Monthly Archives: January 2016

Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll: Too Young to Die!

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Last week we had ice on puddles that lasted all day in shady spots. On Saturday night we had snow. I say snow but it was less than an inch, so hardly recognisable to those of you in Alaska, Lapland, or even Scotland.

At 5.30 this morning as I took my wife to work (enjoying the comforts of the new car – heated seats and an external temperature reading) I noted it was already above freezing point. Eleven hours later I picked her up and then snow had all melted. I don’t know what the rest of the winter weather will bring but this has been a lucky break.

Yes, you did read that right. After the problems with the Citroen we bought a new car, which allows us to be reliable once more. I tried not to shed a tear at parting with the money, and almost succeeded.In fact I tried to avoid parting with any money at all, but that was what resulted in us having such a bad time with the car in the first place. Miserliness is an unattractive quality in a man, I’m told by my wife, and causes more problems than it solves.

Mentioning my wife, I think it’s fair to mention her stoicism in working ten hour shifts on Sundays so that we can run Quercus Community and afford groceries, a car and children. If she ever has to give it up (or if the council carries through on its threat to take away the enhanced pay for working Sundays) we will have to cut back on something – probably the children.

It is, as they say, an ill wind that blows no good.

In case anyone in the Nottingham area is reading this I am looking for casual work if you have any.

I have no discernible skills, am sometimes described as “difficult” (though only by idiots) but will work for peanuts. At my time of life, summed up by Jethro Tull in the title of this post, you tend not to make too many wage demands.

Yes, they are named after  this man, because one of the band’s management team was a history enthusiast.  Robert Bakewell, to be fair doesn’t have that ring to it that suggests a prog rock band but  Turnip Towsnhend and Coke of Norfolk must be miffed to have lost out.

Meanwhile, getting back to what the blog is supposed to be about, I just have to set the finishing touches to the craft work for tomorrow – icy weather and a group with compromised immune systems dictates that we plan for being inside.

I’m happy with that: at my age I creak too much if I get cold. On Saturday night, as I fiddled with the new combination locks on the farm gates, I could feel my hands slowing down as the cold got to them.

Potatoes, computers and portion control

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We served lunch for 40 today. It was only baked potatoes with a variety of fillings, but it seems to have gone down well. We had a few left over at the end and nobody wanted seconds, which hopefully means they were full. If not, it means they were lying about liking the potatoes.

We served them with the cheapest marge, the cheapest tinned chilli, the cheapest coleslaw and the cheapest ready-grated cheese I could find. The only things that weren’t the cheapest were the potatoes and the beans. The beans were still cheap, but I bought the ones we normally use in the cafe, and the potatoes were nearly 30 pence each instead of four for 50p. To keep costs down I served them in small paper dishes that were big enough for the potato (though only just, in some cases) but didn’t leave too much room for topping. When you are cooking to a budget it all helps.

As usual I was so busy dishing up then clearing away that I forgot to take pictures of happy diners, or even a baked potato (for those of you haven’t seen one before).

It’s a good thing I went shopping in person, because if I’d shopped on-line and ordered the  cheapest potatoes I’d have been badly disappointed. When something is described as a “baking potato” I expect certain things – good skin and matched size for easy cooking are two key points, but mainly I want a decent sized potato that will fill someone up. The cheap baking potatoes from ASDA fail badly on this last point. They aren’t much bigger than a golf ball. Couple of chews and they’d be gone. A big spoonful of topping and they would be buried. You get the picture. Hang your heads in shame ASDA. (That’s Walmart for my American readers).

Of course, life here is never simple and although all is squared away I’m now sitting in the kitchen using a dodgy internet connection to blog while I wait to close up.

The connection isn’t too bad today, which is probably linked to the weak sun.  Confused? So am I, but from observations we have made it seems that the photo-voltaic panels on the roof cut off wireless reception when they are generating electricity. We first noticed that a digital radio wouldn’t work in here and after trying the lap tops we noticed that the signal cut out in strong sunlight, returning as clouds blew across the sun.

