An afternoon in the garden

 

An afternoon in the garden

We visited Gareth and Nina and their family on Saturday. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen all of them together. Susannah drove us there, which was very nice of her.

The ‘children’ are all currently living at home, with plans to move out to live in London, where the three of them work, with friends. Everything in London is so expensive, and they know they will have to part with a lot of their hard-earned salaries each month.

It was so nice for Frankie (13) to see his cousins, (27, 25 and 23) He’s had a rough couple of years with many changes, and it was good for him to be greeted and treated as an individual in his own right and not be judged or criticised. He had a wonderful time in their company and they each had something different to offer him.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon and we sat under an enormous adjustable parasol, which has integral lights and sound. We didn’t need the lights, of course, but it was pleasant to listen to different people’s play lists.

Gareth loves preparing and cooking food, so we dined very well, with Nina’s delicious salads accompanying homemade burgers and sausages. The pavlova proved a step too far for most of us, sadly. It looked delicious!

I discovered that Elliot cannot burp. It was not a subject I introduced freely, but he asked me if I still wrote blogs, so I told him about the recent one. He suffers from abelchia and often has to lie flat on his back to relieve the discomfort. This leads to some interesting conversations when he’s out, as strangers offer sympathy - ‘Had a bit too much, mate?’ It cuts short some of his evenings as he is obliged to return home.

It was soon time for us to take our leave. Eve and Louis were planning to go out for the evening and were trying to persuade Elliot to join them. They asked us what we would be doing for the rest of the day. One event a day is quite sufficient for us . . .

Today, Susannah and Frankie, Arthur and the three cats have returned to London. We shall see them again soon. It was very pleasant to have them here for a week.

It feels quiet here now. The dogs and cats are flaked out. We shall go to bed early. The heat is building up again, so early morning walks will be the order of the day once more.

Freelance

 

Freelance

Where did this expression originate? Were freelancers otherwise known as mercenaries, ‘lances for hire,’ ready to fight for whoever would pay them?

I digress. Our middle daughter, Susannah, is an excellent organiser. Weeks ago, she organised a day’s sailing for her father, brother, and eldest nephew. As the time drew near, she fretted over weather forecasts, but all looked set fair for a glorious day on the Solent. Every day this week the weather was beautiful until today, the day of the projected sail. The forecast was dismal. After much deliberation, they decided to make the most of it anyway. It might be a bit damp and there probably wouldn’t be much wind, but they’d have a good day out together.

Susannah is a television producer. When her contract ended recently, she became freelance. ‘Times is hard’ and jobs are few and far between. The nature of the work means that she is called at sometimes very short notice to work unsocial hours. That happened on Friday evening and she found she would be required to work all weekend as well as next week. She was very torn. Obviously, she couldn’t refuse the job, needing to keep her name in the forefront of potential employers’ minds, and not knowing when or if another would crop up any time soon. She thought long and hard about taking her laptop with her to the boat, so that she could work there. Reluctantly, she decided against that, needing to be on immediate call, and concluding that it would be difficult to concentrate on the job.

She was really upset, especially when her brother, Gareth, drove up with one of his sons. It was the right decision, but it has unsettled her. She had intended staying with us for a few days, but now has to return to London, as the job requires her to go to the office on Tuesday.

The men had a most enjoyable day. The sun shone, the wind blew gently, and the projected rain didn’t appear until late afternoon. It was very pleasant for them to spend time together. Callum, our eldest grandson, and Louis, Gareth’s younger son, are close in age, and employed in the same world as their elders.

Meanwhile, Susannah has highlighted another day for sailing. If nothing else, it may ensure that she is provided with work! She wasn’t very amused by that observation.

(Postscript: I just looked up the derivation of freelance and found the following:

The term “freelance” originates from the Middle Ages, where it was used to describe a “free lance,” referring to a medieval mercenary or knight who was not permanently employed by any lord or king. These knights offered their services to the highest bidder, often being hired for specific battles or campaigns.)

Hedgehogs

 

Hedgehogs

Gareth's hedgehog, left, was intended to be a money box. Susannah's, right, wasn't!

