Every day, something new . . .

 

Every day, something new . . .

Of all the dogs we have known and loved, Gilbert is the one who has proved to be the most interested in parcels. He is extremely excited when a parcel is delivered, whatever the dimensions of the package, and his nose is pressed as closely as it can be when a box is unwrapped.

 He can hardly wait to investigate the contents and I’m sure he thinks he is helping.

It the parcel contains something food-related, like ‘Whimzees’ dog chews, or ‘Thrive’ cat treats, he becomes ever more attentive. Sometimes, if he is very lucky, he might receive a treat, and so might Roxy, who is always watching.

Occasionally, a box may contain plants, and they are especially fascinating. Dogs learn so much through their noses and are often to be found burying their heads among the plants, either in the garden or the conservatory.

Once the contents have been revealed, Gilbert is happy to resume whatever he was doing beforehand, usually sleeping.

Apricots

 

Apricots

Still hanging on!

Will the apricots survive this year? Usually, most of them drop off before they’re fully ripe. We have a number of fruits this year, but this photograph shows a developing apricot with a small passenger.

I have attempted to identify it, but without success. I wondered if it was an apricot weevil, but it doesn’t seem to have a long ‘nose.’ The nose is called a rostrum. I wonder if orchestra conductors realise they are standing on a nose?

Any entomologists out there?

Flowering cactus

Flowering cactus

Close-up of developing flower, cropped from a larger shot

                              This is what it looked like in May 2024

Gingerbread man

 

Gingerbread man

Run, run, as fast as you can,
You can’t catch me,
I’m the Gingerbread man.

While scrutinising the online shelves the other day, looking for something different, I chanced upon a gingerbread man, one of the joys of (my) childhood. I was intrigued, so ordered one.

The little man came wrapped in tissue paper in his own cardboard coffin, for want of a better word (!) The box lid has a line illustration that just begs to be coloured in.

He was beautifully iced, with a wonderfully cheery smile, and holding a colourful bunch of flowers. He was created by Biscuiteers, a company new to me, but apparently a household name since its inception in 2007.

The company offers an alternative to flowers and chocolates as gift options for birthdays, anniversaries, and other celebrations. There are themed biscuits, gift hampers, icing workshops, afternoon tea events, corporate gifts, and many more imaginative outlets. All their goods are handmade and therefore unique.

The Biscuiteers website is colourful and attractive. The merchandise is not cheap, but considering the work that goes into each item, it is reasonably priced for something one would not consider an everyday purchase.

I have not eaten the gingerbread man – he is guaranteed to remain fresh for at least three months. He may be joined by a gingerbread friend for a couple of smaller relatives.

 

First aid

 

First aid

Cross stitch waiting to be started

I wasn’t expecting to use the bee remedy I mentioned in yesterday’s post so soon, if at all, but this morning, Barry found a bee on the conservatory floor. He picked her up and took her outside away from curious cats and dogs.

I mixed a sugar water solution and fed it to the bee, which was very sluggish and disorientated. After several minutes I picked her up on a stem of herb robert (Geranium robertianum, wild geranium) and put her on a ceanothus flower. She is breathing and moving around, but not making any effort to fly, and it is now several hours since she was first found. It is also rather cool and breezy, not the best conditions for a weakly bee, so I don’t really hold out much hope for her, but at least she’s got a full tummy.

I don’t know what species of bee she is; all I do know is that she is not a honey bee. She is such a little creature, so fragile, so important.

Another cross stitch waiting to be started

As busy as a bee

 

As busy as a bee

All images courtesy Wikimedia Commons

There wouldn’t be sunflowers,
Wouldn’t be peas,
Wouldn’t be apples,
On apple trees,
If it weren’t for fuzzy old,
Buzzy old bees,
Dusting pollen
From their knees.

Aileen Fisher (1906-2002)

It has been a pleasure to see so many bees recently in the garden, flying from flower to flower, taking the nectar and filling their pollen baskets. 

 Honey bees usually sleep for up to eight hours at night-time in the hive, though they will sometimes sleep in flowers. Young bees may take frequent daytime naps.

Sleeping bees sometimes hold each other’s legs, but a single bee may fall over sideways, holding on with its mandibles to its sleeping post.

Some bees require emergency treatment. A bee that is not flying or collecting nectar is a bee needing help. The quickest way to help it is to find a flower. Otherwise, prepare a sugar water solution of one part sugar to two parts water, and offer it to the bee. Sugar water should not be left out for bees as a general rule, because it will not give them the nutrition they need and may prevent them from visiting flowers and pollinating them. One would think that honey would be a good thing to offer tired bees, but that is a way of introducing potential disease to a colony.

