Not Desert Island Discs

I take it you're familiar with the concept?  The radio show, where the interviewer and interviewee chat for 45 minutes or so, interspersing the conversation with 8 records the interviewee has chosen to 'take' with them if they were cast away on a desert island.  The radio programme started in 1942, as part of the BBC Light Programme, to keep up the morale of the country during the war.... and it has endured to this day, with slight tinkering to the format, and only several changes of interviewer.  Only 40 people are chosen each year, so it could be seen as a higher honour than receiving something from the Queen on her birthday, or at the New Year.

How do I know this?  Because I'm listening to the audio book 'Desert Island Discs, 70 Years of Castaways'.

image from Amazon.com

I've taken to listening to audio books recently for two reasons.  Firstly, I seem to have (temporarily) lost my reading mojo - in-as-much-as I've started several books, but not made progress, and certainly haven't finished them.  There's still a big pile of books I want to read, but I can't settle down with any of them.  For some reason.  All I seem to manage at the moment are non-fiction medical confessionals. Nothing against them per se, but I'll be running out of Doctors/Medics etc soon.

Secondly, the radio is poor company on the drive to work.  The news is all depressing, war, politics, scandal, tragedy, and there's only so much radio DJs I can take....  So, deep joy, I've discovered audio-books, or books on CD.  I don't have an MP3 player, or I suppose I could download e-Audio and plug into the adaptor in my car.  Perhaps that's something for the future.

I've just devoured Jim Butcher's Blood Rites - the 6th in the Dresden Files series - about Harry Dresden, Chicago's only wizard private investigator.  I've been shelving these books, and read the blurb, and thought 'hmm, sounds intriguing'.  But they're quite thick books, and with my lost mojo at the moment I've not dared borrow one - when I do read I tend to read quite slowly, so doubt my ability to finish it in the alloted 3 weeks.  I'd be useless in a book club/reading group for the same reason.

image from Amazon.com

I didn't mean to start The Dresden Files in the middle of the series, but that was the only audio book in the whole of the county, so that's where it started for me.  I've since been to Amazon to order the first of the series.... and we'll see where I go from there.

I'd picked up a couple of audio books in the Oxfam Charity Shop in Witney - they've a good music/disc section at the back, and I thought I'd give it a try.  I started with Gervase Phinn - Head over Heels in the Dales - there's a whole series of them, memoirs of a school inspector, quite drole.

image from Amazon.com

and then went onto

image from Amazon.com

which was a very enjoyable story:

London, 1806 - William Thornhill, happily wedded to his childhood sweetheart Sal, is a waterman on the River Thames. Life is tough but bearable until William makes a mistake, a bad mistake for which he and his family are made to pay dearly. His sentence: to be transported to New South Wales for the term of his natural life. Soon Thornhill, a man no better or worse than most, has to make the most difficult decision of his life . . . The Secret River is a universal and timeless story of love, identity and belonging

Being a Radio 4 listener for the last 30 years, I've often had my own go at compiling my list of 8 discs to take to my desert island...  and the choices can change as the mood takes me.  Today's list comprises:

Heroes - David Bowie
Piece of my Heart - Janis Joplin
Bigmouth Strikes Again - The Smiths
How I wrote 'Elastic Man' - The Fall
One Day Like This - Elbow
Ring of Fire - Johnny Cash
Chuck E's in Love - Rickie Lee Jones
She's a Star - James

But don't quote me on that.

Keepin' it real, don't 'cha know?

Kat :)

Too much too soon?

I think I've injured my right foot.  There's been a dull ache on the top for, maybe, a week.  I've rubbed/massaged it a few times, and tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away.... and it hasn't.  This morning it's become more nagging, appears slightly swollen in comparison to the left foot, and is painful when walking.  On a scale of pain of 1-5 where 1 is slight discomfort and 5 is excruciating pain, I'd give it 2.5 when walking.  When standing it's 2, and when resting, elevated, now, as I type, I'd say it's a 1.  It's a good job I don't work on Thursdays.

I suspect that the running I've been doing recently has something to do with it, which, obviously poses a dilemma.  What to do about it?  Ignoring it hasn't worked (doh!), so what to try next?  It doesn't feel serious enough to go to the GPs surgery/minor injuries unit, and it'll cost for an appointment with a physio/chiropractor whomever, and by the time of the appointment it may have sorted itself out (or not).  I'll just have to play the waiting card for the time-being - rest and wait-and-see.