I don’t know whether clay modelling is still something that children do at school. I came across these dusty hedgehogs that my children made when they were about eight years old. I suspect they had the same class teacher, two years apart, and perhaps the study of hedgehogs or other small mammals was part of the curriculum. It was definitely before the advent of the Great Education Reform Bill of 1988, always called Gerbil, but officially labelled the Education Reform Act.

Gareth's hedgehog had a very prominent nose. Perhaps his teacher made much of the hedgehog's predation on insects, snails, frogs, mushrooms and other delicacies.

Susannah's hedgehog is altogether smoother and more streamlined.

Before the National Curriculum was established, teachers were freer to follow their own pursuits and interests, to go off at a tangent. This worked well for those who still felt that children should be ’well grounded’ in the basics, the well-known Three Rs, but were able to interest their classes in other things. I well remember one seven-year-old excitedly telling her mother, ‘Mrs Cooke made fog!’

Anyway, the little hedgehogs my son and daughter made were brought home proudly to be displayed. My son’s work of art was intended to be a money box, with a slot in the top. Whether that was his idea or the whole class was encouraged to make money boxes, I don’t know. When his younger sister made hers, it did not benefit from a slot.

We used to see hedgehogs in the garden from time to time, but I haven’t seen one for an exceptionally long time. Our Jack Russell, Daisy, used to find one occasionally and come in covered in fleas. That was almost forty years ago. Fortunately, hedgehog fleas don’t survive on anything other than hedgehogs.

I’ve just found out that there are seventeen species of hedgehogs, though there are none in Australia and none now living in the Americas. New Zealand hedgehogs are an introduced species, as they are in the Outer Hebridean islands of Benbecula and North Uist.

They are distantly related to the much smaller shrews. Although their prickly spines are usually brown, the hedgehogs of Alderney, in the Channel Islands, are blonde.

In Britain, the population of rural hedgehogs has declined rapidly since 2000.

A life on the ocean wave . . .

 

A life on the ocean wave . . .

 . . . well, Solent, anyway.

                                    Kat, Callum, Hailey and Melia 

Callum ‘phoned. He was taking Kat and the children to the boat, just to familiarise them with it, though Hailey is too young to do more than just sit and look. Kat was intending to take the children home after a couple of hours, so Callum asked if Barry would be interested in going for a sail.

    Melia gets to grips with ship to shore technology in the navigatorium.

Barry hasn’t been down to the boat for an exceptionally long time, with things like sepsis and pneumonia and associated problems disturbing the natural order of things. He agreed he would like a day’s sailing. It’s always enjoyable for him as he doesn’t have to do anything, just keep an eye on things and issue occasional instructions while Callum does the rest very capably.

                            Callum takes his ease before setting sail

Susannah, at home with us for the weekend, said she would drive, as she would like to see her nephew and meet her great-nieces.

Hamble Point Marina is just over an hour away from us, and they set off shortly after 9.00. Callum lives much closer, so his journey is significantly shorter.

Marnie and Dean joined the party later with their two children, who are old enough to take on some of the tasks. It was a lovely day, with light airs, blue sky, and a pleasant amount of sun.

                                            Fergus and Isla
They had a wonderful day, avoiding the Isle of Wight ferries and the cruise liners. The Solent is a remarkably busy stretch of water, but big enough that close encounters of the sailing kind are easily avoided. 

Barry brings the boat alongside after a most enjoyable day

(I don't know whether the video will play! Just checked - it won't.)

Plans are afoot for the future. Gareth and Elliot fancy a day out, too.

 

Defaced blue ensign, ASA

It can only be flown when Barry is aboard 

Nose job

 

Nose job

Sailing nose. 

                                What does that phrase mean to you? A nose job, or rhinoplasty, to give it its official name, is a surgical procedure to reshape the bone and cartilage, often undertaken to improve its appearance. Sometimes, it’s carried out to correct breathing problems.

 My husband and son have both had the procedure, for health reasons, following sports injuries. I don’t remember Barry having a huge dressing on his nose, though I suppose he must have, but I do remember Gareth’s cast or splint or whatever it was called. I also remember that one of the dogs chewed it up, obviously not while it was on his face. The surgeon was not entirely delighted, but did see the funny side of it, as a sort of variation of ‘the dog ate my homework.’ Gareth was a young teenager at the time.

