216: it’s 1973, almost dinner time…

…I’m ‘avin ‘oops.

This week, having worked our way through all 27 series of Silent Witness, we’ve been watching the brilliant Life on Mars which has just appeared on Netflix. For anyone who missed this gem the first time round, the premise was that Manchester copper Sam Tyler (John Simm) was hit by a car, went into a coma and woke up in 1973. He’s been ‘transferred’ from Hyde where policing is a little more progressive. He’s confronted with sexism, racism, Neanderthal attitudes, ‘old-school’ policing and a camel-coated, gun-toting DCI called Gene Hunt (Philip Glenister) who zooms around in a Cortina and shouts a lot (I love him. So. Much.). He spends two series attempting to reform the Gene Genie, hearing voices from various bits of electrical equipment linking him back to his comatose life in the 1990s. There’s a love interest, a truly excellent soundtrack, great clothes and good storylines. I really liked the ending though my Beloved always picks holes in these things, being very bad at suspending his disbelief.

Things 1 and 2 have dropped in and out of the series with us, especially Thing 2 who gets quite engaged with these things – she got very involved with Silent Witness too. About halfway through one episode she said ‘I wish I’d been there for all the feminism stuff, I think it would have been really exciting, really important.’ I’ve been thinking about that quite a lot – I probably should have questioned her a bit more about what she sees as having changed in the last 50 years but I was too busy thinking about how much she’s changed in the last year or so.

Thing 2 was desperately shy as a small person – I had to go to all birthday parties with her and she’d rarely leave my side. I called her my limpet as she’d cling on to me with her arms and legs at all times, which at least left me hands-free. Strange relatives in the house would have her posting notes under the door informing us that she wasn’t coming in the room as she was too shy. It usually took several hours for her to get round to talking to them. Combined with her legendary (inherited – karma strikes hard) stubbornness, this could make things like getting her into school quite difficult. Speech therapy was a trial as she refused to speak to the therapist for the first several weeks. She was seven before I could go to a school assembly without her clambering across every row of people to get to me rather than take part – when she finally managed it I was so proud I cried. She still hates answering questions in class and for her English speaking assessments we have to arrange for her to do her presentation to the teacher and some of her friends rather than the whole class. She hates speaking to waiters which drives her Aunty Tan mad.

What she does have, however, is a fierce sense of what’s right and wrong, and this is when she speaks out – she stands up for her sister when she’s in trouble, she speaks up for friends in school. On one memorable occasion last year our next door neighbours were having a barney outside – my Beloved phoned the police, Thing 1 was monitoring the situation and Thing 2 flung open the front door, puffed herself up to twice her size like an angry cat and stormed out of the house shouting ‘WHAT THE F**K, B…?’ He was so surprised he stopped what he was doing and legged it before the police arrived. His wife brought flowers to Thing 2 the following day which flustered her completely. She was worried that I’d tell her off for swearing – on this occasion I let her off! See? Fierce. Far from telling her off, I’d like to get it printed on a commemorative t-shirt or mug for her. She might not say much but when she does it makes a difference.

Gene Hunt makes his return this evening as we start Ashes to Ashes – similar premise, except our time traveller is a woman heading back to 1981. Fire up the Quattro!

Other things making me happy this week

Coffees with lovely people: a fellow crocheter who’s currently working at the Museum of the Order of St John, with Amanda, and with my team.
Lunch with Panagiota, the friend I made a few weeks ago – we managed to find a date at last!
The prospect of a long weekend with a couple of swims
Two encounters with the Bella-dog, who is unfailingly pleased to see me and lets me know with boisterous enthusiasm
A visit from Timeshare Teenager 1 and No 1 Grandson this afternoon
A gorgeous sunny walk through the lanes today after several days of torrential downpours this week
The return of Disco Jesus to the church just down from our site

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Sunshine and flowers!

Enjoy your Bank Holiday Monday!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Mrs England/The Foundling– Stacey Halls

A Walk in the Woods – Bill Bryson (Audible)

Necropolis – Catharine Arnold

Bubbles Unbound/Bubbles in Trouble/Bubbles Ablaze –Sarah Strohmeyer

(Cover image: https://contra.com/p/U6k3LMvr-are-spaghetti-hoops-vegan)

211: communications breakdown

Easter is here already, and I am relieved of the responsibility of getting anyone out of bed other than me for the next two weeks. This makes me quite cheerful. While I am known for being generally quite chirpy of a morning, this is only the case if I am allowed to have a cup of coffee and half an hour (at least) of solitary reading before I am expected to engage with anyone else. Having to coax various offspring out of their pits before my happy face is in place is known to test the bounds of my patience, and brings on what London sister refers to as my ‘psycho Mary Poppins’ persona. Gritted teeth, determinedly cheerful voice and walking (and occasionally falling off) the fine line between perky and profane.

