Tag Archives: moving house

Getting the Hang of It

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Teasel heads

No, not driving the electric scooter. I had several moments in that again, including a repeat of the track crossing where I came close to running off the path.  It swoops down whilst slanting off to one side and switching angles all at the same time. I probably should take a photo to explain, but I may just stop going that way. Mostly it was OK though and I am getting better at driving it.

Greylag Geese on a grey day

As I stepped outside this morning I noticed something brown and furry on the driveway, disappearing behind the car. I followed, with a sense of rattish foreboding, then looked in amazement as a rabbit hopped out of cover, through the gap in the boundary vegetation (to call it a hedge would be boastful and inaccurate), across a path and onto the grass strip between us and the woodland strip. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a rabbit in the garden.

Rabbit

The day was cold and gloomy, made more cutting by the brisk wind coming off the cold body of water.

I really need to dress better for using the scooter, including finding my gloves. I have several different pairs, but seem unable to find any at the moment. I suppose I will be looking for things for months, or years, to come. That’s the problem with moving in a haphazard fashion. It’s also part of the fun. I have rediscovered so many things in the move, including some I didn’t know I had. In the end I stopped taking photos because of the difficulty in operating the camera with no feeling in my hands.

Cormorant on a buoy

That’s about it for now. I’m going to go and sort some of the stuff we brought from Nottingham this week. The problem is that we have been bringing stuff up without sorting it, so we can get the house cleared out, but we are falling behind with the sorting at this end and the bungalow is in danger of becoming cluttered. That is precisely what we don’t want.

Teasel – me being arty

 

Connected!

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Robin

Yes, the day finally arrived and the worries dispersed. We are now connected to the internet, it seems to be running well and I can start blogging again.

The downside is that Julia is now abusing the connection to play Christmas music. It’s currently The Pretenders with 2,000 Miles, so it could be worse. It could, for instance, be . . . I spoke too soon. It’s just changed to It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas. There are still five days to go, surely I don’t need to switch to unremitting jollity just yet.

Well, a lot has happened in the last few days. We are now spending more time here than we do in Nottingham and, psychologically, this is beginning to feel like home. Talking of which, I’m going to leave my office now and walk through to the kitchen for coffee and biscuits without wearing a coat. It’s a bit different to the old system, where I would already be wearing my coat as I typed on the dining room table at this time of year.

Robin at Budby Flash

I say “office”. It’s the smallest bedroom. If I stretch out my arms my fingertips touch the walls, but after 35 years of planning an office/writing room it feels like luxury.  It’s not quite organised yet, but that’s going to take time.  We didn’t, for instance, have room to fit the printer into the car on the last trip, so I can write, but I can’t print. When we do return, we want to bring more paintings down, so it’s likely we still won’t have room for the printer on that trip either.  We did make room for a vegetable strainer and hand blender this time.

Talking of kitchen appliances, I’ve just been reading the microwave instruction book again. It’s a remarkable bit of work. It is crammed with detail and instructions, but after reading it I am left none the wiser about how to use it or what I can do with it. After spending hours selecting the one with the most features, and daydreaming about my adventures with microwaves, I’m left with the feeling that I will mostly be cooking soup, potatoes and pies with soggy crusts. I could have bought something considerably cheaper if I’d been more realistic in my assessment of my skills.

Robin

Talking of which, we finally, after several misadventures, have a second freezer. The one in the kitchen is a bit small and we have more or less filled it after buying Christmas snacks and fish fingers, and freezing three lots of soup. That’s why I have been reading the microwave manual again. I swear it’s easier to fly to the moon than it is to defrost a block of soup for lunch. Eventually, I suppose, I will get used to it.

Anyway, can’t linger, as I have things to write for the Numismatic Society of Nottinghamshire. If you could have a quick look and press some “Like” buttons it would be appreciated. I’ve just had one published about the 1914 bombardment of Scarborough, though if you wait till next time there’s a write up about the Duke of Clarence and why he wasn’t (as has been claimed in the past) Jack the Ripper. Oh yes, there’s a lot of history in medallions.

Pictures represent Christmas jollity.

Robin at Rufford Abbey

 

Yesterday and Today

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Yesterday, we got back to Nottingham about 4pm, had a cup of tea, watched TV, toasted some crumpets and planned what we would be taking to Peterborough on our next trip. It is getting more serious now and we will be taking the big mirror and some pictures. Once we get pictures up and the internet connected (which is a long story) it will feel like we have moved.

A decorative touch

I was late for the Numismatic Society meeting, mainly because I had set off late, but also because every set of lights seemed to be intent on stopping me as the minutes ticked by, However, I did make it in time for 95% of the talk on The Coins of the Cimbrian War.  This was quite interesting, as I like Roman history and there is always something to learn.  It was the first paper of four as we were having a short paper night for members. We then had a presentation about a marriage medal given out by a local vicar and one about the coins of Azerbaijan. That turned out to be about much more, including how, just prior to decimalisation he had returned home from work to find that his (first) wife had listened to a radio programme and paid his entire collection of British coins into the bank before they became “valueless”. That must have been an interesting conversation. We didn’t enquire if this was the reason he described her as his first wife as it seemed tactless. The fourth talk was on using the internet to research coins.

