To run or not to run

I have been using an app on my phone called Couch to 5K in order to try out a bit of running. I have never been good at running, not even when I was at school. In fact whenever I try to run fast for whatever reason I often end up by falling down, the evidence of which is some quite bad scars on my knees. The app starts by encouraging you to run for 90 seconds then walk for 90 seconds, repeating about half a dozen times. Then each session increases your exercise, presumably until you can run for five kilometres. I say presumably, because I have only completed the first five sessions out of a total of twenty-four. I’m not sure whether I will finish the course. It’s not just that I am unfit and clumsy, the main reason is that I derive absolutely no pleasure in the activity. Friends who are runners have described to me the joy they feel as they speed along, and their exhilaration at the end of their run. None of these feelings have happened to me. 

When I went out running in light rain on Wednesday I was out of breath and gasping throughout, and at the end of my allotted time I found myself resting on a low wall in increasingly heavy rain about ten minutes walk from my house. Then I realised that I was just around the corner from my sister-in-law’s home. Inspired, I texted her and invited myself round for a coffee. Not only did Marjory make me a very welcome coffee she also very kindly gave me a lift home later! 

However the jury is still out for me on running. Not only am I rubbish at it, I don’t enjoy it. Also I think I will need to buy more supportive underwear if I continue. I will report further on my progress or lack thereof.

Flora loves David Attenborough

David has always been the main David Attenborough fan in our house, avidly watching his many nature series. However he has been usurped by Floof, who last night stared fixedly at the television for a whole hour as she watched the “Lion” episode of his latest series, “Dynasties.” I have never seen Floof concentrating on anything for so long, and it wasn’t just the movement and noises of lions and their prey running across the screen that held her attention; she was just as interested in the close up shots of the lions’ faces so she must recognise their feline features. It was hilarious to see her so fascinated - but I have a feeling that if she ever met her big cousins from the Serengeti that she so admires, they would slaughter and eat her as a small snack straight away.
James, Ally and I indulged in a bit of hero worship ourselves this evening; we went to see “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the cinema; the biopic of Freddie Mercury. I wasn’t sure how this would work, because who could possibly adequately portray the amazing Freddie? But Rami Malek was fantastic and so were the other actors. After the first five minutes I forgot that it wasn’t the real band, and the music was great. Having been approved by the surviving members of Queen, who are understandably keen to portray Freddie fondly, the film was perhaps a little sanitised, but we didn’t mind and enjoyed it thoroughly.

Five March

Glasgow March 5 1971 is poem by Edwin Morgan that I studied at school. Although not one of my favourite poems, the image of the young couple as they fall into the plate glass window is certainly striking - a snapshot of a moment in time. When I started at Glasgow University in 1979, Edwin Morgan was still a professor there, but unfortunately due to my youth and ignorance I never sought out the opportunity to meet this remarkable Glaswegian poet.
I didn’t make any connection with the poem when James chose a recently opened restaurant called Five March for our meal on Saturday evening, recommended to us by one of his foodie colleagues. We went there with Heather and Ewan and had a tasty meal of small plates made with unusual combinations of delicious and fresh ingredients. We asked the waiter (who I suspect may also have been one of the owners) about the origin of its name and when he told us that it was named after an Edwin Morgan poem I immediately realised which one and was delighted by the literary reference!
Later we met up with Ally to see Jools Holland and his band at the Armadillo. As usual it was a tremendously good show with some of his favourite guests; Marc Almond, Eddi Reader and of course the marvellous Ruby Turner were all in excellent voice. When we were strolling towards the entrance we noticed that huge quantities of very young teenagers were flocking to the adjacent Hydro*. They were very lively, and in high spirits, shouting and screaming and throwing drinks bottles about. Not that we Jools Holland fans weren’t in high spirits, in fact we were soon all jigging about as much as our aged limbs would allow, but we were definitely much better behaved!

* They were going to see a band called the Courteeners, of whom I have to admit I have never heard.

Only remembered for what we have done

On Friday I went over to Carmunnock to watch their Drama Club’s winter show, which this year was a moving tribute to the villagers from 100 years ago; the soldiers who fought in the First World War and the villagers at home who worked to support the war effort. The actors all played real people and you could tell that it was very personal to the community. At the end the entire cast sang a hymn “Only Remembered” about being remembered for your deeds which had many of us in tears, myself included. It was really respectful and a lovely way for the village to remember and honour their forebears.