It turns out that pulling an all-nighter in A&E with a miserable child (don’t panic, mum, she’s FINE – NHS111 sent us up there but their concept of emergency does not translate to actual emergency care) also tests my patience, especially when communications break down within the hospital and things are missed. The streaming clinician telling child they need to go to Urgent Care where they’ll be seen quickly, for example, but no one having told the clinician that Urgent Care had closed. Then, because we’d been through triage once and then got put back on the system as they’d taken her off because she’d been sent to Urgent Care (that wasn’t open), they failed to take bloods which were finally done at 4.30am – and then the doctor said they couldn’t do anything for various reasons, and to get a GP appointment. I laughed in a what was, according to the child, quite a scary way. These days you can only get a GP appointment if you phone in an arbitrary half hour slot on a Thursday afternoon, a month in advance, and there’s a z in the month. Or if you dial upwards of 50 times (my record is 96) to get into the queue at 8.30am and pray that by the time you get through there’s an appointment left. And now the nurse practitioner (lovely lady, did all the medication reviews, HRT and generally useful things) has left which will reduce options even more. The child also needs a consultant appointment – a telephone clinic – so she attempted to book online, only to find there were no appointments and to leave a number and the clinic would phone back. They did not phone back – the next contact was a letter telling her if she didn’t book an appointment she’d be discharged. I suppose the theory is that you’ll either be better or dead by the time you actually get to see anyone, which at least reduces waiting lists. You can’t fault the actual people on the NHS frontline (which includes some of my favourite friends) but something is going wrong somewhere.

AND the bloody coffee machine was broken.

After six hours I was forced to channel my inner dad, and explain that we’d been there many hours at this point, and that I did have two other children who I needed to make sure got to school and perhaps a doctor might like to talk to us so we could leave? I was extremely polite but my inner psycho Mary P was very definitely in evidence. The only plus was that we’d been there so long that the buses had started running again so at least we could get home.

We got home, I made sure the other two were at least awake and then went to bed, slept for a few hours and was in work for afternoon meetings…. FML, quite frankly. FML.

Things making me happy this week (not the NHS)

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Monday morning coffee with an old colleague
Getting a lot of crochet done on my scarf – obviously I’d rather it hadn’t been overnight in the A&E dept, but there we are
Finishing the Rivendell cross stitch – next up, a Michael Powell kit that’s been lurking in the stash
Getting up to date on the temperature cross stitch
Discovering a rather magical new book – Days at the Morisaki Bookshop – and a whole new genre of literature (cats and books in Japan)
A visit from London sister, although I think my cats are trying to kill her
An Easter morning swim

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Hopefully you’re all having a lovely Easter weekend filled with chocolate and hot cross buns.

Same time next week then!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Voodoo River – Robert Crais

Sweets – Tim Richardson

At Home/Notes from a Big Country – Bill Bryson (Audible)

Kick Back – Val McDermid

Days at the Morisaki Bookshop – Satoshi Yagisawa

The Easy Life in Kamusari – Shion Miura

200: surprise!

Here we are at post number 200, which is quite a lot and probably I should look back at the last 200 weeks and be all marvelly at what I’ve achieved. 200 posts is what I have achieved, despite Covid, labyrinthitis, new jobs, children, and general life happening all at the same time. Thanks to all of you who have been with me since the beginning (hello Mum, hello Dad, hello Fi), and to everyone else who’s dipped into my ramblings, roamings and adventures with the sewing machine.

Anyway, this week I am coming at you from a cold but sunny Brittany, where London sister and brother-in-law and I rocked up on Friday evening to surprise my mum for her significant birthday. I can’t tell you how old she is as she may make me sleep in the garden. Dad had managed to keep the secret, even sneakily making up the beds, hiding the extra baguettes in his office and putting the fizz on ice without Mum noticing.

Having left Ealing at 6am for a morning Eurotunnel crossing, we made good time across a snowy Normandy and a not-snowy Brittany – spotting the dozens of birds of prey, deer and trees full of mistletoe (at least while I wasn’t snoozing) and only running into a bit of traffic on the Rennes rocade where a combination of roadworks and rush hour conspired against us. At 7.10 Tan dropped me off at the bottom of the drive so Mum wouldn’t hear the car, and clutching the magazine featuring Irish sister Steph* I knocked on the door. Dad had apparently delayed their dinner as long as possible, so when the door went he said he hadn’t finished and made mum get up. She opened the door and stood and looked at me for about 30 seconds in total silence while her brain processed the fact that the daughter who was supposed to be in Essex was on her doorstep. And then I told her I’d hitched a lift with Tan and Darren…there were tears and hugs and much joy, as well as cursing Dad for being a sneaky so-and-so**.

On Friday Tan, Darren and I went for a walk along the Blavet to see if we could spot a coypu in the lagoon. We didn’t spot a coypu but we were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a kingfisher, a heron, a kestrel, any number of ducks, a buzzard and a cormorant in its favourite tree. It’s a canalised river which flows through to Lorient, and the towpath is popular for walking and running. Last winter we did a 10 miler along there with a total ascent of about 3 metres, which tells you how flat it is!

