Aaarrrrggggghhhhhh!!!!!

So much to do and so little time!!!

What to do first?  I'd love to spend more time in the garden.  The hens' enclosure needs a little re-think and some fencing re-positioning.  It's been too cold and wet so far, but in my mind I've pictured what I want so just need the weather and time.

I've cracked on with the ironing today.  The iron didn't blow the fuses (it's been doing that a bit recently, quite annoying, and an excuse not to do it, but the pile's too big, even by my dodgy standards...) so I got a good way through.  It's an unwritten rule to myself that I can't/shouldn't do anything in preference until the ironing's under control.  And, as those of you who know me know, I'm not a martyr to housework by any standards.

I do vacuum.  More than some, less than others.  Mainly because the dog hairs get everywhere, and it's embarassing when they're gathering along the hall skirting boards like tumbleweed.  I should probably do it every day.  But I don't.  And it feels like I'm forever going on at the children not to crawl/sit/fight on the floor because it's filthy...  I can't win on this one, although they do say that if children grow up in a dirty environment(!) their immune systems are stronger....  That's good enough for me.

The kitchen floor needs mopping again - I did it on Monday.  That's the problem with having a dog.  As soon as you mop the kitchen floor, and leave it to dry, the dog goes out and/or it rains, usually both....  I know how to fix the drought in the south of England - mop my floor!  It always rains within 12 hours of me doing it.

Roly's  bed needs changing again.  It's old and smelly - a bit like him now, really.  Oh yes, me and dogs.

So I'm not really a dog person - they're too needy for my liking.  So... we thought it would be good to have a dog for Phoebe to grow up with, but I was working part-time, and it wouldn't have been fair, and then, as luck would have it, in 2004, I broke my leg... (and that is another story!!!).  So I was off work for about 14 weeks (bad break), and it seemed the time was right to get a dog, train him up, and help me to recuperate...  And Simon said let's get a dalmation because they're good with children and he'd grown
up with them as his mum used to breed them.

We had also been bungled.  Yes, bungled.  A burglar came into our house, at 2am.  It was a hot summer (2003) and we'd left a downstairs back window open (stupid!!!) to let the air circulate.  This was in Twickenham, and our back garden was fenced off, but he came in nonetheless.  Moved our bin to stand on, and climbed in.  Luckily(!) I'd just settled Phoebe back to sleep and was having trouble drifting off myself, and I heard a noise downstairs...  In my drowsiness my first thought was "oh no, there's a fox in the house"(!).  On a couple of occasions we'd left the back door unlocked and when I went downstairs in the morning I'd found the door ajar.  So I thought there was a fox inside, snooping around.

I didn't go downstairs, however, I thought I'd check out the back bedroom window to see if the door was ajar, and then wake Simon up to help shoo the fox out...  However, when I looked, the door wasn't ajar, the bin was moved, and this fox had a torch which was erratically scanning and flicking over things.  Yikes!  So I woke Simon up, and we decided to switch the hall light on.  This precipitated the bunglar to leave the property by the same manner that he'd entered, and in his haste he didn't actually take anything!  The police were as good as useless, I'm sorry to say, they didn't turn up that night at all, and didn't get around to taking fingerprints for another two days...

Anyway, that clinched it.  A dog would be a useful deterrent, and would at least bark if intruders broke in in the middle of the night.

I had absolutely no idea how big dalmations are.  In my mind I thought they were about knee high.  No.  Well this one's not.  He's a hand high over your knee and 25kgs of mad muscle when we first had him.  He was a rescue - that's another story - and is now around 9 yrs old.  He's cost us a fair bit of money in his time - that's also another story - but, he's an integral part of the family and usually drives me mad.

He's quite needy.  He spies on me - when I'm doing the ironing(!).  He's like a shadow, but he tries to anticipate if I'm going to go out, he's always approaching the kitchen door, in case I want to go out.  How would he know????  But he's there, just in case.  Argh.!  He sheds hair year round, day in day out, as soon as you've finished grooming him, he sheds.  I hardly bother to groom him these days.  It's not going to make any difference.

I'm the one who takes him his walks weekdays and at weekends we try to do it as a family.  However, the children are less pliable, and more whiney, and don't like walking the dog in the rain, so it's a big pallaver, so quite often I'll whizz Roly round the park at the weekend, so it's done with.

