Swine flu

 

Swine flu

                                    Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Looking back to 2009 to see what was happening then, I read that Barry had had a routine blood test. When he ‘phoned the surgery for the results, he was told that the laboratory had lost them, so he was asked to give another sample.

He duly presented himself early one morning for a fasting blood test. He noticed that the nurse appeared to have drawn less blood than previously but said nothing. A matter of days later, the surgery ‘phoned, full of apologies, because not enough blood had been siphoned off for all the necessary tests to be conducted. They asked if it would be possible for him to attend the next morning.

Barry demurred, explaining that he had been feeling unwell for a couple of days. The receptionist asked him to describe his symptoms and then advised him to contact the NHS help line. After a short conversation, he was told that he had swine flu, to remain in bed, take paracetamol and drink plenty of fluids. Telephone consultations and subsequent diagnoses are not always successful!

Swine flu is usually contracted by pig farm workers and vets and is rarely passed between humans. It cannot be contracted through eating pork. Barry had never had any contact with pigs.  

How he came to contract swine flu, if he did, and I have my doubts, is a subject for much mirth. There was a swine flu pandemic in 2009 caused by the H1N1 strain which is now a normal seasonal flu that circulates in humans every winter.

The symptoms for swine flu are very easily mistaken for other strains of flu as they are almost identical. They all cause fever, cough, sore throat, headache, aching limbs and fatigue.

Flu can persist for ten to fourteen days and there is a lot of ‘gastro-intestinal disturbance’ with it, which is a feature of swine flu.

Happy days! I’m very careful not to call him a pig – at least, not too often.

 

 

Earlier and earlier

 

Earlier and earlier

In a bid to enjoy the freshness of the morning and give the dogs a chance to stretch their legs before the heat sets in, we have been getting up earlier and earlier. Consequently, we are going to bed while there is still much light still in the sky.

That makes me feel like a child again, lying in bed listening to the birds, while other people are still up and about. It makes a pleasant change, though the day seems curiously truncated, with 3:00 pm feeling as though it’s five hours later.

This morning, we were up – I was going to say ‘bright and early’, but it transpired that some of us weren’t as awake or aware as others. Barry disappeared downstairs to make coffee and then reappeared a short while later. He had put his trousers on over his pyjamas. It wouldn’t have mattered, really, as they were pyjama shorts, and no-one would have known. He just felt he didn’t actually need the extra layer.

In other world-startling news, my elderly ‘for the time being’ laptop which was pressed into service has been replaced by my newly repaired computer, the one with the pretty LED lights.

 As it is now effectively a new machine, everything has had to be reinstalled. The hunt for passwords and other verifications has been long and trying. Tempers have occasionally been shorter than they should have been, but now, all is well. We just had a brief hiccough with the bank, which initially refused to recognise the new/old/new machine, but that has been resolved, too.

Just one or two things still to deal with . . . shouldn’t take long . . . oh, those weasel words!

 

 

A bird in the . . .

 . . . conservatory is worth seeing.

 On Sunday evening a confused, new member of the garden avian community flew indoors. There are many plants on the windowsills and floor, enough to fool an inexperienced fledgling into thinking it’s found a rare jungle.

Herschel alerted Barry to the incomer, and he and Jellicoe were summarily hustled into the kitchen. As Barry searched for the elusive chick, wondering if his eyes had been playing tricks on him, Herschel suddenly signalled. Sure enough, a small bird was fluttering in one of the plant trays. It looked as if it was having a dip, though I suspect it was too tense to consider relaxing in a tepid bath, and was literally in a flap!

We made sure the external door was open and the internal door locked and left the little bird to its own devices, hoping it would find its way out without too much stress. Meanwhile, the cats were forbidden the freedom of the conservatory.

We discovered another, larger bird on the conservatory roof. A woodpigeon had met its end there. It looks just as if it is resting. In a sense, I suppose it is. It was an odd place for it to be, far from the gutter or the apex, with no place to perch.

