My weather report

It finally rained yesterday.  Woo-hoo! We'd been in the throes of a proper summer heatwave. Which in this part of the country meant over 3 weeks of hot hot sun and no rain.

By hot hot sun think over 25'C and some days peaking at 29'C, (and in my car the temperature reading was 32.5'C and as  it's a basic model it has no air-conditioning other than to wind down the windows), no wind, dry but sometimes humid, and staying warm at night, circa 20'C.

Now.  I know that sunshine is nice and it makes most people happier,  but... it's hard not to sound like you're complaining when I say 'it's too hot'.  I should add the epithet 'for me' to that statement.

I was going to say that in this type of weather I'm a typical English rose and wilt.  I'm good for nothing much and have to avoid the burning rays as much as I possibly can by staying indoors with all the curtains drawn.

Actually, on closer observation of my garden, I noticed that my roses hadn't really wilted in the heat, but my tomatoes had... so what does that make me?  LOL! as my daughter would say, although probably she wouldn't say, because she's rather say 'Mummy, you can't say LOL'.  Ah, me.

Dog walking needed to be done early before the sun got too high, and Roly actually submitted to a hosedown to help him cool down, so it must have been hot.

But that's all behind us now.  The forecast for the next week or so is for rain, with maximum temperatures of around 20-22'C. Much more acceptable.

So, here's a thought.  Where do bees shelter from the rain if they're caught out?  I'd been photographing the bee activity on the echinops flower heads in my garden ... and when I went to lock up the hens during a lull in the rain they were hiding on the underside of the globular form of the echinops, very clever those bees.

Didn't have my camera in the rain, but thought you might like this one before the 'storm'...

more later
Kat :)

We are all connected...

Since working in the Library I've taken to wearing my jewellery to finish off my outfit. Presenting a public face needs that little more finessing I feel.  I've amassed a collection of necklaces which have been mainly bought in charity shops (no surprises there then), and I choose them as suits my mood and my outfit.

This morning I chose a necklace I'd been given as a gift many years ago by Loutfy Boulos.  And of course it reminded me of him, and because I've been thinking about him all day I thought I'd collect my thoughts here.

When I worked at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, there was a constant stream of visiting botanists studying the collections of plant specimens which were held, where I worked, in the Herbarium.  Each year in the summer we'd be visited by Dr Loutfy Boulos, a retired botanist from Egypt.

As with many of the botanists, retirement was simply a box ticked, it was in fact irrelevant to their life's work, their passion, their study of whatever speciality it was they were interested in.  This was the case with Loutfy, and over the years I came to know him a little.  He was a tall, large, gentle man, with a shuffling gait as he walked the corridors of the Herbarium, always smiling, stopping here and there to chat, happy to be involved and to be visiting his beloved Kew.  He said coming to the UK in the summer was an escape because Egypt was so hot at that time of the year.  He also seemed to enjoy escaping his family, but perhaps that was just an excuse, an excuse to be totally immersed in what he loved - plants.

And because he was so genial, and I knew he stayed in a bedsit during his visits to the UK, and because it was our tradition to hold a BBQ each summer, we invited him to come along, and he accepted.  We'd recently moved house and had acquired a large overgrown garden in the move.  I have a lovely photograph of Loutfy, shoulder high in the bramble, garden shears in hand with a beaming smile on his face.  A botanist in the jungle.  A man in his element.  He was happy.

The following year we invited him to the BBQ again, and enjoyed his company and conversation, and he gave me a gift, a small silver pill-box with hieroglyphics enscribed, something to remember him by he said. The following year he attended again, and this time gave me the necklace.  It's a 10p sized polished brown stone, set in silver, with a shortish chain.  Probably not something I'd have chosen myself, but when I wear it it sits well, it works and I'm reminded of him again.

