Oh, My Days!

  It’s a sad thing when the highlight of one’s day turns out to be the satisfaction of watching trapped effluent suddenly making a bid for freedom along the waste pipes leading from one’s home to one’s septic tank named PooTin. But that, dear Reader(s) was the truth of today. We had a bit of a blockage, so out came the drain rods and the pressure washer and an hour of fun was had in the semi-gloom of a late afternoon in Winter gently encouraging the blockage to shift and feeling the thrill of satisfaction when it did. Such is the joy of remote countryside living where connection to mains drainage is but a distant dream.  Andy asked me yesterday if I ever felt lonely, now that I wasn’t going out to work. And I admitted that yes, sometimes I do. Some days I don’t speak to another human being aside from Andy. I see a dog named Nell and a cat named Bambino, neither of whom are great conversationalists. Recently, I’ve been seeing hundreds of rooks. I don’t know what it is with the rooks aro

 Whilst replacing the saggy upstairs floorboard which probably caused the start of the leak that began to seep through the kitchen ceiling, Lord Malarkey’s dodgy knee gave way and he ended up putting his foot through the very same ceiling: He didn’t come right through, thank goodness, because I happened to be underneath it at the time making leek, potato and rosemary soup. The ‘crack!’ made me jump a bit. Lord Malarkey called down the stairs ‘Have I just come through the ceiling?’ and I said, ‘Yes,’ and ‘Soup’s nearly ready.’ I have to say I felt a bit weary with the whole series of events leading to this size 11 finale and I went a bit quiet for the rest of the day, because it’s how I deal with things - a bit of calm contemplation to gather my thoughts and avoid running screaming up the garden and back. The following morning, having given myself a stern talking to that at least it was a minor accident and no one got hurt and our home hadn’t been swept away in a flood or blow up in a w

  The plumber visited yesterday and very efficiently sorted out the upstairs leak and fitted a new radiator in the kitchen. He said, ‘I’ll send you an invoice for payment,’ and I said, ‘I’ll pay it immediately,’ because that’s how I roll with bills I owe unless they are bills for big utility companies and the Inland Revenue, in which case I’ll defer payment until the very last minute.  The invoice arrived this morning. I logged into my banking app (remember? The one I had to re-register a couple of days ago because Andy couldn’t register for the app without this happening, goodness knows why, because I think the excuse about it being a joint account is very spurious indeed) and went to the pay a bill section. It’s an easy way to pay a bill, and the bank likes you to use this method because it is so easy. They prefer you to use the app instead of online banking, and especially instead of trying to make transactions in branch when you might disturb their tea breaks and reading of ‘Hello’

 Storm ‘whatever’ (I’ve lost both count and interest) buffeted in from the south-west last night which meant the front of the cottage took the brunt, which meant so did rambling rose Starlight Express. You remember Starlight Express? Rescued from the sick plants bay at a garden centre, planted by the front door, immediately shot skywards and achieving second floor status within five years?  Clearly, Starlight Express had become too heavy for her anchors, for this morning she had broken free and was flapping all over the driveway and screeching against my car with teeth-grating gusto: Apologies for the slight blurring to the right of the photo. It’s actually fluff from my fingerless gloves.  Of course, with Starlight Express pulled away from the wall, I was presented with the ideal opportunity to give her a jolly good pruning. She had become rather wild, dense and unwieldy. Last Summer I remember looking up at her and thinking, ‘You need a spot of taming, my girl,’ but that would have i

  These days, you have to tackle life admin pretty much as you would tackle a game of rugby. You have to be prepared to put your head down, square your shoulders and charge like a demented bull into the mess of a scrum that is 21st century life. You have to be prepared to elbow your way through all the obstacles that will stand in your way, the annoyances, the irritations, the petty minded bureaucracy that will fling itself at you as your strive towards the prize called ‘Attempting To Keep Life Simple.’ I’ve never played rugby. Back in the old days it was a game played by men with odd-shaped balls, but these days ladies can play, too, although lordy knows why they’d want to. All that mud, bruising, risk of being broken, and a very unattractive sports kit - no thank you. My tube of arnica has enough trouble keeping up with the cockapoo-called-Nell inflicted injuries let alone ones induced by being slammed into the ground at high speed.  Today, Lord Malarkey and I have been tackling life