 We rarely find dead birds and it’s sad to see something that was once so vibrant now still and lifeless.

 

 

Steps

 

Steps

There is a steep step (40 cm) down to the patio from both our sitting room and conservatory. Many years ago, Barry built a wooden step to replace the milk crate we were using. Years later, he hammered further planks onto the wooden step, with the grooves of the wood running at a 90˚ angle to the original, as it was proving rather slippery in its old age.

Now it has reached the point of needing to be replaced completely, and we resolved to push the boat out and buy one ready-made. There’s so much more available now, and we’ve gone beyond the Heath Robinson stage of life in most things. (The last thing we built was a garden gate and it’s a solid thing of great character, not quite the height of a house door, but not far off.)

So, we have been measuring and consulting and think we’ve finally found the right thing. In fact, we’ve decided to buy two, as we’re still using a milk crate for the conservatory. Crates are remarkably strong, but with a purpose-built step, we will be more inclined to go in and out of that room more readily. Additionally, it will have a handrail, which is a Good Idea.

The other thing that is becoming increasingly rickety is the wooden bridge over the pond. It’s not a huge pond, but it is too wide to step across, and we need to be able to go over to weed and prune. We used to cross on a plank, but that became hazardous and the bridge we replaced it with has been there for a Very Long Time.

The pond is gradually clearing and looking fresher and cleaner. There is a large community of newts, which has taken the upheaval of the environment quite calmly, as far as one can tell.

 The heat last week brought proceedings to a halt. Will this now be superseded by rain to provide further disruption?

Croissants

 

Croissants

When I prepared the salmon for supper last night, I added garlic. I should have marinated it properly, but it was too darned hot! 🎝The fillets cooked quickly in the air fryer but were rather tasteless and disappointing. The colourful salad more than compensated for it.

I put the air fryer drawer back while it was still hot, intending to clean it up later. Of course, I forgot. I’m blaming everything on the unseasonable, unreasonable weather at present.

You know how it is when something triggers your memory and you find yourself thinking, ‘That would be nice for a change.’ I may have seen croissants on someone’s blog and the thought lodged in my brain, so I bought some for a treat.

It’s convenient to warm them quickly in the air fryer. This morning, we decided to have one each. We sat quietly eating them. Neither of us said a word, until Barry said, ‘Did you cook the fish in the air fryer last night?’

The croissants had been warmed in the fish-redolent basket that I had neglected to wash. Garlic-flavoured croissants are interesting but not to be recommended, even though we tried to persuade ourselves that they were quintessentially French.

I’m not cooking anything tonight! Supper will be a rainbow salad with blueberries, red and green grapes, cucumber, chicory, lettuce, sliced raw Brussels sprouts, baby corn, tenderstem broccoli, shredded cabbage, grated carrot, celery. yellow pepper, cream cheese, walnuts, and tinned salmon(!)

I shall put all that together while I listen to ‘Rather Be the Devil’ by Ian Rankin. It’s read entertainingly by James Macpherson, though I have had to slow down the reading speed to understand all the different Scottish accents.

I wanted a change from military history, having just finished the excellent ‘Brothers in Arms’ by James Holland. That was read by Al Murray, who is interested in and knowledgeable about Second World War campaigns but is a better comedian than narrator.

Gilbert the Good – an early walk

 

Gilbert the Good – an early walk

It’s getting hotter and hotter and hotter, so we have been going out in the middle of the night for our walks. It’s not really the middle of the night, but it’s so much earlier than we usually go out that it might as well be.

It’s nice, though, and we have been meeting *lots of other dogs* to chat to and play with. Barry has not been throwing the balls for us very much – we have one each – because he doesn’t want us to overheat. He tried not letting us have the balls at all, but we danced around him and asked so politely that he gave in.