One of the great mysteries of French life is when the polite passing greeting changes from ‘bonjour‘ to ‘bonsoir‘ – if you open with bonsoir, you can guarantee that they’ll come back at you with bonjour, so mostly we’ve given up and just start there. Yesterday’s walk was no different. On the outward stretch we bonjoured away merrily until we’d almost reached our turnaround point. Tan bonjoured a French gentleman who responded with ‘Non! Bonsoir! Nuit est arrive!‘. When we met him again close to his turnround point in Pont-Augan, I bonsoired him….to which is his response was ‘trop bonsoir!’. Er, what…. had we bonsoired him too many times? Was it too evening, in which case was there a third option of ‘bonne nuit‘? Duolingo – or, indeed, Mr Morgan French (to distinguish him from any other Mr Morgans at the school)- never covered this clearly tricky aspect of the language. Is it some secret French thing designed to catch out the tourists? Answers on a carte postale to the usual address, s’il vous plait.

We are here till Monday, when we’ll make the marathon trek back across to Calais. By then I confidently expect to be approximately 75% baguette.

*Women’s Weekly, since you ask, in a feature all about her live interpretation business, Time Steps. Steph had promised to send her a copy….

**censored, for the delicate ears of my readership

Other things making me happy this week

A great meeting with Little Angel Theatre about where we could work together
Kicking off a new project with our illustrator Alaa Alsaraji and Holborn Community Association’s Digital Arts Club
A swim with Sue and Rachel – the temperatures are heading downwards to extreme sports levels again!
Getting organised for this year’s temperature tracker and starting a new Hydrangea blanket as well as mounting last year’s.

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Same time next week, mes amis

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Midwinter of the Spirit/A Crown of Lights/The Cure of Souls/The Lamp of the Wicked – Phil Rickman

The Last Devil to Die– Richard Osman (Audible)

Map Addict– Mike Parker

191: probably where you left it

So far today Thing 2 has asked me what the UK female equivalent size for a Chinese website’s men’s XXL, what it means when the website informs her that her order has been closed, and what;’s going to be for dinner in five hours time*. People keep asking me questions, in fact. Who didn’t put that dirty plate in the dishwasher? Where did this cup come from? Who left that here? Who does this toy/nail polish/empty wrapper belong to? What’s for pudding? How long till dinner? Is my grey hoodie washed yet? Where are my trousers? Have you got the stuff for my food tech lesson? Where is my bus?

I do not know the answers to many of these questions. Many are, in fact, rhetorical: my Beloved knows who left the plates there as that child has just left the room. We all know that dishwashers have been rendered invisible to teenagers, even when they have to walk past them to put the plate on the side (never the sink). It’s easy to see who the nail polish belongs to: it’s the child who has just sat next to you for two hours doing her nails.

Some of the questions are answerable only with other questions: did you put it in the laundry basket? Did you tell me about the food tech lesson? Have you checked the bus app? Where did you leave them?

Even now, mere seconds after my Beloved has walked through the front door, there comes a cry of ‘who’s left pasta on?’

Mostly I ignore them, as they do not require an answer, and shrieking ‘I DON’T CARE’, however tempting it might be, is not conducive to a peaceful existence. But it is true. I do not care. If the plate is bugging you that much, put it in the dishwasher or take it up with the offspring (there are three to choose from) who left it there. If you require something washed, it’s your responsibility to make sure it’s in the laundry basket, as I have enough washing to do without searching the house for more. Your trousers are almost certainly where you took them off, ditto your shoes, tie and blazer.

Here endeth the lesson. Now stop asking me stupid questions.

*cottage pie with cheesy mash, as it happens.

You may surmise from the above that my normally sunny outlook on life has been sorely tested this week by having to deal with:

Printers which suddenly take against a document and will not print it. Perhaps it was the document, as I tried two computers and three printers before finally succeeding)
Caffe Nero’s so-called ‘luxury’ hot chocolate (bring back the Milano, please)
editing Zoom recordings (I can’t. I hope someone else can.)
the Central Line, which has contrived to thwart my social life (OK, a coffee date with my bestie, but it counts, right?)
Having to prove my human status repeatedly to various websites.
The ironing, though I admit that that’s probably my own fault for leaving it to pile up for several weeks.
Waking up at 4am every day thinking about all the things on my to-do list (lack of sleep may be adversely affecting my sunny disposition).

Not all my week was bad-tempered, obviously. Things making me happy this week include:

The return of Christmas sandwiches to the supermarket meal deal
Binging The Goldbergs on E4
A very chilly swim at 6 degrees this morning
A very productive jewellery making day

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And now I am going for a nap.