Fading away like the stars in the morning,

Losing their light in the glorious sun.
Thus would we pass from this earth and its toiling,
Only remembered for what we have done.

Only remembered, only remembered, 
Only remembered for what we have done.
Thus would we pass from this earth and its toiling,
Only remembered for what we have done.

Only the truth that in life we have spoken,
Only the seed that in life we have sown.
These shall pass onwards when we are forgotten,
Only remembered for what we have done.

Who’ll sing the anthem and who’ll tell the story?
Will the line hold, will it scatter and run?
Shall we at last be united in glory?
Only remembered for what we have done.

by Horatius Bonar 

The next day we met Heather and Ewan at the Art Galleries to attend a talk with slides and film clips about the identification and reburial of 250 Australian and British soldiers who were killed at the battle of Fromelles on 19th and 20th July 1916. Heather’s Mum and Dad had told her about it and they very kindly invited us along. It was absolutely fascinating. The battle was a disaster for the Allies with 5500 Australian soldiers and 2000 British soldiers killed or wounded. The Germans buried the dead but eight communal burial areas were overlooked in the 1920s when most of the war dead were reinterred by the War Graves Commission. In 2008 the exercise began to exhume, identify, and bury the men, this time in their own graves with headstones. Not all could be identified, but a remarkable number were, using clothing, badges, dental and DNA testing. The film clips showing the gratitude of the families of the soldiers were especially moving. One mother had written to the authorities in the early 1920s desperately hoping for confirmation of where her son was buried. Sadly she was long dead by the exhumation but now her son has been identified and reburied, and we saw a photograph of his gravestone. For the second time in two days I was moved to tears.

Government Response

Alasdair gave me a challenge after he and Cat attended the Remembrance Day service at the Cenotaph in London on 11th November. He wanted me to find out what piece of music is played while the Prime Minister and the other politicians lay their wreaths. I did a bit of googling but, although you can easily find a list of the music that is played each year, I wasn’t sure which piece was played when. So what to do? I contacted the government of course! In fact I sent an email to the Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport, because they organise the Remembrance Day service.
And I was impressed when only a couple of days later I received this response:

Dear Ms Anderson,
Thank you for your correspondence of 15 November about the music that was played on Remembrance Sunday when the Prime Minister and others lay their wreaths. I am replying as a member of the Ministerial Support Team.
The department can confirm that the music played was Beethoven's Funeral March No. 1 - Johann Heinrich Walch.
I hope that this information is helpful.
Yours sincerely,
Dempster Marples
Ministerial Support Team

What a helpful response - and as Ally pointed out, what a great name!

Heavy eye sockets

Last night I went to see The Madness of George III being performed in the theatre in Nottingham Playhouse - except that I watched it with Jackie at the Grosvenor Cinema in Glasgow! It’s the first time that I have gone to see a live performance being filmed and transmitted into cinemas, unless you count the live Q & A sessions after the Michael Caine and Peter Jackson films recently. But this was the whole performance, and it felt strange that although we were seeing it on the screen it was being performed live. I have seen various similarly broadcast productions advertised and it seems to be an increasingly popular (and cost effective) way of seeing live theatre performed by top luvvies.
I was slightly concerned that it would lose out by being both less polished and edited than a film, and less immediate and personal than the theatre, but I needn’t have worried. It was brilliant and funny and the acting was amazing especially by Mark Gatiss, and there was a nice wee introduction before it started. This was useful for me because I have never seen the film, so it gave me a bit of background. Jackie on the other hand has seen the film more than once and it is one of her favourites, so we were both extremely happy as we sat in the comfy Grosvenor cinemas seats and enjoyed the fine performance and chatted at the interval. I would definitely do this again, which is just as well because I’m already booked to go with my Cambuslang book club to see NT Live’s Antony and Cleopatra in December.
Today I have not felt 100%. I went swimming, and did some housework and had a really nice meet-up with Jennifer G, but by tea-time I was really flagging and took to my bed. When James asked rather tetchily what was the matter with me, I explained that my eye sockets felt heavy, which he found rather amusing.