 I don’t know why but I have always been a hyper-vigilant sort of person which means I notice things in detail. It also probably means I have high levels of adrenaline and cortisol, but I hope I counteract the effect of fight or flight with all the meditating and grounding I do. Anyway, when I popped into the laundry this morning, I happened to notice the boiler gauge was showing a drop in pressure.  Now, I know how to adjust the pressure on the boiler by opening a specific valve until the little black needle on the dial rises above the red needle, which I duly did. And then I thought, that’s the third time I’ve had to do that in the last couple of weeks, so I messaged my heating engineer brother (who installed the aforesaid boiler) to ask why might be causing it. ‘You’ve probably got a leak somewhere,’ he said. ‘Check around the boiler, then all the radiators.’ Off I trotted, then, with torch and kitchen roll in hand. I have to add at this point I was also in the middle of making marm

 Many things irritate me about Keir Starmer, the leader of the Labour Party, but by far the worst is the way he uses the ‘list of three’ as a language feature in EVERY single speech he makes. It’s a habit Tony Blair has, too. It smacks of a teenager desperately trying to pass their English Language GCSE. As an ex-English teacher, I taught ‘rule of three’ because it was required of me to do so. As a writer, if I catch myself using it, I smack myself around the face and tell myself to grow up and be more sophisticated. The way Keir Starmer trots out rule of three in his speeches could be used as a teaching exemplar. But as a man in his 50s he needs to get a grip and let it go, let it go…let it go. Anyway, I didn’t come here to rattle on about Starmer’s third rate political rhetoric style. Oh no! I am here to talk of the weird randomness that has been today.  It started when Andy had a half day at work because the other half of his work day had been deferred until Friday so he could atten

  Today, Lord Malarkey started his new job! The wheels of motion began turning for this change 9 months ago, when Andy left his details with a representative of a new business when he was attending a veterinary conference in Manchester. ‘You are JUST the kind of person we are looking for,’ enthused the rep. And nothing more was said for another 5 months… …until Andy received an e-mail inviting him to apply for the role. Which he did!  What followed was a lengthy interview process. A pre-interview, followed by a proper interview, followed by an assessment day. This all happened over August and September last year. Of course, because Andy is highly intelligent, kind, funny, clever and supportive, AND he has almost 30 years experience as a veterinary surgeon, he sailed through all this malarkey.  And then the call came. ‘We’d like you on board,’ said the company. ‘We’d be thrilled if you’d join us. This will be your salary,’ at which point both Andy and I nearly fainted because it was alm

 My Mum, in her on-going project of ‘getting-rid-of-stuff-so-someone-else-won’t-have-to-do-it-when-I’m-gone’, FaceTimed last week. ‘Do you remember Jack’s hat?’ she said. ‘The one with the green bobbles on it?’ I said yes, I did indeed remember the hat which my sister, Jackie, enjoyed wearing when she had lost her hair through chemotherapy. In fact, I remember there were three she favoured : the green bobble one, a floppy blue velvet confection, and a white one with a large stiff brim that wouldn’t look amiss at a summer garden party.  ‘Well,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t know what to do with this hat. I shouldn’t really be hanging on to it after all these years, but I don’t really want to just throw it out. Do you understand? Does that sound silly?’ ‘Yes, Mum,’ said I. ‘I know what you mean and no, it isn’t silly. Send it to me. I’ll look after it.’ And Mum was very pleased with this offer, saying she was hoping I’d say I’d look after it, and by the end of the week it duly arrived in the post a

Our washing machine has been threatening to die for about six months or so. There’s been a lot of banging and crashing going on, a lot of making its own way across the laundry floor, plus the occasional refusal to spin properly so when I open the door after a cycle, the washing is still wringing wet. I guess the bearings have gone but because I wasn’t proactive in getting a repair done, the damage took its toll and finally, today the machine expired. It was getting on in years, though, and had put in a lot of hard slog. A bit like me.  Part of me isn’t too upset for being lackadaisical in my machine care, because I’ve actually been wanting one with a slightly bigger load capacity. This is mostly because my small ginger friend, Nell, has caused the need for some hefty throws for the sofas which have been a challenge for the old machine to deal with. Thus, I set about the ordering and purchase of a new washing machine, and in doing so, fell down the overwhelming Rabbit Hole of Consumer D

 You know those days when you jump out of bed and in your mind you think, ‘Today, I shall do a, b and c,’ and then the day turns into something involving ‘x, y and z?’ Well, today was one of those days.  My initial thought was that I’d take Nellibobs for a long walk and then get on with some housework, given how jolly cold it was. However, by 9 a.m, Lord Malarkey and I were in the garden in full Winter Tidy Up mode, which involved a very big bonfire which nearly set fire to our oak tree. Gosh, that was exciting! But we got it under control pretty quickly mostly because I didn’t want us to be the idiots whose story is reported  in the local newspaper for lighting a bonfire too close to a tree with the wind blowing in the wrong direction resulting in a visit from the fire brigade, no matter how appealing I find firemen. We got rid of a lot of old bits of wood, and reduced the height of a stretch of hawthorn hedge that was becoming too big for its roots and behaving in an oppressive way i

