Author Archives: quercuscommunity

Struggling for Words

Oh dear, what should I talk about?

Julia has put an end to talk of funerals for the moment. She thinks it’s morbid.

She’s also put an end to posts about how she bosses me around. That is tricky, because if I do what she tells me I sort of prove my point. And if I don’t do what she says I might have to develop early-rising habits and cook my own breakfast.

I also don’t want to talk about work too much, as I admit that many people will find it less than fascinating. Not everyone is blessed with my capacity for loving ancient rubbish.

Nor will everyone be fascinated to hear how we reset the credit card machine after it stopped working.

Nor will the news that we’ve increased the stock of our on-line shop by 10% this week be greeted with much more than the thought of raising an eyebrow.

We have been shown some interesting things this week – including a George Medal that required a new ribbon, a medieval lead token someone found whilst digging the garden and a box of World War Two medals which included King Haakon VII’s Freedom Medal. I would have liked to have known the story behind the last one, but they didn’t even know which member of the family they had belonged to. Needless to say, as soon as I showed interest they decided to keep them.

The big news is that the shillings are all done. On Monday they will be delivered and, hopefully, out of my life forever. The same goes for the 1,000 crowns we’re also sending. However, don’t worry, we’ve already bought more. It seems like everyone who comes in has cupro-nickel crowns.

Shillings of Elizabeth II - English and Scottish varieties

Shillings of Elizabeth II – English and Scottish varieties

I have some. I bought them in 1968 after reading about how they would be a good investment. My Mum got them from the bank for me – four at face value of five shillings each. (This was before we went decimal and they became worth 25 pence). They are still worth that. Allowing for inflation this is a bit of a disaster.

Things could be, as I often say, worse. There’s a website you can use for selling things and they offer 19 pence each. I won’t send you a link as I don’t want to encourage them.

There would be more photographs but for the last few days I’ve been having trouble with my media contents – scroll down a few weeks looking for a suitable library shot and the whole thing freezes, making me shut down to get going again.

Looks like I may have to email WordPress.

It rained this afternoon. I’m hoping this isn’t a sign that summer is over.

We also had to evict another wasp queen. That is two in the last three days. Opinion in the shop is divided between gently showing them the door and killing the. At the moment I’m with Eddie on gently showing them the door. However, I’m wondering if I might change my mind shortly as the suspicion of a wasp invasion builds up.

As lives go, this is not cutting edge…

 

Changes…

Has anyone changed either the title or the page of their blog?

Things have obviously changed since I started blogging (has it really been three and a half years?), though, as at least one person pointed out in the beginning, I was a bit erratic at the best of times.

We are no longer running a Care Farm, I’m not cooking, we don’t get out as much…

You name it and it’s all changing.

It makes sense to change the blog to reflect these changes.

I’m thinking of changing the name of this one to reflect the fact it’s about the thoughts of a grumpy old man who spends his time sorting piles of junk.

With Julia I will then start a new blog based on her gardening.

Does anyone have any comments, or any experience of changing blog names or addresses?

All views and advice will be welcome.

A Sunny Day at the Seaside

We went to the seaside today.

While we were out we went round a garden centre, visited a bookshop (and bought no books!), saw a lot of marshes and ate fish and chips. I also found space for a syrup sponge and custard.

We saw seven Brimstones, a couple of whites and a Red Admiral. Julia has being seeing Brimstones down at the Mencap garden, so it looks like we could be in for a good Brimstone year.

Then we came home for the last of the homemade soup.

There was, of course, a bit more to it than that, but it’s not very interesting. It’s also just after 10pm and I have a lot to do in the next few hours so I’ll leave it here and take up the story later.

I have some major changes to discuss with you all.

Auctioneers, Bureaucracy and Modern Life

I’m gearing up for some serious collecting, and part of his involves getting ready to bid at auction.

Last week I registered with one I’ve never dealt with before, sent in a couple of bids and am now waiting to see if I’ve been successful. If I am the winning bidder I will pay by debit card and they will send me the goods. It’s old-fashioned. It’s simple. And it’s easy to stay calm during the process, apart from a low level of excitement about the hunt.

This week I sent off a so-called registration form for another auction. I’ve dealt with them before so I listed them as a reference. I also listed one of their trade customers as a reference. You’d have thought that would be sufficient, but it seems not. That’s why I’m in low-level rant mode.

To safeguard them from fraud, and because they say I’m a new customer, I have to provide a copy of my photo ID.

That’s a National ID card (which I don’t have), a passport (which I don’t have) or a photo driving licence. Now, I do have one of those, though in theory there’s no reason why I should have one. Julia still has her green non-photo licence, and somewhere in a drawer, so do I. We moved here 30 years ago when they were the only licences available and we’ve had no legal reason to change them.