Lunch at the River Café

We each chose a destination for our last day in London. James chose the Bank of England Museum. It’s only open mid week so our extended weekend was a good chance to visit. For me the museum was mildly interesting and I enjoyed its human interest stories, for example Kenneth Grahame (who wrote “Wind in the Willows) worked there and retired early due to workplace bullying. Or how an honest (luckily) sewer worker demonstrated to the bank officials that the bank was not secure by appearing out of a drain in the basement! James on the other hand was fascinated by the history of the place; why there was a need for a central bank and the early promissory notes. We both tried holding a gold bar (safely stored behind bars so that we couldn’t nick it) which was very heavy.
Then it was time for my choice; The River Café. Wow. Just wow. It’s at Hammersmith right beside the river and involved a journey by tube followed by a fifteen minute walk. I have wanted to go there for ages and the last time I booked it I got a phone call to ask me to postpone because they were having a private party that day. So I was very impressed when the waitress brought us complimentary champagne to say thanks, they must have made a note on my email address. Not that I could drink the champagne, but James certainly enjoyed both glasses! The decor of the restaurant is modern and bright, and the food was Italian and excellent. But as a shameless celebrity spotter I was blown away to notice that top luvvies Hugh Laurie, Emma Thompson AND Tim Rice were sitting at the VERY NEXT TABLE! Oh my goodness! I was beyond excited. I went to the toilet twice during the meal so that I could casually and subtly get a better look at them on my way past. It was so exciting! James has informed me that it would be unfair to blog about what they were eating so I will refrain. We had a lovely walk along the river after lunch. I said to James “I bet that you have a much more exciting time in London when I’m with you,” to which he replied “Well, I certainly have a more expensive time when you’re with me!” 
When we got to London City Airport for our flight home, guess who was on the same flight? Was it perchance another celebrity? It was our Ewan, that’s who, on his way home from a business meeting in London. This was even better than seeing a celebrity because we could chat with him rather than glancing surreptitiously at him! And now we are home, reunited with the cats and Alasdair.

Sunday evening in Soho

Today we set off on the Northern Line to Colindale to visit the RAF Museum. It was my idea because I thought that James would like it, and it was an absolute triumph. James was just so happy and we wandered around all the hangars for three and a half hours. There are six large hangars filled with MANY aircraft. James looked at every single plane and kept up a very informative running commentary e.g. how to tell the difference between a Hurricane and a Spitfire (wing-shape and height of cockpit). As we left, James mentioned that it had been a very good “initial visit” and that he would like to return to spend more time there! MORE time? I was flabbergasted, but if that makes him happy then we shall return.
Later we went to Soho, where we found that the Christmas decorations are up and lit. At the entrance to Carnaby Street there was a sign which said “Welcome to Sohoho Ho Ho Ho” which I found rather amusing. We went to Cahoots, a tiny forties style pub in an old underground station, with 1940s decor and live music; it was like a step back in time and had huge variety of cocktails which were served in quirky drinking vessels. It had a great atmosphere. We went to nearby Dehesa for really gorgeous tapas, before strolling along Regent Street which was decorated with huge and spectacular angels. We were surprised to see several shapely young folk, both male and female, cavorting about in Piccadilly Circus wearing only pants and body paint! They looked a bit chilly actually, and were chanting something along the lines of “We love chaos!” 
Oh I do love London. 

721 Steps

There are 528 steps up to the Golden Gallery of St Paul’s Cathedral and I climbed all of them today with James, Christine and Cat. And we were rewarded with fantastic views of London. The people crossing the Millenium Bridge looked like an army of ants, and over on Blackfriars Bridge we could see a crowd of teeny tiny protestors with tiny colourful placards. The cluster of the most recent and (in my opinion) ill-matched City buildings were lit up brightly by the sunshine and looked almost attractive. It was all simply stunning. A convivial lunch in Paternoster Square with the Reids followed. How lovely to be sitting in the City of London with good food and excellent company on a sunny autumn afternoon.
Our evening entertainment was the musical “Bat out of Hell” at the Dominion Theatre (chosen by James). We were cutting it rather fine for our pre-theatre meal at The Ivy (chosen, of course, by me!) and when we arrived at Covent Garden Tube Station we headed for the stairs to avoid the huge queues at the lifts. As we started pounding up the stairs I heard an ominous tannoy announcement “There are 193 steps at this station” Whaaaat? It was too late to change our minds and anyway fleet-footed James had already sprinted upwards out of sight. To make matters worse, I had boldly overtaken a few people at the start of the winding staircase and then had the humiliation of them all passing me as I slowly slogged upwards towards street level. I was very out of breath when we arrived at the restaurant but I was soon soothed by the delightful ambience of The Ivy. This was our second visit so we are practically regulars. I just love it so much and the food was fantastic.
Bat out of Hell has the most ridiculous plot; a post-apocalyptic combination of West Side Story and Peter Pan, with gratuitously revealing outfits straight from the Rocky Horror Show, and a little bit of the aging dilemma of Highlander thrown in. However the music was great, the cast were enthusiastic and very talented, and it was all great fun. 

