Monthly Archives: February 2019

More Medallions, Many More Medallions…

We lost a medallion today. We have boxes of them, so it wasn’t a surprise, as you always feel like you’re on the edge of disaster.

I looked for it twice, handling every plastic-cased medal we had in the shop.

Nothing.

Rather than writing to the customer to confess I’d lost it, I decided that I’d have another look through, and double check every medallion. I found it after twenty minutes. It was in a plastic case with a blue insert. I was looking for a red insert, which is what the computer told me I was looking for.

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In the end the only discrepency I found between the eBay shop and reality, was one medallion. I solved that when I moved a notebook and found the missing medallion had slipped underneath.

It also gave me chance to sort out some new ones. We keep finding more…

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Stitches, Cloves and a Happy Ending

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Thursday started with a visit to the dentist. Again. The stitches were supposed to dissolve, but one set didn’t. They just sat there and refused to budge. I tried pulling them but the only result was a sore gum. They began to irritate my gum and cheek.

Eventually, as the pain became constant, and it started to feel like an abcess, I decided to contact the dentist. I’ve had dealings with abcesses before. I’ve also had dealings with stitches before, though that was in my pre-blogging days.

I once had a set of stitches dissolve too quickly after a biopsy. It took two hours to stop the bleeding. Another time I had a set heal into my eyelid. That stung a bit when they came out. And then…

Well, let’s just say that I don’t do well with stitches.

After a bit of tugging and squeaking we got the stitches out (they were non-dissolving despite what I’d been told) and packed the socket with something that had a complicated scientific name.

It tasted bad and smelt like oil of cloves. It did, however, fix the infection – everything feels good now.

We had a good day today at work too – one of the customers brought us Cadbury Creme Eggs.

That’s all for now, but I’ll be back with more scone news in the next few days.

A Peaceful Interlude

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After the oatcakes we went to Dudsons, but they were shut. It’s nice pottery, but you can’t buy it if the shop door is locked. Then we went to the Portmeirion shop, where Julia went shopping and I took a photo of the crack in the winscreen that had happened on the +way . Then I did some selfies. There was also a mural to photograph in the car park, though someone parked in front of it as I prepared to take the photo.

Here are the results.

The cracked windscreen

Selfie 1

Selfie 2

Selfie 3

I attempted to introduce a range of facial expressions – weary, downtrodden and resigned. That’s the full range of expressions for a married man shopping with his wife. Can you tell the difference?

Ditto, but with someone parked in front

Mural at the PortmeirionShop

This is the mural. It’s very close to the pattern on some of the Portmeirion pottery, which is probably not a coincidence.

After that we moved on to the Etruria Industrial Museum. It was shut. I re-read the website when I got home. It doesn’t make it obvious that it’s closed most of the time, though the sign does.

Closed!

Fortunately we were able to do something good before we left Stoke, but you will have to wait to see what we did because it’s getting late.

The Scone Chronicles – Number 4

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Before saying anything more, I am going to confess that this isn’t about scones. We went to Stoke-on-Trent, so we had Staffordshire oat cakes at the Middleport Pottery.

That’s a lot of links for one short paragraph.

It started badly when, after parking, we found that they’d changed the way in since our last visit. A hearty woman redirected us, which was helpful but not what you want to hear when you are twenty yards from where you want to be but are being sent an extra 200 yards. One small step for a man with good knees – not so good when you have a bad knee and a stick.

It didn’t improve when I found that they don’t do my favourite oatcake now – no black pudding and bacon for me. I settled for sausage and cheese. Not a great combination, but the best one, I thought, for brunch. With hindsight I should probably have gone for cheese, tomato and mushrooms, but, with hindsight, I should really have gone somewhere else.

Menu at Middleport

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Oatcake – Stoke on Trent

The cafe is better lit and cleaner than it used to be, so I expect they have someone new in charge. The oatcakes were a surprise. There were two of them, with salad. That, to my mind, is how you serve trendy stuff like paninis. It’s not what I want from oatcakes, which is an old-fashioned sort of food.

To make things worse, the tomato in the salad was old and dried out, like it had been cut several days ago and stored.