I had to change mine simply because it’s impossible to live without photo ID these days. I even needed photo ID to prove my mother’s will.

No, I don’t know why either.

We’ve dealt with the same solicitor for years, they have had, and used, my home address for years, and they have met me face to face. Suddenly we can’t do anything without me showing photo ID.

Anyway, back to auctions. I’m not a new customer. I’ve told them I’m not a new customer. I provided a reference, and I won’t be able to defraud them because they won’t part with the goods until they have payment and…

Somehow I can’t do anything without providing photo ID.

I can’t help feeling that it’s just another example of the stupidity of modern life. My photo ID doesn’t reduce the chance of fraud to the auctioneer. But it does make life more annoying for me, and, by having a photo of my driving licence floating around, it does increase my risk of being the victim of fraud.

I know this because when Cotton Traders had their system hacked we had several attempts at fraudulent transactions made on our cards.

 

 

Spring is Coming

After a long run up, much delay and a couple of false starts it looks like we have achieved a lasting Spring.

There are many more things to see than the pitiful few I have managed here, but for now this will have to do. I’m sure there will be more soon, as I’m feeling quite sprightly.

Yes, today I’ve been out and about without my stick. I haven’t been far because my day involved a lot of packing for eBay, lunch with Julia, decluttering, blogging and making soup.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Pansies in the Mencap Garden

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A Robin getting ready for Spring

It’s amazing how good you can feel after a bit of sunshine.

We’re now planning our day out on Wednesday.

And soon it will be time for a trip to Bempton.

I’m now wondering about bringing two of my favourite themes together and having Puffins as pallbearers. I’ll have to lose some weight before that becomes a realistic plan.

 

Clutter and Anticlutter

You may well be familiar with the concept of matter and antimatter. Or you may not. If you are, you don’t need me to explain it again. If you aren’t, I suggest that you consult Wikipedia or Dr Who, which is where most of my scientific knowledge comes from.

All I know is that when the two meet, the consequences are not good.

Clutter and anticlutter are slightly different. When the two meet there is no mystery of quantum physics or annihilation. There is merely a sigh, an old-fashioned look and a patient explanation.

You see, clutter is the undesirable accumulation of a husband. Anticlutter is the vital stock of craft supplies belonging to his wife. Things like paper straws, cardboard oddments and the fleeces of Jacobs sheep are essentials. Ordnance Survey maps from the 1950s, military cap badges and comic postcards are mere detritus.

When the two meet anticlutter survives, or even expands: only the clutter is annihilated. And possibly the husband, if he objects.

That, at least, is how Julia explains it.

 

Stop All The Clocks (Part 3)

Sorry, it’s been a while since Part 1 andĀ Part 2, which covered making my own funeral arrangements. I had meant to keep them closer together but, as you know, I’ve not been very industrious lately.

The funeral is going to be non-religious, cheap and hot, with a cardboard coffin and informal dispersal of the remains. Let “economic dignity” be the theme.

That leaves the catering and the music.

The music is a problem, as I’m very limited in my musical taste, and a lot of it has been done before. On top of that is the problem that the music isn’t really for my amusement and going through the curtains to The Crazy World of Arthur Brown may not meet with Julia’s approval. In fact I know it doesn’t as we’ve discussed it before.

Being serious for a moment, my funeral isn’t really about me. Yes, I’ve no doubt that they will talk about me, share a few memories and, if honest, agree that I did have a few imperfections. Really, though, it’s for the people who are left behind, andĀ planning all the details seems a bit presumptuous. After all, I’m not the one who is going to have to sit through it all.

There’s a site with some favourite songs but most of them are either a bit over-used or too sad for funerals or, let’s be honest, rubbish. I’m not going to set myself up as a music critic, but I will be leaving a list of songs not to play at my funeral.

I quite like Banks of Green Willow, though I also like the theme from The Outlaw Josie Wales. Not saying anyone should play them, but there are worse songs to go out to. When the Angels Sing sounds like it should be suitable, but despite my love of the track it doesn’t really fit with my dull suburban life.

One of the things I’ve been meaning to do is write some better funeral poetry as most of it is fairly dreary. We read one of my father-in-law’s poems at his funeral – a short light verse about senior moments and that was good. One of my cousins had one of his own poems at his funeral, which was a bit more serious, but still better than anything you find by Googling funeral poems, apart from Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.

Anything that talks about meeting later or, even worse, being in another room, is definitely out. So is anything claiming I am like wind beneath your wings, or anything else. The word wind, when linked to me, does not, I confess, lead to thoughts on a higher plane. It’s meant to be a dignified occasion and I don’t want any sniggering during the eulogy.

That’s enough for now, we’ll have to cover catering in another installment as I get nervous when a post gets close to 500 words. I’m a blogger, not a novelist.