The Gospel according to Footloose

It has been a rather pleasant week, although I found the first part of Tuesday to be rather trying. It involved a lot of driving in surprisingly heavy traffic, first to get a minor repair on the Audi, and then to pick up a headboard for Grandma’s bed. She has now moved from her upstairs bedroom to a room downstairs which James and Ally have set up as a lovely new bedroom. Grandma has been in hospital for the last four days so we have been up and down to Hairmyres constantly, but she has responded very well to treatment and was discharged today. She is delighted to be home.
Anyway, when I was at the Audi garage I decided to go to the toilet and when I got inside, the handle broke, so I found myself locked in. I phoned the customer service desk on their external line from inside the toilet because I was too embarrassed to thump on the door. I was soon freed but I felt a bit flustered because all of the other customers were staring at me when I was rescued. By the time I got home with the headboard it was time to jump straight back into the car to meet Heather in town for a meal before our theatre outing. I was particularly keen to be on time since I kept her waiting last time, but of course the traffic was still dreadful and I became more and more stressed as I was held up at every single red light. In the end I was less than ten minutes late and I nabbed a semi-legal parking space straight away (semi-legal because my back tires were legal but my front tires were on a double yellow line) and from that point the day improved mightily. It was lovely to see Heather, and we had a good chat while enjoying a tasty dinner at Ardnamurchan, just across the road from the Theatre Royal. The play was excellent; it was a dramatisation of the novel “Still Alice”which tackles the difficult subject of dementia in a very sensitive way. And I didn’t get a parking ticket.
I was at the theatre again on Thursday evening, this time Eastwood Theatre to see an ex-colleague in the musical Footloose. I had dinner with Karen and Audrey first. Now, I have been feeling much less stressed recently, to the extent that I am not worrying about much at all. It’s great. But there is something holding me back; it’s like I don’t feel that I deserve to be happy. I have had some really sad and difficult times and it’s actually really difficult to let go of that. My goal for a long time was to make my Mum better but of course I ultimately failed at that! And then I have had a great deal of stress at work, although I did deal with it and overcame it. Over the past year I have been gradually feeling better though. And then as I sat watching the musical, which was great fun, I was very moved by something that the minister said towards the end of the play. It was like an epiphany for me.
I looked it up online today, and here it is in its entirety:
“Now, somehow I got into my head that my loss was the greatest. That my pain was the deepest. And then, last night, someone much younger than that made me realize how tightly I had been holding onto that memory. A memory that has weighed me down as surely as a great stone. And in that moment, I did something I haven’t done for a very long time: I laid down my burden. It was a terrifying moment. And it was exhilarating.”
Wow. Who would have thought that dialogue from Footloose would have made such a big impression on me. I’m not sure that I have managed to lay down my burden yet but it certainly feels a bit lighter these days.

One hundred years

Ally and Cat watched the Armistice Day Ceremony and Parade in London, from the corner of Whitehall and Downing Street. They had a tremendous view of the wreath-laying ceremony and the military parade, followed by a 10,000 strong “people’s parade”. What an historic occasion to be part of, one hundred years since the end of the 1st World War. James and I watched the ceremony on television from the comfort of our couch; we had thought about going to church but Grandma isn’t too well, and James spent most of the day at her house.
I joined him later on because I was at a fund-raiser for an Autism base in the afternoon where I ate too much cake and impulsively bought a gorgeous gold sequinned dress in 1920s style. Christine said “You will look like a slapper!” which took me aback slightly until she corrected herself and said “I mean a flapper!” I thought that this was very funny.