The sausages were pretty average too – not actually bad, but definitely not good.

It wasn’t cheap, and, to be honest, I expect fresh salad. Mediocre sausages are, sadly, a fact of life, but there is no excuse for wilting salad.

The tea was good, as was the pottery, which is made about 100 yards away.

The Post I Meant to Write…

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Just before I opened my email from the Royal Agricultural Society, this is the post I meant to write. The last post was merely a Jacobin rant, this one is about nature. It’s better for me than politics.

A model of me in the garden

There’s not much to say as it’s late and the pictures can do the talking.

Poppies in the Mencap garden – Wilford

The pop-bottle poppies are still looking good after two years – Julia was going to take them down last year but everyone asked for them to stay up.

Ivy and brushwood “hedge”

This is the “hedge” between the Mencap plot and the school plot. It’s willow clippings with ivy planted to grow through it.

Frost on bamboo

Fungus lining the path

Fungus close-up

Brick path

Oak leaves and frost

And finally – some birds. There would have been more but a sparrowhawk swooped by and scared them all away.

Great tits on feeder – Nottingham

Snobbery and Armchair Anarchism

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To be honest with you, I never went to finishing school, and etiquette lessons haven’t played a big part in my life.

I’m a bit rough round the edges, and Julia has trouble keeping me on the right side of social acceptibility.

It has been tough being a member of the National Trust over the last few years because the Trust, and most of its volunteers, actually seem to think they belong in the massive houses they look after. It’s very difficult not to point out that this is not the case.

The original owners would have sneered at them, peered through their monocles or lorgnettes, and instructed the under footman to direct the scum round to the Tradesmen’s Entrance.

My great-great grandfather, H. A. Carus, was active in the early cooperative movement and stood (unsuccessfully) in Local Elections as a member of the Independent Labour Party. I think I’ve inherited some of his outlook.

This is my ancestral home – nine members of the Carus family lived in the dark house.

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This is the house at Clumber Park before it burnt down. It’s a bit bigger than the Carus house.

One of my other ancestors was possibly a Chartist who spent some time on the run from the forces of law and order. I have to say “possibly” because I can’t, so far, prove that they are the same man. They did have the same name, and live in the same town at the same time, so there’s still a chance I can tie it up.

There are worse people to have in the family.

Anyway, back to the point.

As you may recall, I bought Julia membership of the Royal Horticultural Society for Christmas. We have just had some emails about flower shows. It seems that they think highly of themselves, even more highly than the staff of the National Trust think of themselves.

If I want to book tickets they will allow me use of the a phone line that costs 7 pence a minute, in addition to my own charges.

They also demand that I obey their rules on reselling tickets. I’m busily trying to think of anything else I buy that I have to have permission to resell. If I break the rules I will be banned from their flower shows.

I also have to take a passport or photo driving license to prove my identity when visiting the show.

Yes, that’s official. If I want to go to the Chatsworth Flower Show I have to show photo ID.

A passport to go to Derbyshire!?

Has the world gone mad?

(Note the use of the Interrobang.) It’s addictive.

It’s the last time I join something with “Royal” in the title.

Another Senior Moment

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I could get away with it, because nobody could prove I was lying about the meeting, but I’ve had another senior moment of massive proportions.

After finishing the last post, I published it, shut the computer off and nipped up to the toilet. At my age you really do appreciate your mother’s advice about going before you go out. (That sounds better in my head than it looks on paper).

After saying goodbye to Julia I decided, for some reason, to double check my card. It seems that the meeting isn’t tonight. It’s next Monday.

Looking on the bright side, I should be able to re-use some of the post from a couple of days ago – the one that talks about the framework knitters.

As my brain softens a little more I will probably be able to watch TV without realising it’s all repeats.

I may even become good at dominoes. My Dad doesn’t remember who I am, but he still wiped the floor with me at dominoes last week. And he never played before he was eighty.

It’s an ill wind that blows no good.

Nothing Much to Report

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We packed 19 parcels. We saw several customers. We had coffee and ate the custard creams that a customer left us on Saturday. I spoke to five telephone callers and shattered the dreams of three of them.