The problem is that I'm not very good at 'resting'.  There's so much to do - both in the sense of chores that need doing, and other more interesting/fun/life affirming things as well.  So, working a part-time contract in the Library Service means I usually have Mondays and Thursdays to myself - unless I've picked up some extra hours overtime.  This gives me time to get/keep on top of the household chores - the floors, the ironing, the cleaning - and if I'm on an even keel inside (the house/my mind), then I can (in my 'world', in my sense of order and right, in my slight obsessive compulsive compunction) allow myself to do the gardening.

Some people may see gardening as a chore, but to me it's a pleasure.  There is the sense, the small victory, of putting nature in order, but that doesn't last long in June, and it's more than that.  I enjoy the physical aspect, the digging, the turning earth over in fork or fingers, the meditation of mowing the lawn, the challenge of the hedge and satisfaction of a hedge well tamed (for the time-being).  The anticipation of the opening bud, the scents, the contrast and ever changing colour of the seasons, or just the life-span of the yellow roses which tint peach as they open fully, smell heavenly, and have shocking thread veins of scarlet as they go over and fall.

There is always something to catch the eye, something new and arresting in the juxtaposition of the different plant forms.  I love the spiky leaves and flower heads of the eryngium and echinops, the filling of the spaces with a myriad shades of green and shadows, and the flash of colour, planned or unplanned to please the eye and steal your heart a little.  I have to admire the sneaking up of the unwanted weeds, the dandelions, bindweed, nettles, couch grass and sticky weed, vibrant and vigorous, nestling in the spaces, and cheekily growing, I know I can't win.

flowered in 1 day from fat bud - smells divine, has gone to fully blown day 2, and 5 more buds coming 

So today, instead of ploughing on in the garden (metaphorically speaking), I'll take it easy inside instead.  A little light ironing, a quick vacuum, maybe sort out a couple of drawers in the kitchen (late spring clean?), and, I feel like making cauliflower cheese.  That's taking it easy... in my world ... and I'll put off the next run for a couple of days, assuming my foot feels better.

It's a jungle out there....

well, OK, not strictly speaking a jungle.  Mid-June and everything's growing like mad.  The garden and weeds alike are thriving, and it's a challenge to keep on top of it all... and so, I don't.  I do what I can, when I can, time and weather allowing.

We moved this rose bush 5 yrs ago and it's thriving, usually flowers twice - nice!

I've tidied the background border of the rampant nettles, buttercups and goose-grass sticky willie or whatever you call it - that stuff that spreads and is sticky with little balls which I assume are the seed packages...  I can't get into it other than with a rake, so it was a bit slap-dash, but now there's room for the rest to fill in and hopefully splash some colour about.

The grass needs mowing every week, it's having space to put the mown grass that's the issue.  My two compost bins are full, and I also have a 'green' bin which the binmen take fortnightly.  But that's not usually enough, and sometimes there's a trip to the tip, or, if I feeling lazy, then I may tip it on the derelict plot next door to us.... which is, of course, another thing.

The house was demolished back in March....

.... and has subsequently been levelled.  The space between our house and our previous next-door-but-one neighbours', and our now next-door-but-space neighbours, has been levelled, and exactly nothing has happened since.

Now, you'll be surprised to learn that I don't know much about property developers(!), but, I would have thought that having demolished the house would have signified the impending start to the project of building the 18 or so houses on the field behind us.  Apparently not.  According to our now next-door-but-space neighbours, they've spoken to the developers, who have a lot of other projects going on in Swindon (home of the Magic Roundabout!), and they've not enough people available to start here before December at the soonest.  The concern now is that the developers will watch the market, and possibly sell the plot to other developers - at a loss or profit?  who can say?  Well, it doesn't make much sense to me, but like I said, what do I know about it?

In the interim, and unsurprisingly, in it's wild and untended state, it's a jungle out there - the grass is overgrown with the usual suspects of nettles, bramble, sticky willie, and the rest.  My hollyhocks which I seeded over our end boundary in the pre-jungle growth (guerrilla gardening!) are doing their best and are taller than me already, so I strimmed round them to give them spreading space.  'Every little helps' as the saying goes.

And it's a jungle on the footpath to Letcombe - which is normal for this time of the year, but is becoming an assault course if cycling with the dog and Tom, or on my 'get fit before fifty' run out either by myself, or with the 'JogWantage' group I joined in May.  Ha ha! You didn't expect that one did you?  I've done the jogging thing on and off over the years, but have usually fallen at the child-minding hurdle. This year I've managed full attendance on Wednesdays mainly because Tom's older and if he doesn't come with me to the field to play on his bike, then I'm less stressy about leaving him at home (with older sister, on strict instructions not to fight!) for 45mins or so.