I have checked on the internet and apart from learning more than I wanted about solar power I cannot find any reference to this problem. Part of me says it can’t be happening, as all houses with solar panels would suffer the same problem, but another part of me says I have seen it happen.

Has anybody else noticed this? I’ve asked various people but they all look at me as if I’ve just said the earth is flat.

 

 

Lambing starts early

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We had our first lamb yesterday. We knew the accidentally pregnant ewes were near term, but weren’t quite sure. Now we know just how close. Mother and baby are doing well but they are outside and it isn’t practical to bring them in without causing additional stress so it looks like we might be lambing outside for this batch.

These are pictures from last year, most of the people shown cuddling lambs found out why farmworkers wear overalls…

That’s what happens when you buy a batch of ewes at market that have been served by a tup that escaped and passed on his genetic material two or three months early. While it’s a good thing, in evolutionary terms, for the tup at least, it’s not necessarily good for anyone else. And no, I’m not sure why we bought them, unless it’s a cunning plan to make lambing even more hard work than usual.

There are all sorts of lambing programmes when you start to look into it but “random lambing” doesn’t seem to be one of them!

You have to remember two things in analysing this, two things that could form the basis of a set of farming laws.

One, when something is going cheap at the local market there is usually a good reason for this and you should think hard before sticking your hand up. Good things seldom go cheap. Apart from chickens, but that’s a very old joke.

Two, a man is generally a farmer not because he is distinguished by intelligence, but because he is the eldest son of a man with a farm. My grandmother, who was the eldest daughter of a man with a farm, had strong views on the process. Her younger brother, on the other hand, had the farm.

 

 

 

In praise of bloggers

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On Sunday, as I was leaving the house for my weekly of watching the laundry turn round in a machine I grabbed a book. I tend to read books when I’m out because I’m still slightly ashamed of having a Kindle.

I thought I was grabbing Bill Bryson’s One Summer: America 1927.  I’ve had it for a couple of years and thought it was time I got round to it. I found, on settling to read, that I’d actually picked up a copy of A Short History of Nearly Everything by the same man. I didn’t even know I had that and judging by the state of it I’ve had it knocking around for a while – probably since the 2004 publication date.

Now, this isn’t an advert for Bill Bryson – he’s famous enough, successful enough, and probably rich enough without any input from me. His name came up earlier today when I was commenting on another blog and I thought I might use him as the subject for this one. Thank you to Derrick J Knight for the inspiration..

The last Bill Bryson book I actually bought was The Road to Little Dribbling. It’s a book that purports to be a journey through the UK some years after his Notes from a Small Island. It’s an easy read with much humour and some interesting detail. However, he’s definitely grown more curmudgeonly over the years, even a little peevish, and I wasn’t entirely comfortable with some of the incidents he writes about.

Then there’s the question of geographical coverage.

As far as the North of England goes the coverage is dour and the coverage of Scotland is positively miserly. Both, I suppose, are in line with geographical stereotypes. There’s a great condensation of this book in The Guardian.

Their one line synopsis is ‘Stonehenge cost an extortionate £12.80 – and most of the stones had fallen over’

Meanwhile, back at the other book, it’s proving to be a bit longer than the word “short” would imply. Over 500 pages in fact. It’s also, according to various reviews, not always accurate. I’m getting round the first part with determination, and dealing with the second part by forgetting most of what I read as it comes along. View my mind, if you will, as a short bookshelf: when you put something on at one end something else falls off the other.  I can’t take too much in about the origin of life and sub-atomic particles in case I forget how to breathe.

So, for me, it’s DJK all the way. True, if he moves any further south he’s have to write in French,  but apart from that he’s as good as BIll Bryson in every way, apart from the two where he beats him hands down. One is that he comes in easily readable instalments, and the other is (at the risk of sounding like Bill Bryson), is that he is free.

There are other bloggers out there that I could say much the same about, and one day I will, but for today it was DJK and Bryson that coincided – let’s see what tomorrow will bring.