The joy of dogwalking, however, is a pleasure I didn't anticipate.  I'll tell you more about that next time.

I've nearly finished reading The Ghost Road, so will get onto that now.  I had a chat with a fellow dog walker this morning, and she told me she'd just finished reading something by Ken Follett - so we had a chat about him, and I'll be putting Pillars of the Earth onto my list of books to read...  sounds epic.

You know, Spring really is here.  Apart from the snowdrops, crocus and daffs just popping their heads out, last week I saw my first....  postman in shorts!  Not long before the clocks change.

On that note I'll bid you good night and good reading.  Keep it sweet!  Kat

I'm not really...

… a dog person.

It’s not in my genes.

When I was growing up the dogs in my life were the farm dogs on my Grandfather’s farm.  They were working animals, and lived outside year round.  They weren’t allowed in the house.  The one I remember was Patch.  He was barking.   Mad.  Literally.  Whenever a car arrived or departed from the farm he would chase the vehicle, barking savagely at the wheels.  How he didn’t get run over I’ll never know.

At home we had a cat.  Bimbo.  So no dog in the house.  At one point we also had gerbils.  We had two gerbils to start with, both girls, but they quickly multiplied….!  I remember my mother wondering why they were playing with chunks of beetroot - they’d not been given any - before realising they’d had babies.

When my family moved to Hong Kong in 1980  I lived with my best friend’s family for 9 months or so, in order to complete my ‘O’-levels.  They had traditionally kept Lancashire Heelers - short legged dogs, black and tan, a little like a Daschund, but more personality.  Around the time I lodged they got a Heinz 57 type dog called Maisie.   Not being used to living with dogs in the house, Maisie would drive me crazy, and I would be constantly opening the back door for her to go out into the garden.  Eventually either I trained her or she trained the family, but when I left, to go to Hong Kong, Maisie would woof to be let out to do her business….

The next dog I met was Bertha.  My then boyfriend, now husband’s, mother Verity, had a rescued Rottweiler bitch.  She (Bertha, not Verity) had evidently been mistreated in the past, and didn’t really like men, but other than that she was a good ambassador for her kind.  They followed up Bertha with Kruger, and he also demonstrated that it’s not the breed that deserves the ‘bad’ name, but the owners….

So, how come I ‘have’ a Dalmation called Roly?  I'll tell you next time!  In the meantime here's a photo of the hens, so you know what they look like...

They're not used to posing for their photograph!

Gotta dash, lots to do, thanks for reading!  Kat

The one about the hens...

"Sweet dreams are made of this", according to The Eurythmics.

Bear with me, I've got a dream to relate.  If you can analyse this you're doing better than I am!

I had this dream about a year ago.  It's memorable because both of our children remind me, "Remember when you had that funny dream Mummy?  The one about the hens."

Ah yes, the one about the hens.  Well.  First of all you need to know about the slide.

There's a photograph somewhere of me and my younger sister aged about 5yrs and 3yrs at Christmas. Probably around 1970/71 I'd say.  We're in the front room of our first house and we're standing on the steps of the slide(!) which Father Christmas had delivered the night before - in our front room!!!!  I know it's Christmas as we're wearing our new matching red dressing gowns with ladybird buttons.  I used to love that dressing gown!  And we're posing holding our Christmas sacks.  More about the slide.  It's got a metal frame (probably about 5ft tall) and the slide bit is probably plywood.  It was painted blue and red I think, and it was in our front room!  I still smile when I think about it.

I don't actually remember that Christmas but for the photo.  What a great reminder, thanks to my Dad (thanks Dad!), he was always an 'early adoptor', a bit of a gadget freak.  He'd put on slide shows, and later in my childhood he got into cine film in a big way.  When the family moved to Hong Kong in 1980 he got a video camera, and he's still doing it.  Latest digital camera, he's got a Kindle and an iPad2 as well...  but I digress.

So, the slide was put into the back garden for us to play on, and we had a swing and a large cabin for a playhouse as well.   It must have featured largely in my childhood as there are more photos I can remember.  (I remember the photos more than the actual memory...what's that all about??)  Blankets on the ground below the slide, and various birthday parties going on - posing on the slide in our swimsuits with ice lollies (was it really always summer then, and were the summers really hot?). And I think there's cine film of us, bigger now, with dreadful 1970s haircuts, polo necks and wide-bottomed trousers (must be Spring or Autumn then), running down instead of sliding down the slide...