He throws each of our balls once and we retrieve them and then carry them for the rest of the walk. This morning was glorious in the fresh forest air. The birds were singing their little hearts out and it felt good to be alive. We did get quite hot, even though it was really early, so we dived into one of the ponds. The water level is going down a little, which makes the mud more accessible, so we covered ourselves in it. It’s an excellent way to keep cool. Our thick coats carry gallons of water, and we’re still quite damp several hours later. The mud doesn’t show much on Roxy, as she’s chocolate-coloured, but I look more khaki than yellow. It doesn’t matter as I shall soon be my normal colour again. (Janice just muttered that the chair covers would be changing colour again.)

We don’t have breakfast before we go out early. It’s something to do with not exercising after eating. That sounded daft to me, but Janice explained that it didn’t mean we wouldn’t eat at all, just that we would wait until after our walk. She also said that we wouldn’t be able to eat immediately after our walk either. That was because of the dangers of developing gastric torsion, properly known as Gastric dilatation volvulus (GDV) 

It’s something that affects deep-chested dogs like Wolfhounds, Irish Setters, Dalmatians, Labradors and so on, though strangely Greyhounds and Whippets seem to be exempt. It can be fatal. Having had three dogs affected by it, all Dalmatians – luckily, they survived! - she and Barry are only too aware of the dangers and do everything to avoid it happening again. That’s what she said, though mostly I heard ‘no breakfast’ and ‘after’ and ‘later.’

It sounded quite reasonable – after all, she’s not cruel - and we were happy to have our collars put on and leave the house.

                                

     

Yesterday was the same rigmarole. We enjoyed our walk and were happy to reach home and flop out on the floor. As the morning wore on, however, I realised something had gone wrong with the routine. Roxy knew it, too. We gazed at the humans, trying to communicate with them, but they’re remarkably dense sometimes, and just grinned stupidly at us and told us what good dogs we were. Well, we know that! They tell us a dozen times a day.

I was busting a gut, putting all the pathos I could manage into my soulful brown eyes, and suddenly the penny dropped. Janice gasped and said, ‘They haven’t had their breakfast.’

There followed a discussion about whether that was true, and then that perhaps we’d had it and the humans had forgotten. ‘Had the cats been fed?’ they asked each other. Well, that was a silly question – the cats would never allow a mealtime to pass by without comment or complaint, but we dogs are polite and undemanding.

I widened my eyes further and pricked my ears as far as they would prick, and Roxy played her part, and finally, FINALLY, we were given our breakfast. We are very forgiving dogs, and didn’t give our humans the cold shoulder, whatever that means. In fact, I curled up next to Janice as usual. I’m sure she appreciates the extra heat I provide.

All was well this morning, and we didn’t have to wait hours and hours and hours to be fed. It’s a dog’s life, all right, but a pretty comfortable one in this house.

 

TTFN

Gilbert

* lots of other dogs* They often don’t meet any other dogs or people at all, so just two or three seems like ‘lots.’

Harry Flakers

 

Harry Flakers

Roxy likes sunbathing!

Last night, as Roxy lay sleeping (sounds like the beginning of a poem!) Barry commented that she was Harry Flakers. She and Gilbert had had a wonderful walk, dashing in and out of ponds and undergrowth, sniffing here, snuffling there, thoroughly enjoying themselves. Playing in water always seems to be more tiring than simply running. Anyway, there she lay. Gilbert was also asleep, accompanied by Jellicoe and Herschel, one either side.

When I was at school, I had to take two buses to travel there. I always met a friend at the second stop, and one day she told me her sister was ‘Harry Preggers.’ I didn’t query what she meant, just noted that she was about to become an aunt. Years later, I wondered why putting ‘Harry’ at the beginning of a phrase was thought necessary.  What did it add? Did it mean ‘very?’

I’ve just looked it up. It was ‘upper class’ British slang, originating in the 1930s and 40s from the upper ranks of the Royal Navy, and Oxford University undergraduates, and not much in use currently. During the Second World War it became part of ‘jackspeak,’ about which I have written before. I have also learnt that ‘Harry’ is a ‘meaningless intensifier.’