Barry had a minor nose job – that is a minor operation on his nose - at the beginning of January to excise a ‘rodent ulcer,’ known as a basal cell carcinoma. When the results were published, he was told that he would have to return at a later date to have another ‘excavation’ (my word, not the surgeon’s)

He waited at the hospital for a couple of hours as a day patient before he was seen. The procedure took an hour and he arrived home  later. He has to go back in four weeks to see the consultant again. It’s his own fault for being so fair-skinned!

The dogs were alert all afternoon, pricking up their ears every time they heard, 'Motion detected on the drive.' 

When Barry eventually arrived, they were very excited, greeted him warmly and then fell asleep, all the tension having exhausted them. 

Is he really here? He's been away a long time.

He is here! At last!

Can we climb over?

We have never encouraged our dogs to jump over gates in the house, though they could easily do so. The baby gates allow visitors to see them and them to see visitors without incident. They soon calm down - visitors and dogs. 

Dorset to Glasgow

 

 Dorset to Glasgow and back

On Thursday, our eldest grandson flew to Glasgow for a business meeting. There was a severe weather warning in place, with Storm Eowyn expected to wreak havoc, but Callum had not been told of any alteration to plans. While he was waiting for people to arrive and the meeting to begin, a colleague said, ‘Right, I’m off home,’ and wished him farewell. The meeting had been cancelled, but no-one had thought to tell Callum!. Everyone was being advised to go home and stay there.

There being no point in him remaining, Callum decided he had better return home. All flights had been cancelled, so he had to arrange to travel by train. He would reach London Euston just before midnight. He could have stayed with middle daughter, Susannah, in London, but wanted to get home to his pregnant wife and little girl. Eldest daughter, his mother, Gillian, donned her taxi-driver’s hat and drove from Dorset to meet him and take him home.

We were watching Miss Marple, the adaptation with Julia McKenzie in the title role, when the dogs alerted to Alexa announcing, ‘motion detected on the drive.’ That’s nothing unusual, but a few seconds later the front door opened, followed by the porch door, and finally the sitting room door, and Gillian appeared.

 Pandemonium ensued as two deliriously happy dogs mobbed her. She had decided to break her journey with us for a couple of hours and gee herself up with coffee before meeting Callum at Watford, the last stop before Euston. That was preferable to driving into London, and made for a shorter journey.

We tried to persuade her to come back to us for the night, but she was adamant that Callum wanted to get home, and we understood that.

It was so nice to see her, all the more so because it was unexpected. We knew she would not reach her home in Dorset much before 2:00 a.m. Consequently, I read until about 2:30, when I could be satisfied she had probably arrived home safely.

Eowyn didn’t do much in our area, but Herminia is threatening now, and many flights into Heathrow have been cancelled.

It has been a cold, wet and windy day, but at least there will be no ‘mercy dash’ by car to pick up a weary son/grandson.

On the other hand, son Gareth is supposed to be on his way to Austria today for a week’s skiing. I hope his time will not be spent in the airport lounge.

Gilbert the Good – feeling guilty

 

Gilbert the Good – feeling guilty

It wasn’t my fault, not really. We were having fun near the big pond in the forest when I saw two dogs coming towards me and raced to greet them.

Unfortunately, I tripped Barry up and he flew gracefully through the air and landed headfirst. He tried to stand up but he felt woozy and had to lie down in a mosquito nest in a ditch. I mean, he didn’t choose to lie in a mosquito nest – it just happened to be there.

He couldn’t stand up without falling over so an ambulance came. The ambulance people checked all his vital signs and found them suitably vital but decided he should go to hospital as he had banged his head. Meanwhile, James came to take Roxy and me home. 

Then Gareth, Susannah’s brother, arrived to help.

When the doctor said Barry could be discharged, Susannah and Gareth suggested that it might be better to wait until he could stand up without feeling dizzy and sick and needing to sit down again. So, he stayed in hospital.