Not every man would have gone to the trouble of bringing a gift from their homeland, and that's what was so impressive, that care and attention, that effort to think and then to execute the act, that you knew this was a good man.  It was my honour and my pleasure to have known him. He enriched my life....  I have no idea what happened to him.  It's eight years since I left Kew, and I rarely have contact there anymore.

So when I put on my necklace this morning I thought of Loutfy and I thought of the troubles besetting Egypt at the moment, and although I'm not religious, I believe my thoughts were some kind of prayer. For Loutfy. For Egypt. For Everyone. Because we are all connected, and that should be all that matters and that should be enough.

Kat.

Summer holidays

There's so much to do, and I'll not have time to blog for the next week or so, so I thought I'd gather my thoughts before the onslaught of busy-ness.

Both of our children have now finished school for the summer holidays.  We're about 10 days earlier than the local (state) schools, and as the childcare/holiday clubs won't start until the main summer holidays we're off to France.

Those of you who've read my blogs before (see Cardiff) will know what feelings I'm going through at this stage of the proceedings.  My mind is going 10 to the dozen, I'm writing a list, planning what to pack, how many books will Phoebe need, has Tom got batteries for his portable CD player so he can listen to his audio books on the journey, don't forget the swimming things, sun-cream, passports, tickets, overnight stuff for the ferry, and apart from preparing the things we need to take I've also to consider how the house is left, as my parents, thankfully, are coming to house-sit/dog-sit/hen-sit/vegetable-water.  It'll be fine as soon as we're at the ferry-port tomorrow night...

In the meantime I've a staff meeting at the Library, work this afternoon and tomorrow morning, my parents arriving today so bedding need to be changed, and new beds made up, Tom to entertain/keep busy, dog to walk, washing to put on/out/take in, ironing/vacuuming/clean the bathroom (if I get the chance).  Phoebe's been visiting with my parents this week, so there's less friction (between the children) than usual, and therefore less pressure, obviously.

The heat-wave which the country is enjoying at the moment is a lovely welcome bit of summer and sunshine (which this country doesn't usually get), and as it was entirely absent last year people are making the most of it, which is good to see.  Will it be gone by the school summer holidays?

Working in this weather has its drawbacks, and for me the dilemma is where to park at work.  This is governed as much by where are the available spaces as it is by choice, and the choice is this:  in the shade near the trees or in the open, away from the trees?

Why does parking near to the trees result in cars being covered in that sticky stuff?  How does it get there from the tree?  Is it damaging?  What's the optimal distance from the tree/shade area to benefit from keeping the car cool and avoid the stickiness?  Does leaving your windows open a bit help?

I shouldn't complain, but my little car doesn't have air-conditioning, and I've been baking hot in it this last week..

Meantime, here's a photo from last weekend, when we visited my parents to celebrate my Mum's 70th birthday.  A large family gathering/BBQ/party was held and it was lovely to see everyone together for that. My husband usually runs on Sunday morning, and last weekend he decided to run up Pendle Hill - the local landmark.  Apparently his run included a 350m climb in the 6.7 miles he clocked on his running watch.  Here's the view:

from Pendle looking towards Longridge (according to my father, so called because Oliver Cromwell said: 'that's a long ridge'...)

Have a good week, TTFN,
Kat  :)

Unwanted calls....

I am of the generation that still uses their land-line phone.  I am ambivalent about my mobile phone although it's an understood necessity in this day and age.  I accept that I should have one, but I'm not interested in what model, and to be honest I'm not entirely sure what an 'app' is, does, or why I would want one....

I get along quite nicely with my old-style mobile handset.  I switch it on when I need to, and am surprised when it rings or a text message arrives.  Actually, if I hear it it's doing well. I usually keep it in the pocket of my handbag, which muffles the sound, and as I have partial hearing in my right ear it's entirely a fluke if I answer the call.

Just recently I've had a series of missed calls on my mobile from a number I didn't recognise, and when I called the number back it was line busy tone...  I assumed it was a random number generation thingy trying to get me to claim back my entitlement on mis-sold insurance from way back when.