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Attack and Decay – Andrew Cartmel (Audible)

Mort/Reaper Man – Terry Pratchett (Audible)

The Saki Megapack

Underground Overground – Andrew Martin

Walk the Lines – Mark Mason

The Master and Margarita – Mikhail Bulgakov

177: but I only want the little one

Yesterday was my Beloved’s birthday and so despite the rain we all trooped off to Toot Hill Show – once he had dragged the Things out of bed at noon, anyway. Toot Hill is a small village over the next hill, and they have a proper village show (this year is the 70th anniversary, in fact) complete with local handicrafts, home grown fruit and veg and flower displays like ‘three dahlias in a vase’. My friend Jill’s Victoria Sponge was highly commended – she’s been threatening to enter for several years now and there may have been a riot if she hadn’t got some kind of mention. I’d thought about entering the handicrafts section but forgot. I’ll remember next year. Probably.

I was very taken with the alpacas, but apparently they weren’t for sale. They make the weirdest noises – quite like a whinging teenager, come to think of it, but quieter. There were the usual motley crew of rescue ferrets and a fun dog show; a sheepdog demonstration and allegedly BMX riders but we missed them. In previous years there have been Indian Runner ducks being herded by the sheepdog, and the local hawk and owl sanctuary display, but Storm Antoni was making its presence felt.

My Beloved brought home enormous quantities of interesting cheese, and I did not bring home an alpaca. Not even the little one.

The rest of the day was spent taping and cutting pattern pieces out ready to add to fabric. I’m going through a dramatic trouser phase at the moment and at some point my beloved paper bag waist black ones from H&M are going to give up the ghost. Possibly I need to learn how to do that thing where you make a pattern from your existing clothes, but there just don’t seem to be enough hours in the day. I am off to see the Barbie film this morning and hope to get some sewing in this afternoon.

Other things making me happy this week

A trip up to see the future home of the Quentin Blake Centre for Illustration – honey bees and butterflies galore thanks to the buddleia which abounds on site
A picnic lunch with Amanda – no cocktails or cemeteries but a ridiculously small dog to watch
Crochet cacti and a whole family of tiny mice
An interesting training session with Climate Museum UK
Discovering new ways to walk to and from the office, which revealed the Barbican entrance to Farringdon station

And now I’d better go and find something pink to wear, which Things 1 and 2 tell me is compulsory for Barbie watchers.

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

The White Hare/The Sea Gate – Jane Johnson

Odds and Gods/Paint Your Dragon – Tom Holt

The Hanging Tree/Lies Sleeping/False Value – Ben Aaronovitch (Audible)

The Echo of Old Books – Barbara Davis

173: and a bit

Or, things we know now that we didn’t know last week, by Gwrachod Ar Daith (witches on tour). Faithful readers will know that earlier this year we all signed up to do an ultramarathon to raise money for Parkinsons UK. The event was Race to the Stones, 100km along the Ridgeway from Lewknor in Oxfordshire to Avebury in Wiltshire.

We all finished it – not together, but I was only a few minutes behind the others – and over breakfast this morning we put together this handy guide for anyone else signing up to an event like this.

Before the event

Do the training.
No, really. Do all the training, no matter how often you run/do classes/other things. DO THE TRAINING.
Test your shoes and socks. Find what works for you. Your feet will thank you.
Train in the kit you’re wearing on the day. Test your fuelling. Race Day is not the day to experiment.

Three days to go:

No, you’re not coming down with Covid/flu/Bubonic Plague/the screaming lurgy. This is pre-race hypochondria.
Pack early so you can repack at least five times in consultation with your race buddies
A whole bag for your snacks is perfectly reasonable.
Carb load. Pasta or rice every day for a week? FINE.
You will question your life choices. A lot.

The day before:

Eat well. Hydrate. This is not the time for an Indian takeaway and a few pints of Cobra.
Get an early night, because you’re going to be awake very early.
Not all glamping sites are created equal. When they say ‘cooking facilities in each tent’ ask for details, because you don’t want to be messing with a fire pit at 5am. Also ask if ‘complete luxury’ includes bedding. Thank heavens we had our sleeping bags and pillows for the following night.

On the day:

Have that last wee. You won’t regret it.
Start with your team even if you know you won’t finish with them. Have a plan, find your pace and don’t feel you have to keep up. Enjoy it!
Even if you haven’t had a single blister in training you’ll get one on the day.
Use the walking poles and you won’t get sausage fingers.
Small children proffering Haribo are angels in disguise.
Weather happens. Slather on the suncream and bug spray, have the waterproof.
Talk to people. I had some great conversations, and it takes your mind off the distance.
Check in with people, say hi, make sure they’re ‘re ok. It’s an ultra and it’s hard mentally as well as physically.
Use all the pitstops, especially if there are piglets.
Eat ALL the snacks. Fill your bottles. See the medics if you need to but don’t sit down too long.
At some point everyone and (almost) everything will smell better than you.
Look up sometimes and see the scenery!
Just make it to the next stop: bite sized chunks!

Basecamp:

Shower, eat, sleep. Do not be tempted to party into the night, there’s another 50k tomorrow.
Earplugs are your friend. We used Loop ones. .
Eat breakfast.
Rehydrate. Keep warm.

Post-race:

Book a hotel.
Don’t sign up to next year on that wave of post-event euphoria.
Be really bloody proud of what you’ve achieved.
Eat ALL THE FOOD.