The next day he came home and we were ever so pleased to see him. Nothing was broken and it was just his brain that had been shaken about like a jelly. He slept a lot at first, but now he’s tickety-boo.

Susannah’s sisters, Bethan and Gillian, came on different days to satisfy themselves he was okay.

This all happened almost six weeks ago.  Susannah has been taking Roxy and me out every morning but now Barry’s head is fine and Janice’s knee is much better so they are walking us again and everything is back to normal . . . but I still feel a bit guilty.

TTFN

Gilbert

 

 

 

Sous Vide

 

Sous Vide

My son is an accomplished and inventive cook. I attribute this, modestly, to my influence in his young life, and, incidentally, that of his siblings.

Allow me to explain. I am the World’s Worst Cook. My mother did not enjoy cooking, although her mother was a professional cook. Her meals were appetising and varied and she did her best to teach me the rudiments of cooking and baking. The love of cooking was not there, however, and it did not find fulfilment in me. Like her, I did it because I had to, though not as well, and my children would have suffered had it not been for their father, who enjoys the chemistry of cooking, managing to introduce original dishes to their experience. (You know, he even tastes as he goes along!)

So, my children followed my husband’s path and each in turn became ‘good cooks’, but Gareth is taking it to greater heights. Nina, his wife, is also a good cook, but she is happy to let Gareth take the lead and continue to produce outstanding meals.

We have enjoyed many repasts, often produced on his barbeque. He barbecues the Christmas turkey every year regardless of the weather, and we have appreciated his wonderful home-smoked salmon.

He has been using the Sous Vide method for some time now and recently introduced Barry to it, with a gift of Sous Vide equipment. Sous Vide has been around in one form or another since 1799. Simply, it is low-temperature, long-time cooking (LTLT) and has been used in some restaurants for more than twenty years. Now, very few professional chefs do not use Sous Vide, though many prefer not to admit to its use. Jamie Oliver is an exception.

Sous Vide is not for the last-minute ‘What shall we have for supper?’ cook (me!) It requires thought and timing but the results, I must say, are amazing, succulent and flavourful. Barry is enjoying the challenge of a new way of cooking but he hasn’t yet tried anything that takes 72 hours! 

A Life Full of Animals - part one

 

A Life Full of Animals - part one

I have never known a time in my life without animals, apart from the three years I was at college.

My earliest memory is of Bob the Collie, for whom my father laid a place at the table. There followed Sombre the Smooth-coated Collie, Ginger the cat, Punch the Springer and Judy the kitten.

The first dog Barry and I had was a yellow Labrador called Whisky. She was three years old and she was my birthday present from Barry when I was in my final year. I couldn’t keep her at college so Barry kept her in the officers’ mess at RMCS Shrivenham, where she led a very convivial life. She was a patient and very friendly dog, and eventually a great companion to and protector of our young children. 

Whisky with Gareth

We thought her not to be a natural guard dog, barking only at buses and ladders, until one night in Northern Ireland when Barry came home very late, she barked menacingly at him before she realised who he was and was then abjectly apologetic. She was not averse to helping herself to choice morsels from other people’s shopping baskets, when the opportunity presented itself, and enjoyed ‘picking’ blackberries, too.

Biddy with Gillian

As she aged and our children grew, we decided to get another dog, to ease the pain of Whisky’s passing, when the time came. Thus we acquired Biddy, a 7-month-old smooth-coated Jack Russell terrier, (JR) the long-legged variety now known as Parson Jack Russell. She had already been cubbing and never lost her penchant for searching underground, once disappearing for several hours and emerging mostly brown, rather than her usual tan and white. She was enormous fun, always seeking to ingratiate herself by sliding round on one shoulder in front of one of us and submitting. She was very much Barry’s dog, loving to huddle inside his jacket. When he wasn’t around, Biddy’s preferred companion was Gareth, particularly in the forest. She was expert at climbing trees.