So, ‘Harry Flakers’ means extremely tired, or ‘flaked out.’ ‘Harry Starkers’ means stark naked, stark meaning ‘completely.’ ‘Harry Flatters’ can mean a flat, calm sea, or driving at maximum speed, or lying down and resting. ‘Harry Hotters’ would be used in a ship’s engine room.

There are other ‘Harry’ expressions, but ‘Harry Flakers’ is the only one we use occasionally, perhaps because we both, separately, grew up in the Medway Towns, (now known as Medway) and were unconsciously influenced by Naval and Military tradition. I don’t recall my parents or my mother-in-law ever using such an expression. (I just asked Barry, and he thinks he picked it up at Sandhurst. Many of his instructors were Second World War veterans.)

It does, however, perfectly describe the total relaxation of a well-exercised dog, or lively toddler.

An extra pair of hands

 

An extra pair of hands

Susannah is staying with us for a few days, and insisting on helping. We took her at her word. Barry hacked, I pruned, and Susannah cleared and graunched and mulched. The brown gardening waste bin is filling satisfactorily, and the trees will appreciate the mulch.

We got so much more done with that very useful extra pair of hands, and the strength and energy they’re attached to.  She commented that it’s not a low-maintenance garden. It’s better than it was. When I remarked that we’d removed on arch, she said, ‘I knew there was something different, but I couldn’t think what it was.’

Well, we haven’t seen her since Christmas!

Gilbert went upstairs to our bed – he didn’t like the noise of the grauncher. Roxy relaxed, happy to be left to her own devices and not be asked to play by Susannah’s dog, Arthur. He wanted to come outside with us, and helped in the only way he could think of, by bringing some toys out and eviscerating them.

Alexa

 

Alexa

Yesterday a text message from Amazon invited us to update to Alexa Plus. The change was swiftly accomplished, and it was put through its paces.

I think it takes slightly longer to respond, though Barry doesn't agree - he says it's quicker in switching - and is more verbose. The voice is pleasant and it's much better at compound questions. It asks if it can help with further enquiries and when told, ‘No’ it responds with comments like, ‘No problem,’ or ‘Fair enough,’ or ‘Right, then, catch you later.’ These reactions could prove irritating if often repeated.

‘Conversations’ are startlingly realistic and some information is accurate. I commented that it sounds realistic, and it answered that it was ‘a digital assistant and couldn’t make a cup of tea to save its circuit.’  

I tested its knowledge of Ocicats. It had no idea about them, which I found surprising, as it’s a breed that has existed for more than sixty years. It talked about the Australian Mist cat, instead.

Barry reported a bug, (glitch or gremlin) which was acknowledged and eradicated quickly. He remarked that he was impressed by the speed of its response, and it thanked him. He then asked for the square root of a negative number. It was almost correct in its answer, but it said the square root of 9, for example, was 3i, rather than the square root of minus 9 is 3i. After that, he asked about the absolute value of pi, but had to correct it to recognise that pi is not a rational number and has an infinite number of decimal points. Once again, it thanked him for the correction.

We use Alexa for timers, lists, reminders, weather, and the control of home devices. Alexa Plus is entertaining, and loquacious, but not foolproof. Just as people need to understand the basics of mathematical calculations before relying on a calculator, Alexa Plus and its older sibling, Alexa, should be used advisedly.

Be aware, too, that it is listening all the time, so don’t reveal any secrets. You never know who else might be paying attention!

Guess!

 

Guess!

‘I think I’ll get two,’ he said, apropos of nothing.

There are times when I listen carefully to any following remarks in the hope that I can disentangle what he means. Now, frequently short of patience, I am more inclined to ask, ‘What are you talking about?’