So, the footpath is disappearing either side, with the heavy headed cow parsley intermingled with bramble, nettles, dock, grasses and buttercups, ivy, bindweed, scabious, oilseed rape which has self-seeded and is doing very well thank you, poppies, red and purple, and the occasional overhanging branch, one of which has fallen onto the high hedge on the opposite side, bridging the path and making you duck your  head when cycling.  If it falls any further they'll have to get a chainsaw and remove it, it's a real hazard.

The running's better than I remember, and I'm feeling fairly good about it.  I'm not going to break any records, but all I want to do is get fitter and stay committed to it.  So, yesterday in a fit of madness, I ran the 5K 'parkrun' in Abingdon.  Well, when I say ran, steady plod would be more like it...  I came in 209th and although I was a 'ghost runner' as I'd not pre-registered, we think my time was around 36.5 minutes.  More importantly, I enjoyed it, and am looking forward to doing it again.  I've now registered so next time I can get an official time.  Parkruns are a global organisation/movement, and are free to enter and are usually on Saturday morning at 9am from what I understand - here's a link if you're interested....  http://www.parkrun.org.uk/

me in action - don't know why I was doing 'jazz hands'...

Umm, don't look too closely at the photo - unfit mum of 48, nearly 49 - needing to lose some pounds, better than some, but definitely room for improvement!  Hence my 'fit for fifty' mantra, slowly, slowly catchee monkey as they say.  Slowly slowly, fit for fifty, as I say.

Keeping it real!  Kat.  :)

To be Frank

There's a new movie recently released called 'Frank', which is loosely based on the character 'Frank Sidebottom', a comic persona of the late Chris Sievey.  Who????  I hear you ask, on all the above. Here's a link to the BBC report which sums it up quite nicely....

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-26820227

I can't remember the first time I saw a Frank Sidebottom gig.  It must have been back in the late 1980s, downstairs at King George's Hall in Blackburn, or maybe some pub in Preston, and possibly Manchester or Bolton.... I was into 'independent music', and would often go to gigs, and Frank was a small part of this alternative scene, the buzz coming out of Manchester... or, in Frank's case, Timperley.

I think Blackburn KGH had a comedy club, circuit, scene, and that's probably the link.  I remember seeing up and coming comedienne Jo Brand http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jo_Brand  there once (outrageous, I didn't like her much, but I've warmed to her as I've got older), and Mancunian punk-poet John Cooper Clark  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Cooper_Clarke (brilliant, droll, twinkling and often drunk) more than once.  Frank Sidebottom must have been on the listings, and it would't have cost much, and what else is there to do in a boring Blackburn on a Thursday night after all???

The fact that I liked indie music went hand in hand with the culture of the North at the time.  The Smiths were in their prime, or just fading, and I had one of the greatest thrills of my life when I saw them live in 1986 in Manchester.  There was a 1 day concert in the G-MEX halls to celebrate the 'Festival of the 10th Summer' it being 10 years since the break out of punk music.  It was a long day, starting at 12noon, and going on past it being dark, and having to run to the railway station to get the last train home.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festival_of_the_Tenth_Summer

I can't remember the full line up, but I do remember the stage stealing lead singer, Mark E Smith, of The Fall, performing in full scarlet hunting gear, jodphurs, riding boots, and whip in hand, menacing and mesmerising at the same time.  I've been a fan of The Fall ever since, and many more tales hang there, believe you me.

I'm pretty certain the Buzzcocks played, and Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, then the build-up to the star-billings, New Order played brilliantly, before the lights dimmed, the strains of Carmina Burana stole into our consciousness, and Kapow! the stage was set, and The Smiths dazzled us with their sovereignty, they reigned and rose and were more real than any dream I could have dreamed, they were dreaming before our eyes, and we were there with them and didn't want the dream to be real...

Ah me, happy days, I digress.  Setting the scene for Frank Sidebottom, you really have to understand the rest of the social compass of the time, the Northerness of the humour, his references to the Northern music scene, to the integralness of football to the region, to the normalness of life in a Northern town, and the ridiculousness of the joke, being in on the joke, being part of the joke, being part of the performance, part of the act, the inclusiveness, and warmth of his performance, of his persona, which was of a 12 yr old boy, could be pop-star, would be football star, that awkward age, where you don't quite understand the nuances of the adult world you are on the cusp of, or the dreams you are dreaming, have dreamed and aren't entirely sure you woke up from.