It wasn't.  As it turned out, when I eventually answered the phone, and recognised the unknown number, a girl's voice asked me if she was speaking to Kat.  This question usually elicits two responses from me:

1.  If you have to ask me who I am, then you don't have the right to call me by my first name - please use my title 'Mrs';
2.  Who wants to know?

'Who's calling?' I asked.  'I'm calling from Vodaphone' she said, 'with some special offers for you.'.  I said that I was at work, and she jumped in with a bright 'It'll only take a few minutes'.   No it won't, I thought to myself.  'I'm at work, you can call me back later, goodbye'  I replied.

The next day my mobile rang just as I was leaving the library for lunch.  The young man this time was more circumspect than his colleague the previous day, asking if now was a good time to speak... (I did wonder if they'd marked my account notes with something to indicate to treat me carefully/cautiously...).  I decided to cut him a break, and said yes, now was fine.

He launched into a gushing thank you for being a loyal Vodaphone customer, and asked if I was happy with the service I received.  I said  yes.  He said to reward me for my loyalty they had some special offers they'd like to discuss with me.  I said to go ahead.

Firstly, he said, he'd need to know what phone I was using...  I took the phone away from my ear, peered at it (didn't have my reading glasses on) and advised him it was a Nokia.

Him:  It is a smart phone?
Me:  No it's quite old.
Him:  Does it have a touch screen?
Me:  No.
Him:  Is it a contract or pay as you go?
Me:  Pay as you go.
Him:  Do you make more calls or send more texts?
Me:  Well, I usually text my daughter if she's forgotten something for school, and I don't like talking on the phone too much in case the x-rays cook my brain, so I don't really know.  Text probably.
Him: Would you say you were a high or low user?
Me:  Low.
Him:  How much do you spend a month?
Me: I've no idea. You tell me.
Him:  OK, I'll just look at your account.  Right, you last topped up with £10 four weeks ago, and you've still got £7.53 credit.  So you're a low user.
Me:  Looks like it.
Him:  Well, I don't really think there's anything more we can do for you at the moment.
Me:  Nope.
Him:  Thank you very much, have a good day.
Me:  Thank you, I will.

I enjoyed our little chat, but mostly I don't think there's anything that anyone can do for me...  in terms of special offers.  And I didn't lay it on as thick as I could have.  When he asked me if it was a 'smart phone' I was desperate to say 'No, it's quite scratched actually', but I held it together.  Ah me, the fun you can have.  :)

And on that note I'll ring off.
TTFN. Kat

If only

the funny money we used at the local school PTA's dinner and casino(!) was real.

A good entertaining evening and I'd bought FM2500 to help the fund-raising. The deal was that there would be prizes for the most funny money (FM) 'won', but as there wasn't a gambling licence they could only award prizes.  So it turned out that after a dalliance with the dice, it was the BlackJack table that lured me in.

I was losing quite well before the meal, and then, all of a sudden, it was 10.15pm and the announcement came over the PA that the 'casino' closed at 10.30pm.  By this time it was all I could do to find a spot at the table!

I changed my FMs for chips(!) and got BlackJack on my first hand.  Grin.  Simon popped by and said I'd better use up his FMs as well, so I changed that and 6 hands later had amassed FM4420 which went on the last hand...  Would you have done that in real life?  Deep joy, the last hand dealt was Jack of Spades, then Ace of Hearts...  BlackJack again!!!  Winnings = FM11050.  Nice.  The excitement was genuine, and the fun immense.

If only it had been real....  dreams.....  Anyhoo.  The winning lady who had amassed most FMs (54000) got box chocs and bottle bubbly, and the winning gent (same prize) had only achieved FM10300.  What does this tell us about the sexes I wonder???

So I took a photo of my winning hand, chips down before the cash-in, and obviously the camera shake was entirely due to my palpitations!

You could call me Krazy Kat from now on if you wanted to! :)  night night y'all.