And now I need some food!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Alexandria/Nemesis – Lindsey Davies

Amongst Our Weapons/Rivers of London – Ben Aaronovitch (Audible)

Overboard – Sara Paretsky

137: you’re making me climb mountains, Aunty Tan

Well, here I am again after a very relaxing week away with London sister (aka Aunty Tan, to the kids) and Things 2 and 3. Thing 1 declined the invitation as she was going to a drum & bass (drum’n’bass? I don’t know) thing at the Scala in King’s Cross midweek.

So, we drove down via the M40, as the M4 was in its traditional chaotic weekend state of delays and roadworks – there’s the most amazing view as the Chilterns open up in front of you at one point. This area was one of the reintroduction points for the birds, so there’s always quite a few about. Having dosed both kids with travel sickness stuff before we left (Thing 2 has form in this area – takes after her aunt) they alternated arguing with sleeping while we sang along with the traditional road trip playlist of classic rock, surf music, country and western and other songs we felt the kids needed to know. We hit Monmouth for lunchtime, couldn’t find a single space in any of the car parks and headed instead to the Red Door Deli & Diner at Millbrook Garden Centre. They do an excellent omelette, if you’re passing!

We then headed up through Abergavenny (much to the satnav’s disgust, as it was angling for the M4), through Llandovery and Lampeter and finally arrived in Llangrannog around five. Tan had booked Gerlan, over the road from the beach. The flat was lovely, with views over the beach to the caves – both kids had their own rooms, but after two nights Thing 2 decided my bed was more comfortable. I think she secretly missed her sister. The car had to be parked in the free car park up the hill, as despite advertising two spaces there weren’t any at all. ‘Up the hill’ is an understatement – Llangrannog is in the V of a very steep valley!

Thing 2 captured in pensive mode while I was swimming

The chippy was closed, so we ate pizza from Tafell a Tan, who make the best garlic bread, all sea salt and good cheese. Tan took the Things for a walk on the beach, where Thing 3 got water in his wellies and we discovered that our definition of paddling was somewhat different to theirs. Thing 2 thinks paddling means full immersion…

Sunday

I started the day with a solo dip, watched by Tan and Thing 2 from the window (always have a swimming buddy!). Three widths of the 100 metre bay was enough for me, and as I was getting out there were some other mad hardy souls getting in. The water temperature hovered around 14 degrees through the week.

After a quick trip to Tesco in Cardigan to get supplies (including a Curly the Caterpillar cake for Thing 2, as she hadn’t had a birthday cake the day before) we dragged the kids out on a circular walk via some woodland paths, the Urdd camp and the Wales Coastal Path. There was much whinging about being forced to ‘climb mountains’ until we hit the view after which they were practically skipping up the next slope. We had a family swim when we got back to cool off, and then I acted as sous chef while Tan made a roast dinner. I proved myself competent at cutting carrot batons and selecting potatoes, which was good as I have never managed to roast them properly!

Monday

We were so lucky with the weather all week – apart from a bit of drizzle and wind, we were able to get out and about every day. On Monday we headed up the coast to Aberystwyth, where I was allowed (briefly) to reminisce about my student days there. After lunch in Y Caban and a trip to Trespass to get Thing 3 some adventure pants we took the Cliff Railway up Constitution Hill to see the camera obscura. Thing 2 was sulking as we weren’t budging on our insistence that she would wear both long sleeves and a coat when we headed up Snowdon the following day. Afternoon snacks were indulged in at Ridiculously Rich By Alana, where they make some of the best brownies on the planet – they are available by post, and I promise you won’t regret it.

We took the kids wave jumping in the afternoon, and in the evening we stargazed at the Milky Way, saw a shooting star, and watched the tide come in.

Tuesday

It was three hours to Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) and we were booked on the 10am train so we were up and on our way by 6am – as the dawn broke we were treated to some spectacular views coming through the mountain passes. It was Thing 3’s day to be stroppy, it turned out, especially when we realised he’d forgotten his coat (my fault apparently). Luckily we are Wales veterans so we were able to locate some layers in the car, and I bought him a new waterproof in the shop (in my size, and it’s very nice) to keep him dry. The wind was gusting at 54mph at Clogwyn, where the train was stopping, and there was some doubt whether it would run but it dropped to 48mph and we were able to go up. We shared our compartment with a French family, so poor Tan’s language skills were tested as as soon as they realised she spoke French they started a conversation about Brexit, politics, the monarchy and the difficulty they were having with the north Walian accent. Tan translated the driver’s commentary, but her brain was fried by the time we got to the bottom. The kids were suitably impressed.

We had a picnic lunch at Dolbadarn castle, a brief wander through Llanberis village and a walk along the lake, which I was not allowed to jump into. Dinner was at the Pentre Arms, as although Google told us the chippy was open, it lied…

Wednesday

The Things went on strike and demanded a doing-nothing day. No mountains, no walks, no driving, so that was what we did. I started the day with a dip in the sea and later we went back to the beach with the kids. We had ice cream from Caffi Patio and I sat with my crochet while the kids played in the water. Things 2 and 3 built a sand castle while Tan and I went and explored rock pools round the headland at Cilborth.