It can take as long as thirty minutes for a bee to recover sufficiently to gather enough energy to fly away.                                                     

However, if the bee does not respond and consume the sugar water, it is likely that she has reached the end of her life.

I have never seen a sleeping bee and the photographs I have included in this post show something I hope I will one day experience.

Manners maketh man . . . and woman

 

Manners maketh man . . . and woman

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Our local community Facebook group published two pleas recently.

The first was from the driver of a funeral hearse. Making its stately way to the crematorium, it was overtaken by a driver so impatient that he or she felt the need to sound the car’s horn. It’s possible that the car driver had an emergency and needed to reach his/her. destination post haste, but although hearses proceed at a slower speed than most other road users, they are not moving so slowly that they hold up following traffic to any great degree.

If there is to be a large procession of mourners’ cars, which can cause delays, the police issue warning notices so that people can find alternative routes. That doesn’t happen very often, and in this case, there were only two cars. The funeral director was upset, and asked for respect to be shown, but I imagine the mourners were even more distressed.

The second plea came from a cyclist who was nearly mown down by a huge SUV heading straight for her as it closely overtook three cyclists on the opposite side of the road. The shaken cyclist asked for awareness of other road users. Again, taking a charitable view, possibly the driver had an emergency. Perhaps drivers of super-sized vehicles on our narrow, twisting roads forget what they are driving, or maybe they think everyone else should just get out of the way, or preferably, not use the roads at all.

What is happening to commonsense, responsibility, and respect?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

 

Pinched!

Pinched!

We could learn a lot from ants about how to live communally. They're not peaceable creatures, though.

. . . if you B&Q it!

A white feather

 

A white feather

We have many birds, large and small, flying over our garden, or settling onto branches to pick off insects or developing fruit. Sometimes we find a broken eggshell on the ground, but we have rarely seen a dead bird, apart from a starling that had been caught by a sparrowhawk and another starling that had flown into the patio doors and killed itself.

Similarly, we do not often see feathers, and those we have found have come from wood pigeons or magpies. I found the feather above on the path this week. It’s small, only 5 cms (just under 2")     

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I was interested in looking at the intricate structure of the feather. I knew of the quill, of course, but didn’t know the names of any of the other parts. I don’t think the quill of this feather could be used for writing by anyone other than a fairy.

During the First World War (1914-1918) men in Britain who had not enlisted were given a white feather to imply cowardice. This was in an attempt to make them sign up through shame rather than patriotism. Shockingly, from the perspective of the 21^st century, the suffragette movement promoted the white feather movement.

Serving soldiers sometimes found themselves being presented with a white feather when they were home on leave. Other men, who had volunteered but been rejected on grounds of ill-health or disability, were similarly discriminated against.

A white feather to denote lack of bravery originated in the late 1700s, though in that case it was more to indicate a lack of proper breeding,

From Wikipedia: 

The OED cites A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785), in which lexicographer Francis Grose wrote "White feather, he has a white feather, he is a coward, an allusion to a game cock, where having a white feather, is a proof he is not of the true game breed". This was in the context of cockfighting, a common entertainment in Georgian England.

The white feather was used again in the Second World War (1939-1945) for the same purpose.

However, the white feather has also been used to symbolise excellence, and is used in the United States armed forces to recognise extreme bravery.

It is also worn as a mark of resistance without violence. In the late nineteenth century, it was used by the Maori spiritual leader, Te Whiti o Rongomai III (c1832-1907)

There is an unverified story from 1775 that a tribe of warring Indians confronted a group of Quakers, in a New York Friends’ meeting house. The Quakers did not attempt to run away, but sat quietly. When the Indian chief entered the meeting and discovered that the Quakers had no weapons, he claimed them as friends. As he left, he took a white feather from an arrow in his quiver and put it on the door as a sign that the building and its occupants were not to be harmed.

Forget-me-not

 

Forget-me-not (Myosotis)

This is not the clearest of photographs, but it does show some flowers with yellow centres, indicating that they still have nectar, and some flowers whose centres have turned white.

These pretty flowers, usually dressed in blue, but sometimes appearing in pink or white, flower for a few weeks in the spring. They are dying back now, to reappear next year, without fuss or special care.

The yellow centres indicate that the flowers are full of nectar. When the flower has been pollinated, the centres turn white. This indicates to bees and other pollinators, that the flowers are no longer offering nectar, the food they are seeking. The cupboard is bare, and they should look elsewhere.