Looking for ancestors

I have been doing a wee bit of research on my Rennie ancestors recently and have come up against a missing link. No, I don’t mean the Missing Link between man and the apes, but an ancestor (my great-great-grandfather James Rennie) who may or may not be related to the eminent and prolific agriculturalist George Rennie. He was prolific as regards his progeny, of whom he begat eighteen, with two wives. Well, he did marry his first wife when he was fourteen years of age! Presumably this was allowed in the eighteenth century. Anyway, to prove the link, I need to find more details of the aforementioned James Rennie, who may be a grandson of the fecund George.
I have some documentation from one of my cousins which implies that he is buried at the village of Stow in the Borders, so on Saturday I persuaded James to come with me on a road trip to find James Rennie’s gravestone. Well, it turned out to be a wild goose chase. We searched both the old and new graveyards at Stow to no avail. Not a single Rennie was to be found, and only one Archibald (his wife’s maiden name). A friendly local historian spotted us and came over to chat, but he he hadn't heard of the family. The quest will continue.
We consoled ourselves with some excellent tea and scones in the delightful coffee shop in Stow, before setting off on a walk up nearby Birkscairn Hill - well there had to be a hill for James didn’t there? It was quite steep so James strode ahead and I went part of the way up at my own pace. Despite the disappointingly slow journey home due to the Satnav taking us on some very winding roads through deepest Lanarkshire (with hindsight we should have gone back via the M8) it had been a really good day out.

Walking among ghosts on Glasgow Green

When we were at the fireworks display at Glasgow Green on Monday evening, I enjoyed the sense of history that I always feel when I go there, so on Thursday I popped back over there to have a walk around and a coffee in the Winter Gardens of the People’s Palace. I love that the land has belonged to the people of Glasgow since the 15th century when it was gifted to them by the King, and attempts to use it for other purposes such as coal-mining have always been knocked back. So over the centuries it has been used for grazing animals, washing clothes, drying fishing nets and swimming. In the 18th century Bonnie Prince Charlie camped here with his army while demanding food and clothing from the reluctant Glaswegians, and twenty years later James Watt strolled around while thinking of ideas to improve the steam engine.

Many political meetings and marches have taken place on Glasgow Green in the 19th and 20th centuries, including those of the suffragettes, and anti-war protests from the 1st World War onwards. It is home to rowing clubs, there are playgrounds and a football centre. It hosts music festivals and of course the annual firework display.
When I go there, I like to imagine that I am treading in the footsteps all the Glaswegians who have been there before me, including some of my own ancestors. I love the People’s Palace and enjoyed my coffee there; the light in the Winter Gardens is always warm even when the weather outside is dull. Nearby I came across an attractive but rather mossy statue of James Watt; he looks much friendlier than his more formal statue in George Square. I wandered onwards to Nelson’s Monument and then along the banks of the Clyde to the very beautiful St Andrew’s Suspension Bridge. I stood in the middle and watched the river flowing beneath me, which was very soothing. I was amazed at how brightly coloured are the designs on the stonework of Templeton Carpet Factory, famous for being modelled on the Doge’s Palace in Venice; it really is gorgeous. Although it hasn’t been a carpet factory for a long time, it’s still a thriving business centre, including the WEST Brewery where we dined on Monday evening. Glasgow Green really is a great and historic park, and even on quite a dreich afternoon it was being well used by parents with pushchairs, runners, and random visitors like me. And thousands of ghosts. 

More Fireworks

James persuaded me to accompany him to Glasgow Green yesterday for the annual 5th November fireworks display. I don’t always go to this because I’m not very comfortable with big, council-organised firework displays. If it should go wrong it could go very wrong indeed with about 600 lb of explosives, and when the children were younger I always preferred to have our own firework displays in the garden, which I could supervise and make sure they were safe. There is also the chance of someone in the very large crowd at Glasgow Green smuggling in their own fireworks and wreaking havoc with them, although to be fair that rarely happens. Anyway, we took the train to Bridgeton, only two stops along the line from us. The fireworks were indeed spectacular, especially the finale, and we had a celebratory dinner at the nearby West Brewery, one of the many trendy micro-breweries that are springing up everywhere. The food was Germanic and tasty, with lots of sausages and goulash soup and apple strudel. When we were still at the firework display we got a message from Alasdair, who was playing football with his colleagues, to enquire about dinner and we invited him to join us. He then traversed the city from Townhead to Bridgeton on foot and arrived only fifteen minutes after us. The three of us had a hearty dinner and a good chat, before catching the train home, which was full of my ex pupils who had clearly had a bit to drink. Luckily (and possibly thanks to the alcohol) they seemed to remember me fondly!