Before dinner, Tan and I walked up to the cliff path to watch the sunset with G&Ts which was peaceful and glorious, and was the source for this week’s cover photo. We started binge watching Ghosts again, and just before high tide we dragged the kids outside with their hot chocolates and watched the waves coming up.

Thursday

After another early dip, we headed to Aberaeron – Y Popty for pasties to eat overlooking the harbour followed by honey ice cream from The Hive. After lunch we headed up to Bwlch Nant-yr-Arian to see the red kite feeding. They do this daily throughout the year and it was truly spectacular. I’m not sure how the kites know what the time is but there were what looked like hundreds of them there by 3pm and the aerial display was spectacular.

We walked round the lake afterwards spotting toadstools, and had a sunset swim back in Llangrannog. Still no fish and chips though – thank heavens for pasta!

Friday

We headed to New Quay, and promised the kids they could have the afternoon back on the beach. No longer trusting Google, we had fish and chips on the quayside under the beady eyes of the local gulls, and spotted a seal bobbing about just outside the harbour walls along with a couple of cormorants dipping for their lunch. There were dolphins in the bay, according to the boat people, but we didn’t spot any.

Tan and I have been able to have whole conversations in Welsh in front of the children when we didn’t want them to hear what we were plotting, as well as practising in shops and cafes which we have enjoyed. People are very patient with us, and are happy to help when we struggle which has been very useful.

As promised we spent the afternoon on the beach, exploring rock pools, eating yet more ice cream, and finished with a last dip where Tan and Thing 3 were properly wiped out by a wave. I did some beach crochet, sheltered from the wind by the cliff.

We drive back via Raglan, avoided the M4 closures and appreciated the Chilterns from other direction. It’s always nice to drive back in the rain, it makes the end of the holiday so much easier!

This morning I have been swimming in the rain at the lake – it felt much colder than the sea, though there was apparently no difference!

Back to work tomorrow…see you next week!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

The Magpie Key – Sarah Painter

Bleeding Heart Yard – Elly Griffiths

A Heart Full of Headstones – Ian Rankin

Straight Outta Crawley – Romesh Ranganathan

134: What goes on in Cardiff in the dark

My left shin is currently sporting an impressive bruise, just at the height a medium sized dog’s head might reach if – say – they were overexcited by the the scent of a fox, it was dark, and raining, and the aforementioned shin was wearing dark jeans and boots. It’s an excellent bruise which is still changing colour and I do hope the poor hound in question – Kalie, who belongs to Jane, one of my Cardiff cousins – didn’t suffer concussion from the collision.

But why were you hanging about in the rainy dark in Cardiff, I hear you cry? Well, last Sunday London sister was running the Cardiff half marathon, so I went along for the ride and to give her a bit of support in the last couple of miles. My hound-owning cousin was also supporting, in several more places thanks to her speedy cycling, but it’s the thought that counts and I did see her at two places thanks to a bit of speedy lurching across Roath Park. The week before she had run the Ealing half marathon and today she is running the postponed (thanks to the Queen) Richmond half marathon. Mad but impressive. Anyway.

Apart from the extremely lengthy M4-avoiding detour through Newbury, Reading and other probably scenic bits of Berkshire on the way back, it was a lovely weekend. The detour on the way down, skirting Cirencester and Gloucester and through the Forest of Dean, was rather nice as we ended up in Monmouth without sitting in M4 traffic – which was where we were planning on stopping for lunch anyway. We had a bacon roll in Estero Lounge, which we felt we had to try as we’d seen it soooo many times on a local Facebook page. Usually asking when it was open, which luckily it was. It’s definitely a step up from Maureen’s caff and Buster’s the bus station caff, which were the options when we were younger at that end of town! We had a wander up Monnow Street, entertained the ladies in Salt & Pepper with our sisterly double act (but came away with a hat which didn’t make London Sister look like a) a mushroom or b)the Witchfinder General), and marvelled at Boots the chemist closing for lunch.

Dinner was in Cardiff at La Dolce Vita on Wellfield Road, where we had done a lot of shopping on weekends as children as we’d started life in Lakeside. Six of us met there for various pizzas, pastas, puddings and Prosecco-based cocktails* – representing most of the female cousins, apart from Irish sister who said Cardiff was too far for dinner and the other one. It was good to be reassured that the ability to carry on six different conversations at once is clearly a family thing (and going by the photos we are quite definitely family) – I was complimented the other week when I was running a registration desk at a forum on my ability to hold several conversations, remember a spelling and write at the same time, and this is clearly where it comes from. The restaurant runs ‘sittings’ in the evening, much like school lunches but with less custard, and they were very keen to get rid of us as we neared the end of our allotted time. They brought us the bill without being asked, and whipped all plates and glasses away as soon as they were empty. Cousin Sal took great delight in taking the longest time ever to eat a tiramisu… we then repaired to the pub to finish off conversations before walking back through Roath Park.