Biddy and Gareth

After Whisky died, Biddy was lonely, missing her old companion and so we got Leo, a rough-coated, short-legged Jack Russell. He had been a stud dog and in our innocence we thought we would have no problem keeping him and Biddy apart when she came into season. How wrong we were! Biddy had five adorable puppies, and we kept Daisy and Sam. Daisy was a very pretty broken-coated girl and liked sleeping in the cat beds we suspended from the radiators, for by now, we had a cat, a beautiful brown Burmese.

Leo

Susannah, Gillian and Gareth with Biddy and her five puppies

Daisy

Daisy, Sam and Biddy at the seaside

This came about because Susannah had wanted a rabbit. We had experienced heart-ache with Gillian’s previous rabbits and so persuaded Susannah that a cat would be preferable. We called her Alicat and we were encouraged to breed from her. JRs are reputed to be cat killers but when we brought Alicat home, Daisy jumped on my lap, watched by the other three, and we never had a problem. Of course, each of our then three children had a different favourite kitten and soon our menagerie grew, until by the time Bethan, our fourth child, arrived, we had four JRs and nine Burmese. We also had guinea pigs and pet mice and gerbils, all of which reproduced at will.

Sam with Susannah and Bethan

Bethan with Barry, Sam and Daisy

Sam was also broken-coated and immensely strong for his size. He loved collecting logs, the bigger the better. He really was a big dog in a little dog’s body. He and Leo did not get on once he grew up, so Leo went to live with my parents. Sam’s life was short and sweet. Out running with Barry one day, he ran off and was knocked down by a car. He died unexpectedly after surviving a few days with the vet. He was six years old. Biddy had spent much time licking his ears and little Daisy was somewhat overlooked. Clearly, Sam was his mother’s favourite and she pined for him.  We commenced our search for our next dog. 

I had long wanted a Dalmatian and soon Cariadd joined our family from Wales. She was smaller than the JRs when she first arrived, but soon outstripped them and proved to be a good problem-solver.

Biddy and Cariadd

Cariadd. Bethan, Biddy and Daisy

Barry holding one of Cariadd's longer 'sticks', watched by Bethan

She specialised in carrying long branches, more like young trees, through small gaps and was the perfect running mate for Barry. She also had a terrific smile, which worried people who were not familiar with dog smiles. We were sometimes told, ‘Your dog’s snarling at me.’

Many breeds of dog smile, or snark, some with closed lips, others with varying degrees of tooth display and nose wrinkling. I must admit it can look quite alarming!

I believe that once you have two or more dogs you can never go back to just one. Dogs need dogs and the one that’s left alone becomes depressed. A ‘new’ dog, whether baby puppy or older dog, rejuvenates the survivor and rekindles his or her energy and enthusiasm.

When our last JR, Daisy, died, we had to find a companion for Cariadd, and this came in the form of Dalmatian Dominie, from Devon, four months old and a really big puppy. She was as soft as butter, a little dog in a big dog’s disguise. Cariadd, not noted for her maternal instinct, allowed the youngster to chew her neck and never grumbled at her. Dominie was not well coordinated as a puppy and fell in our pond every day for a week as she thundered over the bridge, but she grew into an athletic dog who could turn on a sixpence, giving any chasing dog a great work out.

Dominie with our eldest grandson, Callum (now 25 and an expectant father)

We were very taken with our Dalmatians, delighting in their elegance and intelligence, and it was good to have not one, but two big dogs to which we could reach down a hand to be nuzzled. As Cariadd aged, and, sadly, dogs age too quickly, we decided to look for a third Dalmatian. Bethan had enjoyed building obstacle courses for Cariadd and was keen to try showing a dog. Dominie, beautiful though she was, was simply too big and Cariadd had never been keen on the show ring.

We thought it would be fun to have a liver Dalmatian, so green-eyed Buddy left his home in Cornwall to live with us. His eyes didn’t remain green. He was a handsome boy, devoted to Bethan. When we brought him home, Dominie’s expression was one of pure joy. We could almost hear her saying, ‘My puppy, oh, my puppy.’

Dominie with baby Buddy

Labradors are renowned for being greedy, but Dalmatians can match, if not outpace them. Ours all learnt very quickly that food was freely available on work tops and we had to find places they could not reach. Naturally, they didn’t attempt to thieve while we watched. We were careful about not allowing them ‘dangerous’ foods, like grapes or macadamia nuts, but even so Buddy demolished a chocolate cake and lived to tell the tale. Our grandchildren still laugh about that.