Minor victory at the supermarket today! Picture the scene… …it’s quiet. Just a few shoppers. I’ve popped in for a handful of basics as we are still being sustained by the stocks I bought before Christmas. As I push my trolley around the store, I cross paths a few times with two women, late thirties/ early forties yummy mummy types, you know, fur-lined gilets, long, swingy hair, duck pout lips, steely glint in their eyes. It soon becomes apparent that they are pushy types, too, who appear not like travelling behind other shoppers as they stride up and down the aisles. I pootle onwards, ticking off my list as I go. No frozen green beans, though. Shop done, I head towards the checkouts. And, I kid you not, (I was in the lead in this particular aisle, not that I was trying, it just happened that way) both yummy mummies quickened their pace and hurtled past me to arrive at the only open checkout before me! Be in no doubt, dear Reader(s), this was a deliberate act of Trolley Aggression. They

  After all the shenanigans in November regarding my dental appointment, finally, I managed to have a check-up today. As happened last time, I was sent three reminders plus medical forms to complete and return online. I thought, I’m not going to fill in any more forms. They can use the ones I returned in November. Plus ça change since then. And if they ask why I failed to return the forms they sent, I’ll just say what forms?/I couldn’t be bothered/ I broke both my arms/ the dog ate my phone AND my iPad/ life is too short for admin/I’ve had a bad dose of Reynaud’s and can’t feel my fingers/ I temporarily lost the ability to read following a freak accident when a frozen owl fell on my head…oh, the excuses were endless and I had them all ready to go.  Needless to say, they didn’t ask. I had my check up, the dentist smoothed off a rough edge of filling, we had a bit of banter about why men tend to mumble when they speak. He said my gums and mouth were healthy, there were no problems he cou

My brother is ‘doing’ both Veganuary and Dry January. Of course, he is ‘doing’ these two challenges in his own inimitable way, which means basically not doing them at all, at least not in the obvious way. Therefore, he says, he is a vegan every day between meal times, and he is ‘dry’ every day until 4 p.m when he has a beer. I think it’s all down to percentages. If a meal takes 20 minutes to consume, that means every day for 23 hours he is a vegan. It’s just the single hour a day when he indulges in bacon, sausages, chicken, beef. It’s how his mind works. Anything with a 90% success rate might as well be 100%. Mad.  Anyway, he messaged me this evening to say he’d just made some bread sauce (to go with his roast chicken) and had used a bay leaf from a packet with a 2005 date stamp on it. I responded that I doubted it would make any difference and he said, well, it didn’t last time. I have pondered sending him some fresh bay leaves from my bay tree. Just in case. Do you remember my bay t

 Nell is a very absorbent puppy dog. Water, mud, peanut butter…if it’s damp and/or sticky her fur will suck it up and be very reluctant to relinquish it. Of course, this means Nell is spending a lot of time following her daily walk in the wet ‘n’ windy weather that is Winter 23/24 being hosed down in the bath so she doesn’t become a walking clump of mud. Mud might be good for pigs and hippos, but not for a dog that has the coat of a fluffy teddy bear. Her pretty much daily rinse in the bath means that the bathroom is also having a daily bath because, quite frankly, bath times with Nell can look and sound like a scene from ‘The Exorcist.’ She loves water, being part spaniel, but generally she loves it mostly on her terms when it is in the form of her water bowl or a puddle or coming from the end of a hosepipe. And she’ll jump into the bath quite happily, but when the task of ‘proper rinsing’ starts, her patience can be as thin as sheet of filo pastry. Unless food is involved, of course.

  I’d quite like the rain to stop now. Enough already. Of course, as soon as it does stop, the local authorities will be ready to issue hosepipe bans come 1st June. Typical, eh? Anyway, I didn’t come here to chat rain. To be honest, I didn’t know what to write about today until I took Nell for a walk and witnessed an event that tugged at my heart strings. We were trotting around a park, as you do. I was thinking about what to cook for dinner, Nell was after squirrels and pigeons. Not for dinner, mind - she’ll have her nutritionally balanced kibble and jolly well like it. But she was on high squirrel alert. Just in case. Anyway, we were following a group of people which consisted of two adult women and two girls, who I guessed were around 9 or 10 years old.  One of the girls ran off the pathway onto the grass, well mud because of all the rain, and she slipped. Not badly, but enough that she put her hands out to break her fall, and, of course, ended up with muddy hands, knees and elbows.