,

throw out, reluctantly,

anything with a sell by date circa 2006,

clean the shelves,

put everything back.

...

We interrupt this post to report 

a sudden terrifying roaring, rumbling

thunderous, house-shaking cacophany

emanating from the airing cupboard.

With a pounding heart and shaking hands

I have just managed 

to switch everything off in there,

all the while expecting to be

sprayed with exploding fragments of copper pipe 

and scalding water.

The Emergency Home Care service

which we pay through the nose for

has offered a visit sometime between midday and six p.m

tomorrow.

They lack the sense of urgency that 

this plumbing calamity warrants.

I will never complain about the

doldrums again.
I have allowed myself two Youtubes
to settle my nerves.

On a more positive note,

someone did come to switch all our lights off in the kitchen.

We can't switch them on now,

but I feel this is less wasteful.

Just the interesting days

When my eldest son was three years old

I was telling him the names of the days of the week 

and explained that there were just seven and

that they went round and round.

'When does it stop?' he asked.

'It doesn't, they just go on while you grow up.'

'It's too long. I want it to stop.'

'But you'd miss your birthday and Christmas!'

'Well let's just have the interesting days.'

Was my day interesting?

Well let me see...

We can't turn any of the kitchen lights off.

I have lost the electrician's phone number.

There is some black mould underneath a window.

The amaryllis has three buds.

I converted three bags of unwanted books into a £10 note.

A friend recommended Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way.

I put an offer on a house.

I ironed a duvet cover.

I felt a painful twinge in my toe and wondered if I had gout.
I made a Sicilian sausage and lentil casserole.
I was able to answer some questions on University Challenge.

Have you had an interesting day today?

The Leek harvest

I decided to make a chicken and leek pie for lunch,

but had no leeks.

And then I remembered an exciting thing.

Hadn't I planted some leeks as an experiment

back in the hopeful days of last Spring?

I went to have a look.

There they were, all six of them,

standing bravely, patiently, in a neglected row,

waiting for their moment.

I even found a song to celebrate the glut.

But I think the compulsive You Tube linking must stop soon.

How to Handel money

'What right have you to take the word 'wealth' 

which originally meant 'well-being' 

and degrade and narrow it by confining it 

to certain sorts of material objects measured by money?'

John Ruskin

A question remains about the validity of a particular acquisition -

 where, if anywhere does one draw the line 

between self-indulgence and potential need? 

To take but one example, is it justifiable to spend money 

purchasing a recording of Handel's Oratorio Theodora, 

or to invite a group of friends to dine 

in a relatively expensive restaurant?

There is no easy answer to this puzzle -

simplicity is about acceptance of limits, 

yet it cannot exclude the enrichment of music 

and the celebration of friendship. 

Both are rich in ends. Both contribute in subtle, meaningful ways. 

So the answer depends on motivations and frequencies, 

priorities and budget as well as the maintenance of balance between 

kindling the spirit and living the virtues of a simple life.


From Timeless Simplicity by John Lane.


It is better to have fewer wants than to have larger resources.
St. Augustine.

(I want to be able to sight sing-along
to Handel's Oratorio,
but no amount of money is ever going to make that happen.)

Catching the rays

Every minute counts
when the sun shines in winter.

It was worth taking a detour off road for this.

Blog soup

(Nigel's Pumpkin and Lentil soup from his Diaries

and Monty and Sarah's Savoury Bread from Home Cookbook.)

That new Global knife is very sharp.

One of these days I'm terribly afraid it's going to 

be responsible for a mystery ingredient in the soup.

Colour chart

You're my Wordle.

Gracious living

'Basil and I will meet you at Oxford. 

Could you bring a box of Charbonel's chocolates - chiefly No.9's.

Put it down to Mother. I'll pay her.'

But Easter has forgotten them.

'Well what was to be done? 

A thousand times over would she have exchanged 

her new dressing-case 

for a brown papered parcel of chocolates.'

No matter -

'If I wire for them,' Easter thought,

'they'd be here in the morning.' 

from Mad Puppetstown by Molly Keane.

Then of course I had to know -

what flavour is a No.9?

And Victoria Leadbitter at Charbonnel et Walker

was happy to help.

It is the Café Charbonnel a coffee flavoured dark chocolate.

Is it still available and what are the other flavours?

She wrote again from her splendid address:

1 Royal Arcade,

28 Old Bond Street,

London.

'The chocolates are not really numbered anymore,' but

Many of them are still made today; 

we just tend to refer to them as their names rather than their numbers. 

Although plenty of our customers who have been shopping with us 

for many years still refer to them in numbers. 

We often receive handwritten notes

 from customers requesting boxes filled with 

certain numbers to be sent to their homes.

 We still custom fill boxes for our customers all the time. 

Customers can call, email and drop in store 

to have a box filled with whatever they prefer.

 We can keep a record of your purchase and preferred chocolates 

so you just need to give your name and ask for a repeat order.

We pride ourselves on our personal service

and remembering our customers by name.

Our most popular chocolate today 

is our Pink Marc de Champagne Truffle.

Although this one is only six years old.

Our most popular traditional chocolates are our English Rose

& Violet Creams which we have been making 

since 1875, to Madame  Charbonnel's original recipe.

As soon as the list arrives I will place my hand-written order.

The large crocodile dressing case with gold fittings from Asprey

with its legion of gold-topped boxes

 may be a superfluous accoutrement these days

but chocolates will never date.