For reasons why I don’t abbreviate to Bill Bryson to BB, see here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A tale of two taxis

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It’s been a tale of two taxis today. My favourite driver, driving for my favourite company came back from Christmas holiday today and brought me some Albanian lemons. He claims they have a soft skin you can eat and a flavour that’s a cross between a lemon and an orange. I will allow Julia to try first just in case this is an elaborate Albanian practical joke.

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Albanian Lemons

On the other hand, my unfavourite taxi company has just kept me waiting an hour and ten minutes because the taxi was late. One of our clients likes people to be punctual to the minute and the rest of them (several of whom have other things to do tonight) don’t reckon much to it either.

Me? Well I can’t wash the floor ready for tomorrow’s yoga until everyone has gone, so I’m not too happy either.

It all starts with social service trying to save money, so they take the firm that gives the cheapest quote instead of the one with the most reliable service.

Today, when they eventually arrived, we have had a lecture from the company. It seems it’s our fault because we should ring after they are 10 minutes late instead of waiting patiently for fifteen or twenty.

That, it seems, is what you get when you buy the cheapest service – you get bad customers like me.

Anyway, apart from that, we’ve had a good day. Everyone worked like a proper team, pruning blackcurrants and using the offcuts as cuttings, checking trees and moving the sheep to a field closer in because the accidentally pregnant ones (don’t ask) are close to lambing.

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One of them managed to get through the fence within 10 minutes – leading the pursuing staff through three gardens, over a brick wall and through a hedge.

Then the farm apprentice fell through a hole in the barn floor and cut his hand. The hole was, unfortunately,covered with pig manure, but luckily I have air freshener stored next to the First Aid kit.

So there you go, a day of mixed fortunes on the farm, though it has given me a good laugh.

Check out the Book Review page for a review of They Can’t Ration These – a guide to foraging in wartime.

 

 

Wood chip woes

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Three degrees centigrade when we arrived this morning. It’s now past 11 am as I write this and it’s still only four degrees so it looks like winter might have started. Despite all the newspaper reports this shouldn’t be a surprise, as we often have our worst weather in February or March.

The heat exchangers on the front of the building have been working hard and are covered in ice.

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Meanwhile it’s 20 degrees inside, as long as people keep the door closed. Unfortunately, shutting doors seems to be a bit of a lost art.

Meanwhile the biomass boiler has been giving problems because we have used a new source of wood. First of all it needed recalibrating to deal with willow, and now the ash removal mechanism keeps clogging. When you have four homes relying on the system this isn’t good. Though we all know biomass is one of the ways forward, it’s easy to see why people stick to the more traditional methods of heating.

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Numbers…

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It’s been a good day, though if I piled up all my work achievements I could still slip the pile under a reasonably well-fitting door. I took my wife to breakfast, found that I’d won £25 on the lottery, cleaned my keyboard, sent some emails, agreed a lunch menu for a visiting group, wrote a shopping list and showed somebody round the centre.

Readers in years to come are going to read this blog and wonder why I was never as famous as Samuel Pepys. Possibly.

Things got so bad that I’ve just cleaned out some cupboards, and that tends to induce a state of trance in which my mind wanders. This is generally not thought (by my wife at least) to be a good thing.

Subjects for blogs:

Post number 500, if I can synchronise it with an October date, which I think I can, already has a subject.

165 posts after that I can probably think of something for post 666 (unless I develop a severe case of hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia). 

999, though tempting, will probably fall at the hurdle of transatlantic language difficulties, being our version of the American 911.

To find more numbers I just looked up 25 Famous Nnmbers and why they are important, but they weren’t very interesting, or important and I ended up here instead. Then I tried this. So I now have a new number to consider – 7. As in 7 Best Ways to Waste Time on the Internet. Or eleven, nineteen, thirty three or fifty.

Where did the last hour go?

 

300!

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Three hundred posts and what do I have to show for it? I quite like reading what other people are doing (just like I used to like looking into back gardens when riding in a train) but I’m not sure I’m adding much to the world.

Take this post for instance, I’ve been trying to find an exciting subject for a week now, and failed. Looking on the bright side I didn’t have too much trouble with the title this time.