Following a butterfly mind as it flits from topic to topic, subjects often only loosely associated with each other, can be exhausting. It’s not sufficient that I note what he’s carrying so that I can tell him later where he’s left his keys, wallet, pen, notebook, coat, tablet, or any number of other items of greater or lesser importance that migrate from room to room, and occasionally to the car. No, I have to work out which of the many subjects he’s researching to understand where his mind has taken him. It could be anything from camera lenses to history to specialised wire to reading glasses.

This time, it was insulin for Jellicoe. We like to ensure that we have plenty in reserve in case we drop a bottle, which then breaks – this has happened only once, but could happen again. Each time he goes to the animal hospital, Barry takes insulin, syringes, needles, and a supply of diabetic food in case Jellicoe has to stay there. So, he decided to get two bottles of insulin from the chemist, but, as it turns out, there was only one available, and he has to go back tomorrow. Let’s hope we don’t drop any bottles tonight.

It’s a grand life if you don’t weaken! 

Underneath the arches, again

 

Underneath the arches, again

We have a winding path with three arches in our back garden. The original metal arches were replaced a few years ago. Two years ago, the third arch, furthest from the house, collapsed under the weight of evergreen climbers. We, or rather, Barry, replaced it.

Yesterday, there was an ominous crack as Barry attempted to straighten the sagging arch nearest the house and it slumped even further sideways. It hadn’t damaged the fence round the pond, fortunately, but it was beyond repair, so this morning it was removed. This wasn’t a task quickly accomplished, as the arch was supporting, or rather being supported by, a long-established rose, a vigorous evergreen honeysuckle and jasmine. The plants had to be stripped out first. They have been reduced to ground level and if they grow again, and they probably will, we shall keep them as shrubs if we can, which will be easier to control.

There was a robin singing extravagantly loudly as we worked, which was a delight. In the course of the work, we came across an empty bird’s nest. Any birds planning to use it again this spring will be sadly disappointed.

There is now a huge pile of branches waiting to be graunched into mulch. Over the years, our ground level has risen considerably, as we have added layers of mulch around the trees and shrubs.

Suddenly, the garden looks much bigger. Maybe we will reconsider the remaining arches and whether they, too, should be demolished. It would make garden maintenance easier and more straightforward, though possibly less interesting to the eye.

A visit to the hospital

 

A visit to the hospital

Jellicoe and Herschel

When Jellicoe visited the vet recently for a regular check-up, it transpired that he, too, has a heart murmur, like his brother. Additionally, a biopsy of the cyst that had reappeared on his head indicated that it was malignant and he would have to go to an animal hospital for treatment.

This morning Barry took him to Aura, the animal hospital in Guildford. As we were not sure whether the consultation would lead to an immediate surgical procedure, Jellicoe was only allowed a token breakfast, a quarter of his usual ration, because, as a diabetic cat, he must have insulin injections regularly. He was not happy and kept miaouing and following me for more food.

The outcome was that he has to return tomorrow for an echocardiogram before an operation next week. This is to ensure that he is fit enough for surgery, just as happens with human surgical procedures.

Many pet insurers have raised their cover to £25,000, but ours tops out at £12,000. Veterinary medicine is now so sophisticated that £12,000 is soon swallowed up in tests.

We are looking at alternative providers. Roxy and the cats are probably too old to transfer, although Jellicoe is the only one with pre-conditions, but Gilbert is still a young lad.

Birthday

 

Birthday

6 o’clock gin started about thirty years ago as a small enterprise. Sloe gin is just one of their products.

February kicks off the birthday year in my family. There are just two in the second month. Melia, our third great-grand-daughter, will be three at the end of the month. It’s wonderful to see her developing skills and independence.

Barry, who set the whole train in motion, has his birthday at the beginning of the month, and is rather more than three years old. Our children have stopped asking what he’d like for his birthday, as I certainly don’t know. In any case, he has more than enough of everything he could possibly need, apart from youth, and that’s not available. As is so often the case, he decided on something he’d rather like – a miniature DAC (don’t ask!) which has arrived and been declared ‘superb.’ The larger, older DACs are still in service and still pleasing the discerning ear.