 A podcast from the BBC, ‘In Our Time,’ hosted by a rather elderly-sounding Melvyn Bragg (he’s now 85) gives a detailed account of pollination. The programme lasts for fifty minutes, but all the contributors are experts, and so are fascinating to listen to.

Did you know that bees can count, and recognise images of human faces?

 

Pepper, sir, ma’am?

 

Pepper, sir, ma’am?

There’s something very satisfying about grinding pepper or salt with a hand-held mill. On occasions when a waiter has offered to grind pepper over a dish, I have always wanted to grab the super-sized mill and do it myself.

Now, we have been given a mill of our own. It was a joint birthday present for Barry (February) and me (April). It is the ‘London’ design wooden pepper mill, made by Cole and Mason, a company founded in 1919 to sell gifts.

Cole and Mason soon expanded into a business providing many different kitchen and household accessories, from a solid (and extremely heavy!) granite pestle and mortar, to wooden serving utensils and acacia chopping boards. If you want a stylish salt pig, a garlic keeper, or self-watering devices for pots of herbs, or a nifty worktop carousel for herbs and spices, Cole and Mason is the place to look.

1946 was the year in which their first wooden pepper mill was launched. Since then, they have developed different mills, from spice mills to acrylic mills, and mills made from stainless steel. Some are electronic. There is even a rather interesting-looking nutmeg grinder for those who wish to ensure that nutmeg is ground without knuckles.

The mill came with a small, neat information booklet, with instructions in English, French, German and Spanish on how to fill and operate the device.

We interrupt you . . .

 

We interrupt you . . .

I was in the middle of ordering something online when Jellicoe chased all thoughts from my head. He had spotted something from the sitting room and sprinted into the garden. Moments later we heard a squeal as an unfortunate rodent rued the day it had decided to poke its head above the parapet . . . or drain.

Having dealt with the excitement, restored order and removed the now late rat (although, to be fair, Barry did the clearing up!) I settled again to completing the order. Having found what I was looking for on the John Lewis website, I was using my vouchers to lessen the pain/make the purchase more enjoyable, and I was content. I clicked on completion, congratulating myself that the recipient would be pleased and then realised, too late, that I had forgotten to change the delivery address and would now be receiving something intended for someone else.

Finding telephone contact details was neither instant nor straightforward, but eventually I discovered a telephone number in the equivalent of the small print and made a call. A very helpful assistant listened to my tale of woe, chuckled in the right places, though no doubt thinking she was dealing with an idiot, and cancelled the order, which I had actually already done online.

In an ‘I will not be beaten’ frame of mind, I set about reordering the item. All was proceeding swimmingly until I realised I had used my vouchers on the first order. Perhaps I could use them again, the initial order having been voided? No, was the short answer.

I made a second ‘phone call to the Customer Services department and spoke to another helpful person, who listened to my misfortune, and informed me that I would receive an e-gift card refund. Even as we spoke, the card popped into my inbox.

I completed the transaction, remembering to change the destination address, relieved that everything was in place and all was well with my world once more.

Chapeau! to John Lewis, a courteous and efficient company, whose prices are fair and competitive. *Free delivery and easy returns make it a pleasure to deal with.

I hope the recipient will be pleased!

*Edit: Fun60 pointed out that delivery is not free on all orders. Small items over £50 have free delivery. Large items, like furniture or kitchen appliances, incur a delivery charge. That makes sense. If two people have to be employed to lift heavy/bulky items from a delivery van into a dwelling, more time is spent and two people have to be paid.

Thank you, Fun60!

This, from their website:

Smaller items

Delivery is free when you spend £50 and over, and £4.50 for orders under £50.

Smaller items are usually delivered within 5 working days, Monday to Saturday, 7.30am - 6.30pm. Some couriers may deliver slightly earlier or later.

Once your item has left our warehouse, we’ll send you an email with tracking information.

Couriers we use for standard deliveries include Royal Mail, Evri, DHL and DPD.

Larger items

Larger items, including furniture and appliances, will either be delivered by a John Lewis & Partners van or one of our approved suppliers. Larger item delivery costs £19.95, with exceptions to large items delivered to non-UK mainland locations. 

See Delivery by our approved suppliers for goods delivered by external suppliers.

We cover the majority of the mainland UK with our van fleet, and when you place an order you’ll have the option to pick a delivery date and slot as you’re going through checkout.

We always offer a 10-hour standard delivery slot for large items being delivered by John Lewis & Partners crews. 