So, to the dream.

I'm back in back garden of my childhood home, and the slide is there.  As are my hens. (you met them in the previous blog).  My hens are hopping up the steps of the slide, sliding down the slide and then as they gain speed they're propelled on an upwards trajectory towards a large black curtain - like a cinema or theatre curtain, heavy velvety and quite dramatic.  My hens bounce into the curtain and rebound over the slide to land onto Roly's (our dalmation) back.

End of dream.

No.  I don't understand it either.  There was NEVER, as I remember, a theatre curtain in the garden.  But it's made an impression on our children as they both remember it quite clearly.  I sometimes wonder if they think they've dreamt it themselves...  who knows?  Well now you do.  So make of that what you will.

On the subject of not sleeping (but dreaming), I noted this report (on BBC news website) on sleep today.  Thought it made interesting reading, particularly with my insomnia tendencies at the moment...  hope the link works.  Myth of 8 hour sleep

I've started reading the final part of the Pat Barker 'Regeneration' Trilogy - The Ghost Road.  Only one chapter in, so will report back when I've finished it.

On the Letcombe circular route we take - May 2011 - just to remind us of what the spring looks like round here - something to look forward to!

Thanks for reading.  Keep it sweet (dreams?).  :)  Kat

Animal husbandry

Frozen water for the hens again this morning.

They were up and about and wanting letting out already. Well it's Sunday, so we have a relative lie-in (up before 8am), but they don't know that.  So I'd taken a rinsed out 2ltr milk container of water along, and as my hands were cold as I sloshed the frozen water out, some drips splashed  through my crocs onto my toes, nICE!...

The normal routine is to open the gate and walk to the hen-house, but at the moment they're in restricted quarters as a good portion of their patch is mud. So I have to scissor-step over the fence - which is OK so long as I'm not wearing a skirt...  Luckily there's only one set of neighbours who I might offend this way, so not too much risk involved...

I currently have three hens. Two of them are speckledy grey (marrons, one gets quite broody which is a pain), both 2.5 yrs old, and the other is a red hybrid and is 3.5 yrs old.  I'm watching her at the moment as she's quite light from the winter and probably won't last the summer.  When I get down to two hens I'll invest in two more. Four is actually too many for our needs, but the sellers won't let you take one hen alone to introduce to your flock - it's not called hen pecking for nothing.   So that's the way it goes.

I despatch them myself when the time comes.  Did you realise you were reading the blog of an experienced hen-killer?  When I say experienced I've only had to help three on their way.  The hens aren't pets.  They're livestock.  Let's get that straight.  We don't pet them, and they live outside.  They do have names, Tweedledum, Tweedledee and Atilla.  I love that joke.  Atilla the Hen - she's the bossy red one.

Because they're livestock I feel responsible that when the time comes (usually from problems with their back end) that I'm the one to take the action.  It's not easy.  I don't cry, but even though I know it's the right thing to do, when the time comes I will prevaricate as much as I can before the necessary has to be done.

I can't wring a chicken's neck.  I've tried.  I've not got the technique and definitely not got the patience, nor enough livestock, to practice...  All that happens is they untwist their exceedingly long and stretchy neck, and look at me over their shoulder with a quizzical expression (if that's how a hen can look) as if to say "what on e-e-a-a-r-r-t-t-h-h do you think you're doing???".   No anger, just puzzlement.  Not good.

My technique involves a broom handle over the back of the neck, feet (mine) wedged either side and a sharp tug on the feet (of the hen)....  although I've heard that in Romania they spin the chicken around a few times to make it dizzy and then put its head on a block and wallop.  I've also spoken to someone who knows the hen needs to be despatched, but being unable to do it themselves (for whatever reason) takes it to a remote field where certain birds of prey are known to hunt, and leaves nature to its way.  

I prefer to think that my way is more personal and therefore more honourable.

Not eating meat ourselves I dispose of the body in the refuse/garbage - I did check with the man at the tip once, when disposing of the three chicken carcasses the fox had left behind that time, and was assured it was OK.  If we ate meat I'd rear the appropriate breeds, but layers, once their time comes, usually have something wrong with them, and I'm not sure they'd be fit for consumption...