                            No. 1 sloe and elderflower gin is produced for Waitrose.

I couldn’t let the occasion pass without a gift from me, one which we will both appreciate, I’m sure. After the passing of 2025 during which neither of us drank anything alcoholic, we opened the bottle of ‘6 o’clock sloe gin’ which had been languishing in our dining room for two or three years. It was a smooth and warming liqueur, and one glass slowly sipped was quite sufficient.

Berkshire Botanicals

In addition to the above Rhubarb and Raspberry gin, Berkshire Botanicals offer Honey and Orange Blossom, Dandelion and Burdock, Sloe, Morello Cherry, Orange and Grapefruit, and Navy Strength gins. They are all created in Berkshire at the Yattendon Estate Distillery.

St Germain French Elderflower Liqueur

 That gave me an idea, so I looked to see what was available online. I’m no connoisseur, so easily satisfied, and quickly selected three which looked interesting and different. Judging by our usual consumption, they should last us about six years.

I added a box of Monty Bojangles Choccy Scoffy Dusted Truffles – very rich, very moreish.

Busy

 

Busy

We have had a busy couple of days. On Friday, there was much excited barking from Arthur as he heard the front door open. I thought it was Barry, coming back because he’d forgotten something – he’d just left to take the big dogs out.

The barking increased and eventually eldest daughter, Gillian, appeared, bearing a large box containing all sorts of comestibles. Very generous!

It was lovely to see her, and so unexpected. Much as I love seeing my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, it was very pleasant to sit and have a conversation without interruptions.

While she was here, my daughter-in-law ‘phoned and we had a chat. By that time, Barry was home again, so he and Gillian were chatting in the kitchen while he made coffee for them both.

On Saturday – today – youngest daughter, Bethan, and her family came to see us. Barry cooked a beautiful joint of beef ‘sous vide,’ and we had a lovely lunch, though I do think I overdid, or, rather, underdid the vegetables – they were more almost raw instead of the ‘al dente’ for which I was aiming.

The cats received an inordinate amount of attention, as usual, and the dogs weren’t overlooked, either. They all were given toys!

Tomorrow, middle daughter, Susannah, arrives to spend a few days with us. Arthur will turn himself inside out when he sees her and his little heart will overflow with joy.

Arthur attempts . . .

 

Arthur attempts . . .

 to do what he’s bred for!

Walking in Simons Wood, Arthur reached the lake.

 In the middle of the lake is a small island, on which birds rest and nest. Usually, it’s Canada geese that inhabit it, but this week it was a couple of herons.

Arthur spotted them.

Arthur jumped into the water.

Arthur started to swim towards them.

Barry called him out and Arthur obeyed.

A couple of minutes later, Arthur jumped into the water again, and again was called out. This continued until Barry and Arthur had walked on and the lake and the birds were no longer in sight.

Arthur was a happy, wet dog and slept well after his exercise.

 

I know I did it!

 

I know I did it!

How sure we are of what we have said or done. Our conviction is unmoveable, our belief unassailable.

Recently, I packaged a couple of Advent calendars for my two youngest grandchildren and sent them to my daughter. Speaking to her a few days later, she thanked me for ‘it.’

I said, ‘There were two in the parcel, one for each of the boys.’ She said she’d go and check the package, as maybe she’d thrown one out, though that didn’t seem very likely.

I was cross, very cross. I would have stood in a court of law, under oath, and sworn I had sent her two calendars. I could visualise myself wrapping them.

A day later, Barry came out of the dining room with an Advent calendar in his hand. It had been on the table under one of his coats. (We don’t just have coat hooks and wardrobes – we have chairdrobes and tabledrobes, sofadrobes and top-of-the-dog-cratedrobes, and sometimes, floordrobes. If you have OCD, steer clear of our house!)

 I could have wept! I was upset that only one calendar had been delivered, and worried that I was losing my mind. After all, I haven’t much to occupy it these days, not like when I was working full-time, with a husband often far away on business, four children, elderly parents, and umpteen animals.