Tin Kingfisher

I have, of course, done much more than this over the preceding few days (including listening to Julia spending over an hour on the phone sorting out the internet connection) and did more today, including handing out Christmas cards and doing a morning’s paid work in the shop. Us pensioners can’t afford to pass up on these opportunities to eke out our pensions . . .

Good news – the builder has now done 90% of the jobs he had to do. bad news – we are getting quotes for the conservatory roof, as a succession of temporary repairs has left it looking like a patchwork quilt and it isn’t going to last much longer until something else starts leaking.

Barge at Snape Maltings

Pictures are from December 2017 – our Christmas visit to Suffolk.

Declutter, declutter, declutter . . .

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Sorry about the patchy service. I’m currently splitting my time between two houses and spending more time driving than tidying. One is gradually emptying and the other is gradually filling, We have also got rid of some stuff – around 150 books and three bags of clothes yesterday. It seemed  lot, but hen I look round I can’t see a difference. I’m now afraid I’m going to fill the new house with clutter before we manage to empty the old one. It’s a strange thing to fear, and definitely falls into the category of  First World Problem.

It all goes back to something in my childhood. I don’t know what, but there are lots of internet sites willing to discuss the problem of hoarding in the context of mental illness and childhood roots.

Autumn _ Arnot Hill Park

My grandfather was a hoarder. He had a cellar with four rooms in it, five if you count the coal bunker (with external chute). One was full of tools and stuff. one was full of scrap timber, a third had more timber and the fourth opened onto a rock wall with ferns and running water. It must have been something to do with building and foundations, or it might merely have been a portal to as wet, cold magical realm. I wasn’t quite clear at the time and am none the wiser now.

It took me months to clear it out for my grandmother and, forty years later, I still have many of the tools in my garage.

I’m not sure if he suffered childhood trauma. It wasn’t a great childhood, leaving school with a special license at the age of 12 to work to support his mother and young brother (his father was an invalid after an industrial accident), but I’m not sure if it was traumatic either. People just got on with it in my day. My great-great aunt, as I have probably told you, was not much older than my grandmother. She broke off her engagement in 1919 and gave up the opportunity to move to Canada so she could look after my orphaned grandmother. She could have been a bitter women, but was in fact one of the most cheerful people I have ever met. In WW2 she worked in a mill and took in refugees. That generation didn’t traumatise easily.

Time, I think, to throw more stuff out and pull myself together.

Autumn Leaves – Rufford Abbey

 

The Best Time to Plant a Tree

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Spring in the Mencap Garden

“Live as though you’ll die tomorrow, but garden as though you’ll live forever.”

I won’t attribute the quote, because it’s one of those that has been knocking around for years and has been altered several times.

The social media started pinging on Julia’s phone this morning as members of the group that was going to go down to the War memorial started calling off because of the cold, miserable rain. As a newly retired lady of leisure, I was glad to see that she too decided not to bother. It was good to see, as she can be a bit driven and it wouldn’t have surprised me to see her turn out despite the weather and poor attendance.

She is already considering her options for volunteering when we move.  My activity has been limited to finding a gardener to do some of the heavy work and starting to list some of the jobs that need doing. It’s a list that keeps growing. I’ve just been looking up the options available for terracotta paint. That is a sentence I never thought I would write. Until now I have only operated with three colours. Magnolia, blue, green. That’s all you need inside a house. This isn’t Chelsea and it isn’t New England.  Only interior decorators and designers of camouflage need to work with more colours.

Nasturtiums Wilford Mencap Gardens

Of course, that means we have to decorate before putting the new carpet down. We need a new carper because the previous occupant had  a dog and there is a dog bed shaped mark on the carpet in one corner of the living room. That’s why we need to paint at least one wall too – greasy dog marks on the pale wall. That’s why I prefer cats. They make lay out the occasional rodent corpse where you find it with your bare feet in the morning, but they are very clean around the house. And you soon learn to watch where you are putting your feet when you get up.

However, as I mentioned to Derrick in the comments – the main topic is where we put the rhubarb. I’m a simple lad at heart and I do like a rhubarb patch. It will go well with the tropical theme I am thinking of using in the planting.  The potted damson tree and the fig will be going with us, as will the red cordyline and the New Zealand Flax. We will also take cuttings of the fuchsia (Tom Thumb) because it was given to us by friends when we moved in. Tradition is important, like my mother’s clivia. I don’t remember how long she had it, but we have a descendant, as does my sister and Number One son. Number Two son fled to Canada to avoid one.  The trick is to observe the garden for a year before we make any decisions, apart from removing self-seeded saplings, dead conifers and ivy.