They do lay excellent eggs.  Although they go off lay in winter/particular cold snaps/annual moult.  I couldn't believe when I last bought some eggs from the supermarket that the size was so small and cost so high.

There's a certain joy in freshly laid eggs, an actual warmth, the weight of it in your hand, smooth and curved to fit exactly right, the variation of the shell colour.....  You can tell if your birds are 'off' by the shell condition, and then you keep a beedy eye to which hen isn't happy in itself, catch it, inspect it, and, if necessary isolate and give tlc to patch it up and then reintroduce to its friends.

There's pleasure in watching your birds.  Getting to know their personalities, how they interact with each other, the sounds they make, all fascinating.  I'm happiest sitting at the end of the garden, having done the vegetable patch, with a cup of tea, just me and the girls for a 10 minute break.  Bird-watching.  Brilliant.

Walking Roly last week - cold wind...

Time for bed y'all.  G'night John-boy, g'night Gram'ma... ah me, bring back The Waltons!
Keep it sweet x x   Kat  :)

On libraries...

I worked a full week at the Library last week.  First time in ages.....

When I was working with Simon I had some flexibility on my hours.  That was my 'terms'.  If working for the boss, being that I'm married to him, then you have some say in what your t&c's are if you work for them.  So, my flexi-hours meant I could arrive any time between 10am-10.30am, and then needed to leave by 2.30pm latest.  Initially I worked 3 'days' a week, but eventually worked 4 days (2 in the office and 2 from home) and because I could connect from home I usually caught up in the evening and sometimes weekends as well.  And the first summer/school holidays, I didn't work, and regretted being so behind when I went back.  So the second summer I did work through the holidays, quite flexible, sometimes taking the children in to the office for a couple of hours or so...  and then it all ended. (Business bought out, new owners cherry picked essential head-count, and boss's 'part-time' wife not essential!).  Hence from October last year I was redundant.  Hence I've not worked a full-week for ages....  and it was lovely!

There's more goes on in the Library that you'd imagine.  Obviously there's the issuing of books, DVDs and audio books; the 'discharge' of the returns; reservations, queries, computer assistance - you can come into the library and use the computers there free of charge for 1 hour a day.  But there's also stock rotation - from the central pool, and also monthly we send books that we've had for 1 year onto the next library on our list, and we receive books from our donor library.  There's shelf editing - looking at each book's label to see if ready to be moved on - and in this process you may stumble upon books that might not actually belong to your library, which have somehow found their way onto your shelves and need to be returned to their parent library.

There's community notices to display, competitions to encourage children, school visits, local councillor's drop in with the public sessions, all the health and safety, data protection and other stuff to be observed, and the Friends group who organise events to support the library, keep it's profile up and lobby to keep it open.

There's a good friendly community feel - that's the buzz, the local people using the library know there's a friendly welcome and a place to swop news and keep up to date with what's going on.  I learned, for example that the cobbler's/key cutting/trophy shop in Wantage (opposite the Post Office Vaults, off the beaten path, but the place to go...) has now closed.  There is another one in a better position, opened last year, lovely shop front, good footfall between the market square and the Sainsbury's car parks..  You'd think the new one's forced the old one to close, but no, the lady reporting the closure and disappointed to report it, was interested to hear from the man (browsing fiction) that the new one is actually owned by the old one.  So maybe it was all planned that way...

So, I worked a full week - like this.  Monday, 2pm-7pm.  Tuesday 10am-12noon, 2pm-5pm.  Wednesday (closed).  Thursday 2pm-5pm. Friday 2pm-5pm.  Saturday 9.30am -12.30pm.   19 hours in total - perfect!  That must be why I was very reluctant to get up this morning.. Still, half-term this week, and I'm only working Tuesday and Friday, so quite quiet.  

The good thing about working in the library is .... the books!  It's bad enough at home. I've got 6, maybe 7 books at my bedside. It's not all bedtime reading.  I can really only read one book at once, but I like to look at the books by my bedside and anticipate the pleasure I'll get when I'm reading them.  So, being in a library feels to me like an alcoholic in a brewery, or a junkie in a chemist, or a kiddie in a sweetshop.  I've got my eye on a few, you know what I mean.