Life should be a doddle, and mostly it is, but somehow the Season of Lights and Advertisements and Pleas for Donations, combined with darker days and longer nights, make ordinary things extraordinary. Every year, I declare that Christmas will be welcomed calmly in a well-ordered house. Every year, it isn’t!

The end-of-term three-week headache is absent now, but the simplicity of ordering maybe a little more than usual develops into a marathon of wondering if x, y, and z have been accomplished. In my saner moments, I realise that the smaller details don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

The ‘phone rang . . .

 

The ‘phone rang . . .

. . . but Barry couldn’t find it, He could have answered it on his watch, but that’s not very satisfactory. He found his ‘phone in the shower room. He’d taken it in there to clean his teeth, or, I should say, while he cleaned his teeth. He uses it to time the tooth-cleaning ritual. Technophile? Never!

Anyway, it was our grandson calling to say he’d just dropped his wife off at the railway station and was travelling on to see us. He would be with us shortly. We just had time to tidy the major muddles and put clean covers on the chairs before he arrived, one little girl in his arms and her older sister following.

The first thing Melia did was to remove her shoes. She’s such a competent little girl. Little children’s shoes just melt my heart.

Hailey sat on my lap and gazed at me, as if trying to memorise my face. It’s a toss-up with babies if they’re going to cry or smile. She smiled and then she giggled. Well, I’m enough to make a cat laugh!

Melia is an observant and helpful big sister, giving Hailey a toy to play with if she seemed to need something.

Roxy was delighted to see Callum. He’s her favourite person in the entire world and she stayed very close to him all the time he was with us.

Gilbert had seen the little girls before, but he was so careful, particularly with the baby, sniffing her cautiously, so worried about doing the wrong thing.

 Arthur had not experienced small humans until today, and he was excited to discover how tasty they smelt. Hailey enjoyed having her toes and fingers gently licked.

Herschel and Jellicoe were indifferent, as is their wont.

Young children are so photogenic. They know when they are being filmed or photographed but are unselfconscious, natural subjects.

All too soon, it was time for them to go home. Hailey fell asleep as soon as she settled in her car seat. She had missed her afternoon nap, but wasn’t grizzly, as some often are when tired. Callum had the unenviable task of preventing Melia falling asleep on the journey home. I hope he managed it!

It was an unexpected visit and so lovely to see them.

 The bonus was that they were able to take their Christmas presents home with them, plus a couple of other things. It wasn’t quite a garage clear-out, but a few things have gone to new homes. The most important was a small upstairs dog crate for the puppy they’re collecting on Friday. Their young dog died unexpectedly three months ago, and their older dog has been missing her. There will be much excitement!

Presumption

 

Presumption

A presumption can be anything from a guess to effrontery. What a useful word it is.

Many times, when one ‘phones for advice, or appointments, or complaints there is a point in the foothills of the conversation when details have been ascertained, that the following occurs: ‘Is it alright if I call you . . . ?’  Of course, in our house, we’re only too pleased to have this verisimilitude of social contact. Perish the day when no-one calls us by our names!

Anyway, this morning, Barry, rather grumpy, had occasion to call someone about something or other that had not been followed up, which was the cause of his irritability.

As usual, one call led to another, and his mood lightened as carefully-trained operatives or representatives – the title varies between companies – metaphorically smoothed his fevered brow.

 At one point, a cheerful young lady from Merseyside answered the ‘phone and inevitably came the inquiry, ‘Is it alright if I call you Harry?’

Oops! Barry is never rude, but his robust response was, ‘You certainly may not call me Harry. My name is Barry,’ which caused me to have a fit of the giggles.

By the end of the call, if they weren’t exactly swapping telephone numbers, they had established a friendly bond of understanding. It amazes me how  conversations can travel from business-like to personal so quickly.