Roath Park was a very big part of my childhood: I remember walking through it on Sundays to ‘the Kiosk’ (now a coffee shop) to get the papers with Dad, and getting a Drumstick lolly to keep us going on the way back. It’s got a very nice lake, with plenty of bird life, pleasure gardens, rose gardens, a wild garden (that’s the dark one where Kalie ran into my leg) where the foxes live, a play area which was notable for having a massive metal slide when I was young, a cafe and various other things that any decent park wouldn’t be without.

After I’d raced across the park to see Tan at mile 12 (before ‘the Widowmaker’ as the final hill is as known) I rewarded myself with a rather nice ‘caramelised biscuit’ ice cream (Biscoff, by any other name) and wandered through the rose garden to the Conservatory which is a HUGE greenhouse type affair that we used to occasionally visit as children. I got bitten by a fish there once. Last time I went there were baby terrapins which I think had been retrieved from the main lake where they’d been released after Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fever had worn off. The terrapins are still there but a LOT bigger now, and one of them was doing yoga on the edge of the pool while the rest were just lounging about on a rock. The plants are also a lot bigger, and there is a pair of whistling ducks. I wouldn’t like to get bitten by one of the fish now, they’re enormous.

I did a bit of crochet as I sat on a bench (because I can) and then wandered back to Jane’s for a most delicious lunch cooked by her husband Jason – Moroccan Lamb with Apricots, Almonds and Mint which I cooked for my beloved on Thursday as he’s partial to a bit of lamb too. I’m looking forward to heading a bit further into Wales for half term in a couple of weeks.

*Other cocktails were available and indeed drunk, but they ruined my alliterative streak.

Ooh, bees!

Yesterday one of my crafty friends and I made our annual pilgrimage to Ally Pally to the Knitting and Stitching Show where we squished yarn, stroked fabric, marvelled at gadgets and furniture and spotted Sewing Bee contestants wandering about the place. We got there about half an hour after opening and left just before they threw us out, and we had a great time – Heather and I are butterfly crafters who like to try all sorts of things and often have many things on the go at once, so we take our craft shows very seriously. Before we went in we hit the Toft Metamorphosis space where we crocheted a circle to add to the HUGE butterfly.

This year we started at the far end of the show and worked our way back which meant we avoided all the mad old ladies with shopping trolleys and pointy elbows and had the chance to actually get into stalls. Heather is a DT teacher so we started with the quilting guild show and the gallery spaces, before heading into the stalls for some inspiration.

We had a fish finger sandwich for lunch and cake at 3pm (so disciplined!) – there was much more choice of food this year. At the cake stop we sat with two elderly ladies and we all showed off our hauls, so at least Heather and I know what our future in craft shows looks like! I also ran into one of my favourite freelancers from my Museum of London Docklands days which was lovely!

I came home feeling crafty and made a couple of Christmas decorations using this pattern and Paintbox cotton yarn.

Today I think we are off to Copped Hall Autumn Family Day, with as many children as we can drag out of bed, and this evening it’s the Full Moon Swim at the lake. And I really must do the ironing…. See you next week!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

I Believe in Yesterday – Tim Moore

Believe Me! – Eddie Izzard

Twelfth Doctor Tales/Tales from Trenzalore (Audible)

109: wake me up for tea

You find me at the end of a week off, in which I have done very little that was useful but a lot that was good for my soul: afternoon naps, long walks with friends, family and dogs, relaxed coffees, crafting, reading and a bit of cooking. My beloved claims that there is no such thing as a day off, but that is because he takes Monty Don’s ‘Jobs for the weekend’ section to heart as well as all the other things that a garden requires. I, on the other hand, am of the opinion that if you take a day off the jobs (and the garden) will still be there afterwards and the weeds probably won’t have taken over the world. Unless it’s sticky grass or wild garlic, in which case all bets are off.

On Sunday, post-blog, I met up with a friend in the wilds of Hackney to see Damien Jurado playing at EArtH (Evolutionary Arts Hackney), a gig which had been postponed at least once and possibly twice thanks to the pandemic but which was well worth the wait. Jurado plays small, interesting venues – we have seen him previously St John on Bethnal Green church, at the Emmanuel Centre in Westminster and this time the venue was a reclaimed Art Deco cinema auditorium reached via a most unprepossessing doorway on Stoke Newington High Street. After a pint at the Brewdog bar a couple of doors along and up a few flights of stairs you arrive in the auditorium, which was locked up after the last film showed there in 1984 (Scarface, apparently) and left derelict while the rest of the building went through the usual ex-cinema permutations of snooker hall and community venue – not Bingo, for a change.

It’s a lovely space, still in need of a lot of restoration but the original Art Deco features remain and with simple bench seating and a wide stage the acoustics were wonderful. Add in an atmospheric setlist and good audience engagement and the result was a great evening. We particularly liked the young man at the end who begged for his favourite song, with plaintive pleases, and got his way – I liked the proper last song, too, with snatches of the Grateful Dead’s Morning Dew scattered through.