Buddy does the leg work while Dominie waits

In the meantime, the cats were ruling the roost, and attempting to find a way into the fish tank for a tasty fresh snack. When they had a spat, as cats do, they would find a dog to curl up with. The cats never attacked the dogs, just each other. Sometimes, a dog would stand between two arguing cats, to calm them down.

Cariadd and 6 Burmese

After Buddy came seven-month–old Frodo, from Lincolnshire, a dog bred primarily for looks rather than temperament. He was always gentle and loving with everyone in our household, particularly Buddy, but reactive with unfamiliar dogs, not a good trait in a show dog. He became my Velcro dog and remained so until his death seven years ago.

 

Frodo the Faller

The Sixteenth Blog of Augustus Lazarus Cooke (Gus)

Hello everyone!

It’s windy and dull today but it isn’t raining. It’s a special day for Mr H ‘cos it’s his birthday so it doesn’t matter to him what the weather’s doing.  Yesterday he and the missus went out. They took us for a long walk first then off they went in the car. They left Jenna in their bedroom but they didn’t know that till they got home and couldn’t find her.

They went to see Gareth and Nina and Susannah and Nick and the children. I would have liked to go too, ‘cos I like children but I had to stay and look after the house. Us dogs still haven’t met the baby – he’ll be all grown up by the time we see him. I think he’s coming to our house in a little while.  Everyone keeps saying he’s a gorgeous, happy little boy - I hope he likes us.

Anyway, Mr and Mrs didn’t get home till ever so late but they left the lights on for us even though we don’t mind the dark. We hadn’t had our supper so that was the first thing that happened when the Humans walked in. Then the Humans had their supper.

Today we’re all tired. Us dogs get really worn out worrying about our Humans when they go out without us to protect them so we always spend the next day sleeping. I’m wondering what’s going to happen in a few days ‘cos Mr H keeps saying, ‘You don’t know what’s coming your way,’ then Mrs H laughs and says, ‘They’ll be all right,’ so I don’t think it will be anything nasty. I expect it will be something nice that we’ll really like – maybe a big juicy boneJ They’re going to take us for a good long walk so that means they’ll be going out without us again to collect whatever is coming. I expect dogs aren’t allowed in bone stores – too much excitement.

Gillian and Bethan are coming to see us next weekend – at least, I think they’re coming to see us. I don’t think they’d be very interested in meaty bones but I could be wrong.

I must go now - *yawn* - I need to go back to sleep again.

Be good.

Hwyl fawr am nawr! (That’s Welsh for ‘Goodbye for now!’)

So what did you do on St. David's Day?

So what did you do on St. David’s Day?

We had a fun-filled, action-packed day. I woke full of enthusiasm for the day ahead. Actually, that’s not true – I never feel like that in the mornings. I’m not a morning person. Annoyingly, Barry is. He’s very chipper from the moment he wakes and still, after four decades, attempts to engage me in conversation first thing. Two of the daughters are larks like him. Gillian is ready to talk as soon as she gets out of bed. Susannah gets up ridiculously early – half-way through the night, really – and is busy and bright all day until she’s exhausted and ready for bed by six o’clock eight o’clock nine o’clock. The son and the other daughter are more like me. Gareth’s approachable but quiet. Bethan has warning signs all over her. She’s polite but don’t push your luck.

As for me I’ve learnt that if I chatter and smile too early in the day I’ll end up in a bad mood. I’m an owl. That’s to say, I used to be an owl, able and happy to stay up half the night. Things changed when the babies came along. What a silly expression that is – ‘when the babies came along.’ It sounds as though they had free will in the matter and trotted into my life as and when the mood took them. What’s that? Gooseberry bushes and storks? Really? You believe all that? Tsk!