But I'm a slow reader.  In that I savour the page, and sometimes re-read just to enjoy the author's skill, the delight in the language chosen to evoke whatever the storyline is at that point, or just to enjoy the joke again, or if it's a difficult passage then to get the sense better, to understand and absorb the plot, the characterization and the description....

So even a slim book, say 200 pages, will sometimes take me a month to read.   Which is why I usually purchase the paperback (normally in charity shops), rather than borrow from the library, as the 3 weeks isn't enough.  I know I can renew, and now I'm working there it's going to be so easy.

So, I finished the second part of the Regeneration trilogy (by Pat Barker) - The Eye in the Door, and I've reserved the final instalment - The Ghost Road.  Strong stuff, visceral, and informative, about the balance the psychiatrist has to find between the WWI soldier's mental health after shell-shock, and the need to pass them fit and return them to the front.  This second one a bit political as well, with references to actual scandal at the time, which was a bit convoluting but served it's purpose.  Looking forward to receiving the final part.

That's it for now.  Tired, and I want to read my book...  Keep it sweet.  Kat  :)

Radio radio

We switch from two radio stations mostly - BBC Radio 2 and BBC Radio 4.  We've dabbled with BBC 6 Music (digital), and in the car we add Jack FM and occasionally BBC Radio Oxford.

I much prefer the BBC.  No commercials.  Less interruption.  News on the hour, travel updates on R2 and you feel 'secure' in the mostly impartiality of the news reporting.

The joy of radio is that you can do things whilst listening to it.  TV or rather 'screen-time' is, in the main, less cerebal, and at the same time more demanding of your attention.  I find it (TV/screen-time) quite anti-social and isolating really, unless we've managed to get a family DVD that we can all watch together.

Our radio day goes like this.

6.45am radio alarm wakes us up - usually R2, but occasionally it's been left on R4 so we get Evan Davis interviewing some politician - not a good way to start the day.

6.48am kitchen radio turned on whilst making cups of tea!.  Radio 2, week days, Chris Evans' breakfast show.  Lightweight, energetic upbeat, pop, travel, news and weather, plus chat and some interviews.  Kids nagged through getting ready and having breakfast then dash out to the car at 8am (8.10am realistically, sometimes 8.20am cutting it fine....) and more Radio 2 on the journey to school.

Drop the children off, take Roly for walk, back in the car 9.20am or so, and by now depending on the day I'm ready for Radio 4, so switch stations in the car and drive home.  Home and cup of tea, changing station from Radio 2 to Radio 4 for whatever my day brings.  Working part-time at the Library means I do get to catch quite a bit of good stuff on the radio.  Radio 4's Womens' Hour at 10am-11am is a staple if I'm at home.

Depending on my working pattern if I'm collecting the children from school at 3.45 pm it'll be Radio 4 on the way there, then back to Radio 2 for return home.  However, I really can't stand Steve Wright in the Afternoon (Radio 2, 2-5pm) so this is where we try Jack FM or Radio Oxford or sometimes CD's.  Current favourites are Caro Emerald, Paolo Nuttini and for a bit of variety, Jake Thackeray.

Back in the kitchen preparing supper it's usually Radio 2 again, but usually around 6.30pm I tune back to Radio 4 for the comedy slot and then the Archers.  After the Archers has finished it's Tom's bedtime, so I don't pick up again until 8.30pm or so when I'm tidying the kitchen, and getting things ready for the next day.  Usually Radio 4 but sometimes Radio 2.  Depends on the day.

On retiring to bed around 9.30-10pm the radio is usually switched off (unless in the middle of something exceptional) because I like to read in bed and I absolutely can't read and listen to radio at the same time!

My favourite occupation to do at the same time as radio listening is ironing, closely followed by cooking.  Radio 4 has some just perfect radio plays in the afternoons which is the ideal time to bash out the ironing before setting off for school pick up.

There is usually a radio on somewhere in the house.  I don't like the house to be quiet while I'm in it, I prefer the company of the radio.

So that's my thoughts on the joys of radio.  Long may it reign.

Roly stretching his legs at the Devils' Punchbowl, off the Ridgeway, last weekend...

Tom's bedtime - stories to be read!  It's snowing at the moment, has been since around 4pm ish, so we'll see what tomorrow brings.  The wood-burning stove is lit and it's got a good burn going, the heat is comforting, the curtains drawn, and the radio is on....

Sweet dreams y'all.  Keep it sweet!  Kat.