UK standard delivery takes from 3 working days, and the exact lead time we’ll offer you during checkout depends on your postcode and availability of delivery slots at that time.  The delivery slots are:

• Monday to Friday 7am - 5pm or 11am - 9pm 
• Saturday  7am - 5pm

We'll contact you by text the night before your delivery to narrow your am or pm slot down to a 2-hour window, and we'll confirm that on the day when the van leaves our warehouse.

We also offer next day delivery, as well as 2 and 4-hour delivery slots, for an additional charge - find out more here.

If you live in a highland, island or rural postcode, delivery may take longer than 7 working days. We won’t offer you a delivery slot during checkout, but our carrier will contact you after you place your order to arrange delivery.  We always aim to deliver your order within 7 working days, but it’s subject to postcode and carrier availability. Check for your postcode in Delivery exceptions section below.

Why is the delivery time longer than I’d expect?

Some of our furniture is made to order - so it’s made just for you and may take time before it’s ready to be sent to you.

We work with various approved suppliers, who help us offer you a wider range of products. These suppliers may offer different delivery times and options. Find more information on delivery by our approved suppliers here. Please wait until your delivery due time has passed before contacting us.   

Like an arrow

 

Like an arrow

Jellicoe flew into the garden as if shot from a bow. We heard a squeal and hoped it wasn’t a bird.

It was a healthy-looking young female rat, not yet fully grown and now destined never to reach maturity. She did not suffer long and probably died of shock.

Jellicoe brought his prize in to show us, attracting the attention of his brother and the dogs. We managed to persuade him outside again, whereupon he dropped his trophy, sniffed it once or twice, and then turned away, having lost interest in something no longer moving.

Death comes swiftly to the young and unwary.

Much as I hate to see beautiful young animals despatched, I know that rats are harbingers of infection, and they reproduce rapidly. We have to be careful because we have visits from vulnerable young children in our family.

One of the diseases rats carry is Weil’s disease, or leptospirosis. Although it is rare in the UK, it can be contracted from infected soil, water, or animals, initially presenting as a flu-like illness. The bacterial infection is also found in cattle, and, as in rats, is spread in urine. Rats use urine as a means of communication with others of their species and frequently mark where they travel.

Our cats do not eat their prey and are soon encouraged to come indoors again with the cry of ‘Treats.’

I was in the middle of ordering something and was distracted. More of that later.

A sleepover

 

A sleepover

We had a guest for a sleepover on Saturday. Arthur came to stay while Susannah and her friend, Jo, went to see another friend in the Cotswolds.

He was anxious when they left but settled quite quickly. We expected that he and his great friend, Gilbert, would play, but, though they greeted each other cordially, there were no high jinks. I suppose neither of them was in in the mood. Roxy just kept her head down, grateful for some peace and quiet, and to be fair, she and Gilbert had been out for a good long walk with Barry. They returned, wet, muddy, and tired, the dogs, that is!

Arthur was on high alert, ears pricking and head turning towards the front door every time he heard, ‘Motion detected at your drive.’ This happened quite frequently, as it was quite breezy, causing some branches to set off the alarm. (Clearly, it’s time to prune the shrubs again!)

We went out to do a little gentle gardening, the sitting down sort, where exercise is limited to twisting and turning (body) and pulling (weeds) Arthur came to help.

At bedtime, Arthur trotted upstairs and found a really comfortable spot on my side of the bed. He sleeps on Susannah’s bed when he’s at home, and he thought he’d do the same in our house. Deep down, he knew that was not going to happen. The practice with us is that he goes into the little crate in our room. This ensures that he relaxes and goes to sleep, rather than traipsing round the room all night, disturbing Gilbert and inciting him to mischief.

I reminded him of the routine. He looked at me and wriggled hard, his tail wagging itself into a blur. I left him and went to have a shower. I heard Barry talking to him and when I came back into the bedroom, Arthur was in his crate. What a good boy!

The next morning, he was delighted to be released from captivity and leapt onto the bed, to press tightly against me. Barry whistled up our dogs and cats and they all galloped off, eager for breakfast.

Arthur was encouraged to go with them, but he tucked closer to my side. He is not motivated by food. His joy and main ambition in life is to be in as close personal contact with a human being as possible, preferably with Susannah, but someone else will do in an emergency. I think he would have stayed there all day if I hadn’t moved, but eventually he followed me downstairs.