These days I’m more of a half-past-two-in-the-afternoon sort of person. I build up to that pinnacle which lasts about an hour and then experience a rapid decline. Then I sleep. At least, I try to sleep. I’m a light sleeper and the smallest sound wakes me. My theory is that I’m alert all night because of the training I received at the hands of the crying babies who became comfort-seeking infants and then trying teenagers. Some days one teenager would be getting up in the morning as another came through the door to go to bed. Barry slept through all of that. I don’t mean he was Rip Van Winkle, just that as a young officer he acquired the knack of sleeping through anything. Army training, eh? Bit worrying, though - if these army types can ignore disturbances how do they know when it would be advisable to wake up and do something? Does part of the brain listen out for stealthy footsteps or differentiate between the insistent cry of a toddler and the approach of a rioting crowd?

Anyway, last night the dogs were restless. Bertie’s tummy was gurgling and whistling and the last time that happened, a couple of weeks ago, he made a hasty and unsuccessful attempt to vacate the house. Instead he vacated himself on the stairs, poor boy, at two thirty in the morning. So, while I was cleaning and disinfecting the stairs Barry and the other animals – no, let me rephrase that, the rest of the animals and Barry - snored through it. That night I didn’t get back to sleep until dawn.

As it turned out Bertie was fine. Frodo was bumbling round and somehow got tangled up in the chair that serves as my bedside table (!! that’s another story!!) and knocked it over. Barry snored!

 It was foggy in the morning but gradually the sun burnt through and it was a lovely day, perfect for a bracing walk with the dogs. I intended to go in the gym and also have a swim. At one o’clock the washing machine and tumble dryer switched on. At the same time the pond pumps came on. A couple of minutes later the internet went down and half the electricity in the house cut out. That’s when we discovered the meaning behind ‘emergency cover’ and that our insurance didn’t cover us because we still had some electricity. We also discovered that the main switch for the electricity was locked on and we could no longer shut off the power.

The electrician who came admitted that he came into the house full of optimism that a solution to the problem would soon be found. An hour later he was less hopeful. Two hours on he was wishing he was a plumber! He checked all the sockets in the house – oh, the shame of it! If I’d known every nook and cranny was going to be investigated I’d have vacuumed every corner and washed all the paintwork and put away all the piles of (Barry’s) stuff.

Eventually, Dave-the-Electrician located the problem in a forgotten and unused socket in the dining room. Sawing noises ensued as the floor was opened to reveal sixty-year-old wiring that had seen better days.  By the time he left, around six o’clock, the dogs were tired from the unusual activity and we called it a day and had supper early.

It was an interesting start to the month. In the summer we’ll have the wiring replaced in the old part of the house. That will be fun!

The tenth family birthday of the year – Gareth

Gareth was born ‘at home’ i.e.: not in hospital in 1969. When the midwife delivered him (though I suppose I did the delivering!!) she declared, “He’ll be a six-footer” and so he is, six foot three in his stockinged feet.

He was a quick developer like his older sister and was toddling at ten months old. There was very little baby language, Gareth preferring to wait until he had the words, and later, sentences, correct in his head before he delivered them.

He was a bright and inquisitive boy and retained information like a sponge. He was always a gentle soul and as he grew bigger and more noticeable so he adjusted his demeanour, never wishing to worry little old ladies or small children. At school he was known as ‘Rambo’ and younger boys who worried about being bullied would go quietly to him and tell him their troubles and Gareth would sort them out. We knew nothing of this until after Gareth had left school. He has never been one to blow his own trumpet.

He was a superb swimmer and played rugby at club level. He has always been grateful for the opportunities he had to develop his swimming. We felt it was important that he was physically challenged so that he learnt to coordinate his limbs which can often be a problem for tall boys. He was good at judo, though too tall, and good also at karate.

One of my abiding memories is of seeing him taking his little sister to school, walking hand in hand with her, twelve years his junior, he so tall, she so small. Now the age difference means nothing. They love and appreciate each other. His older sisters, one either side of him, love and respect him too, as he does them.

He is the loving husband of a woman I regard as my fourth daughter and a kind and caring father to their three children. He works too hard, like his father before him, and we all worry about that, but he loves and is loved by all his family.

Happy Birthday, Gareth - even though you try and fail to make us forget your birthdays, we don’t.  We love you.