Worms at Mencap Garden, Wilford, Nottingham

And the answer to the title – the best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time to plant a tree is now. having had experience of trees in gardens, I’m going to be careful about planting at the new place, I will however be sending more money to The Ribble Rivers Trust. They just won a prize. I don’t have a big enough garden to plant trees and I can’t afford to buy or plant my own woodland, so this is the next best thing.

 

Shades of Lady Bracknell – A Conservatory . . .

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I’m feeling a little shell-shocked at the moment after gaining access to the new bungalow yesterday. It’s been eight years since I last visited and it isn’t quite as I remember it. There’s more lawn than I remember, for one thing, and more wooden fencing (which all looks as though it needs painting). I remember two sides of the back garden being brick walls but in fact only half the back wall is brick and the rest is wood. Two self-seeded trees have been allowed to grow, the shed is rotting and rampant ivy is assailing us from all sides. Even if I had been thinking of what to do in retirement (which I haven’t) I now have the answer. I’m going to be gardening. Fortunately it’s good for you to get outside and get your hands in the soil while doing gentle exercise, so it’s not a problem.

Our first test run was rather too hot.

 

Inside needs a bit of work too, but that’s mainly minor stuff, with the exception of the leaking conservatory roof, and I knew that was a problem we would have to fix. I’m torn between annoyance at having a large bill for repairs (currently waiting for quotes, but it’s bound to be large, or probably even larger) and wonder that I actually have a conservatory. A good portion of my early years were spent living in a corner shop in Blackburn, where we only had an outside toilet. I think I must be from the last generation where it was possible to grow up without indoor sanitation. My Dad, a generation earlier, had clogs. They are something worn by clog dancers these days, but they were the footwear of the poor in the 1930s. They are still used as industrial footwear and you  buy them from workwear shops when I lived in Preston in the 1980s.

How times change. A conservatory . . .

I’ve also had another poem accepted, but that’s not as amazing as owning a conservatory.

Piccalilli

Pictures are more from October 2014 – the first month of the blog. Header shows the mobile bread oven being stoked up for a school demonstration.

10 Years

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According to WP it is ten years since I registered. They just sent me a message to tell me. It took a few weeks for me to get into the swing of things so my first post was not until the 8th of October. I’ve just had a look at that first month – there are few photos and a tendency to forget titles. Some things don’t change. That month, we went to The Lakes to celebrate our 25th Wedding anniversary.

Guinea Fowl sheltering from the rain under a picnic table.

A lot has happened in the last ten years, but I expect you have noticed that. A lot has happened to us all.

Unfortunately, or possibly fortunately, depending on your point of view, I still can’t find much to say. House purchasing has driven it all out of my head. Solicitors, taxation and bills don’t leave much room for other thoughts. I’m just glad that we are doing it now. My parents left their final move until they were nearly 80 and it took a lot out of them. I’m not sure they ever really bounced back from it.

Fortunately I did manage to sneak some time to send submissions out. Life feels a lot better when I have submissions out, even if they eventually get returned. It’s hard to think of myself as a writer when I’m not actually submitting work.

A colourful salad – borage, nasturtium leaves and fat hen.

Bearing in mind some of the things I’d been saying about planning, and trying harder, I sent a submission to a magazine I have a patchy record with. They have already accepted something, so it paid off. That’s really the difference between positive and negative thinking. I could have sat here, avoided submitting and carried on thinking that they “never” accept anything. Or I could, as I did, send a submission and get a surprise acceptance. maybe I’m getting better. Or just luckier.

Yes, soup is a constant thread in this blog. I made Tomato, Pepper and Lentil soup today.

Photos are from October 2014. The cake was for our 25th Wedding Anniversary.

Where Did All the Energy Go?

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I’m desperately thinking of something witty or interesting to say. So far, it isn’t happening.  I’m mainly thinking I have a lot to do, and that I don’t feel like doing it. This is not witty or interesting, and to my regular readers it isn’t a surprise either, is it?

I started writing this last night, ran out of steam and tried again in the morning. It still isn’t happening. I’m thinking of writing a list and working through some of it. At that point, with some work done and a space to relax, I might have better luck with the blog.

I had better spring into action and do things or I’m going to be looking at a very slim body of written work for the first half of this year. And if I don’t have plenty out there I will have nothing for editors to nominate for the anthology.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We also need to start thinking about the move in serious terms. We started the year with 11 months before us and are already down to 8, with virtually nothing done. Some things, and this includes moving house, as I dimly recall, are better done with plans and time to spare. Writing poetry the day before the deadline is OK, moving house is not.

Last time I moved I borrowed a lorry from work and invited a group of friends for the weekend. They helped with the heavy lifting and it all went well. Of course, the contents of the house have multiplied and I no longer have friends who can lift stuff. It’s a depressing commentary on my life.

Water Clock. I think it’s Southwold Pier.