Then one of them rang back to confirm that I had quoted the correct price. Had I really said eight pence, or had it been eight pounds? It was pence. We pay eight pence each for two shilling pieces and old style (large) 10p pieces. According to the caller they are between eight and twelve pounds each on the internet.

I promised her that we wouldn’t be offended if she decided to sell them on the internet, and said if she ran out we could replenish her stocks by selling her 40 for £8.95 including postage..

This didn’t seem to be a comfort to her.

The man who rang up for a valuation on his Charles Dickens £2 wasn’t too surprised to hear we sold them for £5.

“I thought it was too good to be true,” he said.

They are available on eBay at a much less reasonable £5,000. Plus 65p postage and packing. There are two at that price, though the other will only cost you 58p for postage.

Greed?

Ignorance?

Postage & Packing?!

That (?!) is an interrobang, a unit of punctuation I’ve never used before.

The Coming Week

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We have a talk on framework knitters on Monday night. It’s not a very numismatic subject but it’s a piece of Nottingham history and a subject I should know more about.

I like to think I’d have been a Luddite, but really I know I’d just have stayed home and muttered. Same goes for being a Cromwellian or a Chartist. It’s all very well being part of history, but I like a soft warm bed and an absence of shooting.

If history had relied on people like me we’d still have despotic Kings, cheap stockings and no vote. I’m not sure this would be a bad thing. We’re still ruled by privilege, we wear cheap Chinese socks and look where voting has got us.

Before that, we have 19 parcels to pack on Monday morning, so it’s looking like a busy day.

It may have occurred to you that there’s a distinct lack of Sunday in this post. That’s because Julia had the day off so we got up late, had a leisurely day, caught up on some work and noticed it was getting dark. That’s how Sunday goes sometimes.

There’s a lack of Tuesday too, because I’m having trouble thinking that far ahead.

No doubt parcels will play a large point in the week.

I suppose I should have picked a different title.

Isaac Newton Medallion

We put the Isaac Newton medal on eBay a week ago, and it’s one of the things that is waiting to be packed tomorrow. It’s nice when a plan works. We have some things that have been on for two years, so it doesn’t always work.

Advice from a Fat Man

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It can take longer to alter a listing on eBay than it does to write the original. I base this on recent events and just throw it out there as something for your consideration. I have the build to be regarded as Buddhaesque so I may as well impart some cryptically phrased knowledge.

While I’m offering lifestyle advice, I would also like to suggest to the met office that the words “yellow snow warning” could do with some work. Every year the news announces yellow snow warnings: every year I smirk. And, every year, the snow is boringly white.

I put some gold coins on eBay a couple of days ago. They came with the paperwork showing how much they had originally cost. We’re selling them at half that price. Considering that they are often bought for their investment potential it’s safe to say that they failed. It’s often the way with these things. If you want to buy something as an investment don’t buy it from someone who spends a fortune on advertising.

If you see it in a Sunday magazine, or on the TV being flogged by a retired General I’d steer clear. I just hope that when I’m old and senile I lose the collecting instinct as I’d hate to find myself buying this stuff at full price.

Gold coin – Tristan da Cunha

This was one – a gold double crown from Tristan da Cunha. If you look round the right-hand edge of the reverse you can see it’s mis-struck. This renders it unsaleable as a collectable, though we can still scrap it. It has an engraved number on it, being number 37 of 199. What sort of coin has a limited edition of 199? That’s only the first of the problems. Kate Middleton is not a good likeness, which is a problem on a high cost souvenir of the Royal Wedding and I always think that the Queen on the coins of Tristan da Cunha looks like she’s been beheaded. That straight line at the bottom of the neck is not a good look. The box is quite nice.

The next coin is a gold Half Ounce Half Angel from the Isle of Man. It’s not a bad-looking coin, though St Michael seems to have let himself go a bit.

IOM Gold Half Angel

The Queen looks better on this one. Manx coins, to be fair, are generally well designed.

Please note that due to possible legal problems I have not used the words rip-off, con-trick, criminal, predator or horse-whipped. I thought it would be better if we left them out.

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Life after the Care Farm