Sometimes, it is unclear how people expect to be addressed. Our vets and all the staff at the practice introduce themselves by their given names and that is how we address them. The staff at our dental practice are similarly unambiguous. On the other hand, doctors and consultants occupy the middle ground. Some invite a friendlier connection, while others, perhaps a little shyer, are indeterminate and appear to stand on their dignity. I always go for the formal address, while Barry opts for more casual.

Sometimes, presumption takes the upper hand. On one occasion, I was waiting at the railway station late at night for Barry to return from London. I was listening to the radio when suddenly the passenger door was wrenched open, and a man abruptly uttered an address and told me to take him there. I spluttered and said, ‘I’m not a taxi,’ whereupon he apologised and withdrew.

 I don’t think quickly in the moment and wished later that I’d said something like, ‘Certainly, I can take you there, but I don’t know what my husband will say.’

Oh, the witty responses I could make, if only I could think fast enough.

Have you?

 

Have you?

                                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

What a sad, small life it has become when our time is taken up with booking appointments and attending them. Not really, because we have lots of interests and not enough time to pursue them all.

Howsomever, (which I had never realised was a ‘proper’ word, and have just discovered is archaic, a bit like me) a few weeks ago we were ‘invited’ to book appointments for annual jabs, or are they six-monthly now? Anyway, being obedient little citizens, we proceeded to thread our way through the booking system and nabbed a couple of spots in early October. Yes, the site informed us that all was in order, or alles in ordnung, as Barry says, proving he still remembers some German. Job done, sit back and relax!

At the end of last week, we received another invitation from the NHS to book appointments for annual jabs! Cue double-takes and murmurs of disbelief, as we didn’t wish to be doubly jabbed! On checking, we discovered that our appointments had not been registered or noted or whatever is supposed to happen to them. That’s not strictly true, for when the very pleasant and helpful lady Barry had contacted checked a little lot deeper, she discovered that mine had been recorded, but Barry’s hadn’t. Hey ho!

Barry and the lady had a most enjoyable conversation and gentle rant about the failings of the NHS administration and the inability of the left hand to even acknowledge the existence of the right hand.

We often experience a sense of déjà vu and I’m afraid it is rearing its head in my blog, for which, apologies.

So, have you, and if you haven’t, why haven’t you? My children (odd to call them that when they’re mature adults) pay for their jabs, though one son-in-law doesn’t pay because he’s asthmatic. I don’t think middle daughter will have the jabs – she responds very poorly to them, and they make her quite ill. It’s a toss-up – have the jab and feel lousy for a few days, or contract the illness and feel lousy for a few days.

There are currently two common strains of Covid, Nimbus and Stratus, the majority of reported cases being the latter. As ever, if you are suffering from any respiratory illness, be selfish and keep it to yourself.

Now, wasn’t that a cheerful read?

Delivery

 

Delivery

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons 

We had a parcel delivery today. On the Reolink camera I saw the delivery man approach with the parcel and expected he would leave it at the door, so didn’t rush to answer when he rang the bell. He lingered, then tapped, then left, with the package under his arm. I decided I’d better go to the door.

By that time, he was back in his vehicle, but saw me and climbed out again. He told me he needed my date of birth. ‘You’re joking,’ I said, since, although everyone tells me I don’t look my age (thank goodness!) no-one could mistake me for an adolescent. He was serious, so I gave him the information, and he smiled and handed me the parcel.

It was light and addressed to Barry. When he arrived home with the dogs, he took one look and said, ‘Oh, that’ll be my axe.’

I had forgotten he was researching axes the day before. It’s a sign of extreme trust that this did not worry me. He needed to add a small hatchet to his array of sharp tools for chopping kindling.It’s a good thing I answered the door, or we would have been waiting for a redelivery.

‘Answering the door’ is a funny expression. It’s not as though the door poses questions or asks for explanations. It’s just there, providing a barrier between outside and inside, as well as a measure of insulation, and a means of easily identifying one house from another, so long as it bears a number or a name.