Our dogs looked on in disbelief, as I persuaded Arthur to eat. They would have helped willingly and need no encouragement whatsoever. He is very easily distracted when supposedly feeding, messing about, eating a mouthful or two, then looking around, before attempting more. It’s quite a novelty spending time with a dog like Arthur. Every dog we have had has shown a healthy (sometimes unhealthy!) interest in food. Even our cats have always been enthusiastic about eating.

There followed another hour or two of extreme attendance on the front door, and joy was unbounded when Susannah finally appeared, after many false starts.

All three dogs met in the forest for a walk after Susannah and Arthur had been for a run. It was noticeably quiet when they left and everyone snoozed, but it was a pleasure to have Arthur to stay.

Gilbert relaxes 

VE Day 80 years on

 

VE Day 80 years on

VE Day celebrations, London, 8th May 1945

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

We watched the VE Day parade on television and listened to some of the interviews. The weather was perfect, and the rain held off until after the flypast. It was good to see so many young people in the crowd. An understanding of history is imperative if a nation is to survive and thrive.

 I was astonished by how articulate some of the veterans who were interviewed were and how vigorous they appeared. There are unlikely to be many still alive in a few years from now.

Two little girls in the rubble in Battersea, London, on VE Day, 1945
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 I wish there had been more coverage of the supporting services – ambulance, fire, police, coastguard, as well as the Merchant Navy and others. In a war, all participants rely on each other and pull together. No one group is more important than another.

VE Day, 1945, in Trondheim, Norway
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Ruth Klauber spoke for many when she said that she hoped such events as today’s parade did not come to be seen as a means of glorifying war.

It was poignant to see the small contingent of Ukrainian soldiers, and gratifying to hear the cheers that greeted them as they marched past the crowds. They wore army fatigues, rather than ceremonial uniform – a stark reminder, should anyone need one, that they are fighting to preserve their country and their independence. In that, they echoed the example of their president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy.

Agility Course

 

Agility Course

Watching dogs speed around an agility course is pure delight, particularly if they make the course their own, and run under obstacles instead of over them, or miss them out completely. Some dogs are natural comedians and respond to laughter, and they are the ones who steal the hearts of an audience.

We had a liver and white Dalmatian called Buddy, who was actually rather good at agility. He had brains and beauty, and wanted always to please his young owner, our youngest daughter, Bethan. She had spent a great deal of time building agility courses in our not very large garden, for Cariadd, our first Dalmatian. Bethan was three years old when we brought the small, warm puppy home, so Cariadd was around six when she started training her in agility. Cariadd was very obliging, but it wasn’t really her favourite occupation. She preferred cross country running.

 Buddy was a different prospect. He would do anything for Bethan and did well in his classes. However, he was just too big to compete with the dainty little dogs that normally excel at agility and eventually the lessons ceased, and he reverted to being a proper Dalmatian, running miles every day with Barry, Cariadd and Dominie.

We have an agility course in our house. The objective is not to discover how fast we can complete the course, but to see if we can complete it without breaking our necks.

The first obstacles are the slow-moving, indolent cats, who weave their way slightly ahead of us, miaouing if we dare to suggest they could move a little faster, please. Every move towards the kitchen indicates to them that meals might soon be served. They have been heavily influenced by the dogs, whose major loves in life are us, followed swiftly by food. The rule is, ‘If the humans move, we move, too.’

Having negotiated a track past the cats, the major obstacle presents itself. This is Roxy, who prostrates herself before us like a living sacrifice. It is imperative that she is never more than twelve inches away from one of us. I fear that she suffers from the reverse ostrich syndrome; that is, if we cannot see her, we might deny her existence.

Preparing meals, filling the kettle, emptying the dishwasher/washing machine/tumble dryer, packing the groceries away in fridge, freezer or cupboard, Roxy is always there, at our feet. I don’t know how we don’t trip over her.

Gilbert is also part of the course, but his function is to help. He moves around us, bringing us toys if he thinks we need some encouragement in our pursuits.

When we have completed whatever footling task we embarked on, we retreat from the kitchen, but now the agility course has been altered. The recumbent Roxy has miraculously and silently blocked our way out of the kitchen. It would not be advisable to step over her, because she has been known to rise up, mid-step-over, and that is quite hazardous. Slowly, we navigate our path back, accompanied by our four-footed friends.

Nothing can be accomplished at speed in our house unless we shut the animals away. Hence, we have baby gates at strategic doorways, behind which dogs can be contained. They don’t work for the cats – they slither under or leap over. The gates mean that the dogs can still be in contact, but not as closely as they might desire.

It's not so vastly different to having toddlers and at least the animals don’t have tantrums.