So, today. It’s a ll been a bit flat. David Bowie died. A member of the Bread Group died. One of our volunteers has foot and mouth disease (though not the animal one, so we aren’t allowed to shoot her and burn the body) and I’ve had a quote for lunch turned down by a group that will be using the centre at the end of the week – they can only afford £2.50. Looks like it’s going to be a small lunch.

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Outside, we did get a good look at the new goat, some wheat growing in a wheelbarrow and a large spider, which, as far as I could tell, was not from Mars.

We also helped muck the pigs out as the recent rain found a hole in the barn roof and conditions under foot (or trotter, to be precise) were a bit moist. I say “we” but I had some really important emails to write, which is why I’m the only one that doesn’t smell like the inside of a farmer’s wellington.

That’s it, 300th post written and not a mention of the Spartans. It was close but I avoided it. Now I need to start planning a really good post for my 500th, which, if I keep this rate up, will be around November.

I think I’ve thought of one…

 

The Unforgiving Minute

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If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it
Rudyard Kipling – If (but you knew that didn’t you?)

Well, where do I start?

We did the cutting back, despite the cold rain, but the planting of the garlic has been delayed because I fell asleep in front of the TV last night instead of going shopping. As for the forcing of the rhubarb, that can wait till I warm up. And while I’m being honest, we didn’t exactly do all the cutting back, but there is a lot of it, and that rain was cold.

However, though the list of outdoor jobs may look like a bit of defeat I have been industrious inside, making up the calendar for 2016; tidying the files on the computer and selling half a lamb. I’ve also transferred 50 sheep photos ready for one of the girls to do a sheep scrapbook, proof read some other sheep stuff; tried to link a lap top to the wi-fi and taken a leading part in demolishing the pile of chocolate and cakes that people have brought in to eat up after Christmas.

Now I’m blogging with a clearish conscience, knowing that I have at least filled in my time, even if I haven’t filled it exactly with what I had intended.

It’s a start.

I could post some cold, grey photos of rain, but I’ve gone for butterflies and bright colours instead. Look at them and remember summer!

 

View from the office
Red Admiral
Painted Lady
Day Lily
Peacock – our first butterfly of 2015

 

 

Infamous delay

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At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.

Night Thoughts, by Edward Young 1683-1765

You’ll know by now that I love a good quote, and whilst searching for one, I found this instead. I’m somewhat past 50 now but am definitely chiding my infamous delay, particularly at this soul-searching time of year. It’s nice to know that I’m not on my own in this, and that there have been others doing it through history.

I’ve reached that time of life when I’m starting to notice that a lot of people younger than me are falling off the perch, though I’m trying to balance this with the fact my family tends to live into their mid-8os. There have been a few exceptions, with several living into their 90s and another group (young men born in the 1890s) who died young, though that was more to do with Germans rather than genetics. I’m not that bothered about living to be 90 (though I reserve the right to change my mind at the age of 89) and I’m already too old to die young.

Anyway, on to things that I can change, rather than things I can’t.

I’m going to give up procrastinating. I have given up many things over the years, including smoking and biting my nails so how difficult can it be to give up procrastination?

Well, as I have just written 250 words getting to this point, and used a quote I found whilst looking for Young’s more famous quote “Procrastination is the thief of time” it could be tricky.

I’ve also spent time this morning making tea, answering emails and registering for the Big Farmland Bird Count next month, and drifted off for ten minutes on ParrotNet checking sightings of the Ring-Necked Parakeet in this area. We had one that used to visit regularly in 2014, though it could have been a local escapee rather than one of the general population.

Before going (I have tools to sort for tomorrow and a shopping list to write) I’ll leave you with this list “22 Foods to Avoid with Diabetes”

I’d say they were 22 foods to eat sparingly at any point in your life. Chips, pies, pastries, pizzas – they are not health foods by any stretch of the imagination. Home made pizza appears to be OK, which is good, as it allows me to use one of my stock of food photographs.

That’s pumpkin soup with chilli and ginger, a foraged salad of garden weeds and edible flowers and home made vegetarian pizza.

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