On Wednesday my beloved and I dragged the Things out for a family walk. Thing 1 sulked all the way up the hill but was won over by the tiny calves in the field and the friendly pig – I think we all were, to be fair. We’ve been very lucky with the weather this week, and on Friday the garden was full of one of the Timeshare Teenagers and friends, painting henna tattoos on each other and recovering from what seemed to have been a pretty heavy night out. Other walks have been in the early morning, finishing with coffee and croissants at M’s house in the garden while fending off the muddy paws of Dobby and Kreacher, who assume all laps are for sitting. These are two rescue dogs, who are now so used to the sight of me that they have given up barking when I walk in to the house for D&D sessions. M and I also had a mooch around North Weald Market yesterday, where we marvelled at the sheer quantity of polyester neon on display, pondered the possibility of all the blingy pictures refracting sunlight and starting fires, and were bemused at the current fashion for wearing fluffy mule sliders out in public with socks.

I’ve also been messing around with making some very geeky earrings from D20s and meeples, am up to date on the Temperature Galaxy and ‘Travel by Tardis’ is halfway done. There’s half a simnel cake left (it was a most welcome apres-swim treat this morning!) and Thing 2 and I tried our hand at making macarons the other day as well. I did do some gardening, weeding the wild garlic out of my little patch and planting a couple of saxifraga and a Bleeding Heart. I can see the shoots of this year’s physalis coming up, hollyhocks are poking through, and I don’t seem to have killed the hydrangea so with any luck I’ll have a nice show this summer.

On Tuesday I am back to work, so I am off to top up my nap. I blame my father. I must also do my Easter bunny impression and distribute some eggs, as the natives are getting restless.

See you next week!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

In a Dry Season/Cold is the Grave/Aftermath/The Summer That Never Was/Playing With Fire/Strange Affair – Peter Robinson

Insidious Intent – Val McDermid

Doctor Who: Tenth Doctor Novels vol 4 (Audible)

106: coming to you from sunny NI

This week’s blog is coming to you from a sunny Northern Ireland, where I’m on godmother duty for my adorable nephew’s first communion. And I’m feeling pretty sunny, too: it’s the first time I’ve seen my youngest sister and her family since 2018 thanks to Covid cancelling both our 2020 holiday and our trip over for the niece’s confirmation.

Clutching our shiny new passports, London sister and I met at Heathrow on Friday, planning to do the bag drop, get a nice lunch and relax… what actually happened was a queue for over an hour for the automated bag drop, a mad dash to grab a meal deal to eat on the plane and then we sat near the gate for another hour plus as the flight was delayed and delayed. Making faces at small children and chatting to elderly gents is only entertaining for so long. We finally took off just as we should have been landing at Belfast City, but we did get free crisps on the flight. Just as well as the flight attendant was about to get bitten, I was so hungry by then.

It’s so good to see my little sisters: we sat and chattered all evening, covering everything under the sun, decorating the house as a surprise for my nephew’s big day and blowing up balloons.

She promised me a field full of little lambs and sure enough they are skipping about and making me wonder if I can stash one in my suitcase to come back with. I have begun to make friends with them in preparation, lurking nonchalantly on our side of the hedge and smiling in a non-scary sort of way.

My nephew and niece have thrashed me at Harry Potter trivial pursuits, we’ve cried with laughter at S bouncing T off the bouncy castle (a first communion tradition!) and I did get a bit tearful watching my godson make his first communion.

First Communions are a huge event over here, with all the little boys in grown up suits and the girls in bridesmaid type dresses. They all got to do a reading or another part of the ceremony, and the church was full of proud families as well as many watching via the live feed. There’s a scrum afterwards to take photos on the altar, and the kids make a fortune from relatives.

I was slightly less fond when the combination of too many sausages and a bouncy castle had the inevitable messy result, but it’s been such a lovely day. He and I also had a long and philosophical discussion about confession and what happens if you’ve been really good all week and haven’t got anything to confess: do you make it up and then confess to lying the next week? He tells me he’s probably in credit as he only confessed to throwing a ball at his sister once but he’s actually done it a lot which should keep the priest busy for a few months to come. He’s a very curious child, so the priest will most likely have a lot of questions to answer, starting with ‘why does the Body of Christ taste like cardboard?’ and working up from there.

Hopefully we’ll manage a holiday together this summer so we can all spend more time together – I had the advantage of growing up near all my cousins, but these two and the Things don’t have that luxury.

This morning the new communicant has nagged his dad into taking him to mass again, so we are enjoying the peace and contemplating leftover cake for breakfast. Now excuse me, I’m off to make the most of being with my sisters before flying back later.

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

On the Bright Side: The New Secret Diary of Henrik Groen – Henrik Groen

Doctor Who: Tenth Doctor Novels vol 3 (Audible)

The Hanging Valley/Past Reason Hated/Careless Love – Peter Robinson