I'm also pretty sure you had to be Northern to love him, to understand him, to get the humour, and join in, for part of the evening had the audience singing along with him, and I have etched into my memory the exact Timperley twang to his end of sentence '... actually'.

So this is a tribute to Frank Sidebottom, and the late Chris Sievey, and a thank you for all the joy they brought to the Northern towns in the 1980s....

Comedy Club downstairs at Blackburn King George's Hall, late 1980s - I'd be in my early 20s

Kat

DIY

Do It Yourself.  DIY for short, and words to warm the cockles of my heart.  I consider myself capable of most things, but also wise enough to know where to draw the line - my talents do not extend to plumbing nor electrics.  But give me a drill, screwdriver and tape measure, and I'll happily have a go at most round the house/garden jobs.

Well, when I say most, my vertigo would exclude high level ladders jobs, but I did manage to wallpaper the chimney breast in Phoebe's room, and tackled the guttering round the playhouse, so 3-4 step height maximum is what I'll stretch to (all puns intended).

I can get carried away when it comes to pruning.  There's almost nothing I like better than giving a hedge a trim (mind the cable of the hedge-trimmers!), or getting secateurs or shears out to errant branches.  It's knowing when to stop that I have difficulty with.

I'm happy cooking in the kitchen, so long as I've decided what to do - it's the deciding that makes my brain ache.  I'm competent at needlework - I can sew and knit, and I've forgotten how to crochet, but I'm sure it would come back with a bit of coaching.  I can decorate - but it's not my favourite thing, as there's so much preparation to get a good result, so that's something we put off for as long as possible...  and I'd like to spend more time in the garden, but life tends to get in the way.  So I keep chipping away at it, bit by bit.
 
As you know, I built the greenhouse myself - the only help I asked for was holding the frame together during assembly, and then Simon checked the bolts were tightened properly, but apart from that I did everything else myself....  and I find myself wondering/pondering/accepting that, for a 'woman', I may not be cut of the same cloth as my 'sisters'.

And I ask myself why this is?  Is it an innate quality, something genetic, something in my upbringing, my values, or, more likely a strange and unusual combination of the above? It is an eldest child thing, this self-belief?  because, I have distinct memories of being very shy growing up (not now!  I hear you splutter!).  Or is it the farming side of the family background, and the grandparents influence (on both sides) of the make-do and mend mentality of struggling through the War?

Or is it more than that?  Something deeper? And I wonder, in this age of superficiality, in the sexist society where women of a certain (more mature) age become invisible, of less value, lost... and women of another age are pestered for their looks, criticised for their looks, idolised for their looks, hounded for their looks, twittered about for their looks, teased, taunted, and tattered for their looks.  And yet others hide their looks away, beneath a veil of dignity, which still gives no shelter from all the abuse inflicted because of how they look. It's the double standard which is confusing, and I'm certain there are no winners.

And it never occurs to me to even think about how I look.  Granted, I make sure I'm presentable, showered and if working in the Library, then there's a quick dab of face powder to take the shine off, and a quick flick of mascara, and maybe some lipstick, nothing too gaudy, it's not a disco after all....

But I have no sense, myself, of being anything other than myself, which is me and is who I am, defined, I hope, by my actions, and not how I look.  I do what I do because what I do is who I am.   For the most part I rarely think of myself as 'woman'.  I think of myself as just 'me'.  And equally, whilst acknowledging that friends and family are male and female, I don't see them that way.  I see them for who they are, each unique in their relationship to me, with history and love and acceptance.  What they've got in their trousers doesn't matter.  What I've got in my trousers matters only to me, and if there's a spanner in the back pocket, then so much the better.

Great.  I've just googled 'spanner in back pocket' to get an image to put here, but all the ones of women/girls are wearing shorts (yeah, right) or cropped t-shirts (highly impractical I'm sure you'll find), and more to the point, they seem to be confusing wrench with spanner, so I'm not going to bother.  Fume.

So, how do we guide our 13yr old daughter through this maze of confusion?  I hope by acting consistently, by telling her we love her (she squirms when I do), by answering her questions honestly, and keeping a conversation open for her.  By treading a careful path between praise and criticism - more of the former, less of the latter, by leading by example, keeping our eyes and ears open, and living a tolerant life.  (Although if the fashion for boys wearing their trousers at crotch level and showing their underwear 'hanging loose'?, is still prevalent when Tom's a teenager, come back and ask me about tolerance then...  I may just have lost it!).

Here endeth the lesson for tonight.

Keep it loose, mother Goose!

Kat :)

What happened to last month?

May 2014 was very busy.  A much busier month than usual, and quite expensive as well.  Bleugh.  My car went in for its 40,000 mile service.... 'The big one'.  Ahem.  It's quite something to be quoted £395 before anything extra, (as on my 14 hour per week contract I usually bring home just under £500 each month).  It would have been more, if they hadn't had me arguing with them on the phone that I could go to Halfords to replace the wipers myself, and save the £30 they wanted to charge!  In the end they backed down and changed them for free.  However, the fan resistor needed changing, as I only had a speed selection of zero, or gale force four(!) and that would have added £100 - I told him I could go to £450, but any higher and I'd have to call my husband!  I don't know why, but that did it, and it ended up costing £450 with the fan resistor and wipers included.  The lesson from this?  Kick ass as/when needed!

Luckily I'd been doing quite a few hours extra, and I've claimed 17.5hrs overtime in the last claim period, and the month before that had clocked up 27 hours to claim as well.  Which is all well and good, but sometimes doing all this extra time I don't know if I'm coming or going.  Granted, the extra hours mean extra money, hooray!  But, the extra hours mean less time to be doing other things - chores, gardening etc. which is still waiting if I don't keep on top of it.  

So, in order to save me money, I finished building my greenhouse!  Yippee.  Let's see, the greenhouse cost £21.12.  Bargain.  Then I spent £35 on perspex to replace the windows in the playhouse, about £10 on bits for the guttering, and £18 on paint to decorate the playhouse before erecting the greenhouse.... extras total so far... £63.  Ho hum.  Cleaning the greenhouse frame cost 2 scourers and 1 pair of gloves, say, £5.  Time spent, let's say 3 weekends or so.  And then once it was erected, and the glass was washed, pane by pane, I discovered that 4 pieces were missing, and had already ditched the broken ones from the door, so 6 and a half replacement panes of glass cost ..... £41.70!  More than the greenhouse itself. Still it was worth it, even at a grand total cost of .... £109.70. Hope that's right, I've done all the maths in my head.  Ta-dah!

All my own work!

So we come to the end of the month, a second bank holiday, and half-term for the children.  So here's the thing. When working part-time, it's a job to have enough leave.  In as much as because you don't accrue the hours of leave (you'd like) you have to be cautious in how much leave to take.  We're planning to go away in July, and as we'd had time off over Easter, I didn't book time off for half-term.  Which means having to pay for Tom to go to holiday clubs/child care.  Bleugh (again).

We did manage a couple of days out - on Bank Holiday Monday we went, along with every man and his dog, to Avebury National Trust.  http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/avebury/  The standing stones of the neolithic monument/stone circle were excavated and re-erected in the 1920s and there's a good museum, and Manor House to visit as well. I'd recommend it, but not on a bank holiday...

On Thursday we ventured over to Chedworth Roman Villa with the National Trust again....  http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/chedworth-roman-villa/

Tom's topic at school for the next term is The Romans... so it seemed a good idea to get him in the mood, and a good time was had by all.  The site is celebrating its 150th anniversary this year, and the facilities had been updated in 2012, so it's worth a visit.  What's also good is that it's extremely remote - a good 3-4 miles down single track farm roads to find it, so you think you're lost, and therefore, it's a quiet place as I think some people may lose heart and leave before they arrive, so to speak, which in comparison with Avebury made Chedbury a haven of peace.  The weather stayed fair, the company was good, and the children played nicely.... Ave!

Et tu Brutus?

My favourite part of visiting Chedworth, apart from the amazing mosaics, was the very interesting and incredibly well informed 'Roman Sue'.  She's a wool expert, and, we found out this time, a champion sheep shearer as well, who talks about and demonstrates how the Romans would have made cloth and clothes with wool, the techniques involved in weaving, 1-needle knitting(!) and yarn dying.  I love meeting people like this - crafts people with a real passion for their art, and more importantly, a passion for sharing and passing on the secrets to the younger generation (myself included!).  She's not always there, so do check the website if you're thinking of going - to avoid disappointment!

It's late again, and there's always too much to do, but I'll stop here.  June, for the moment is looking a bit quieter than May was, so hopefully I can keep more on top of the blog.  Night for now.  Kat.  :)