The Aftermath

James did a lot of tidying up after the party - he hates to leave things messy overnight - so by Sunday morning the house was fairly tidy with the glassware lined up to be washed and the dishwasher going like a merry-go-round. James and I went to meet Jenn and Russ for breakfast at the airport before their flight, and it was nice to have a post-party chat. Then we met up with Heather and Ewan in town for a coffee and to return Heather’s phone which she had left at our house after the festivities, and thence to meet David and Chanel at Buchanan Galleries where we bought David the jeans and jacket that he had requested for his birthday.
By mid-afternoon we were back home and ready to finish the cleaning up, and were met with a lovely surprise. Alasdair had done all of the rest of the cleaning and tidying including washing all the glasses! Oh joy! We were able to have an afternoon nap before Grandma came round for tea, it was fantastic! I really did enjoy our party but what a pleasure it was to snuggle down under the duvet for a couple of hours with no plans or preparation to do. Grandma was on good form and after tea we looked at Ally’s holiday photos (the ones I had been too ill to look at on Thursday!) and Jamie rather heart-warmingly phones to find out how the party had gone. We all had a fairly early night. The party is most definitely over.

Party!

Well we have had our party! We ended up with fifty-six people which worked out fine although it was a bit daunting when a lot of folk started to arrive at once. Did I enjoy it? Well yes actually I did, but I must admit that it is even better in hindsight, now that I know that it all went well and people seemed to enjoy themselves. While the party was going on James and I were so busy dashing around introducing people and sorting out the drinks and food that my one regret is not being able to have a proper chat with anybody. The guests behaved exactly as good guests should, by chatting and socialising. Many of our friends don’t know each other at all but I noticed that they were all mingling and finding connections. There was much laughter and even some dancing. Quite a lot of dancing actually!
Meanwhile Ally and Davie and friends (Andrew and Sandy who were just brilliant above and beyond the call of duty) were all extremely helpful, taking coats upstairs, helping everyone to drinks and food, and later on providing an excellent firework display which was very loud and spectacular. The weather forecast for the evening was wind and 97% chance of heavy rain! Well we came up trumps with a mostly dry half hour at about 10 pm and it was mild enough to open the patio doors so that people could watch the fireworks.
Meanwhile Jennifer and Chanel were the queens of the kitchen! I had made chilli and also ordered in a catered buffet, but it didn’t look substantial enough so Jennifer nipped down to Morrison’s to get baguettes and pesto to make bruschetta - which were delicious and very highly praised by the guests. She and Russell had flown up from Buckinghamshire to come to the party and then she went out to buy and make food for it! Chanel helped with the bruschetta and also made all the mini oatcakes with cream cheese and salmon, and organised all the layout and much more besides. She and Jennifer were absolute stars.
I had phoned Jamie in New Zealand earlier in the day when I was feeling worried about the party and he was very reassuring. He said, “Mum, these are all people who want to come to your party, and they will join in and have a good time.” And how right he was. Of course the guests were great, because our friends (and family) happen to be very nice people.

Party Prep

We are having a party this evening to celebrate our joint eleventy-first birthday (I am fifty-five and James is fifty-six!) As Tolkien fans will know, this is a tribute to Bilbo Baggins’ eleventy-first birthday party which takes place at the beginning of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Our birthdays were many months ago, so it’s really just an excuse to have a party, with a nod to Tolkien whose books have always been part of our lives in various ways. My Mum and Dad read the books when they were first published in the 1950s and my Dad gave them to my Mum as part of his courtship. I read both the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings at a young age, as did James. And by the time our own children were old enough to appreciate them, the hugely popular films were coming out, which they enjoyed watching with my Mum. Last year we visited Hobbiton in New Zealand which was great fun.
So the invitations went out in Tolkienesque font, complete with maps of the Shire and quotes from the books. Ally and Cat gave us a sign from the gift shop in Hobbiton which says “No Admittance except on Party Business” which is now affixed to our front door. We have spent today decorating the house with lanterns (seemed hobbity) and preparing a Hobbit style party feast. David and Chanel are going to help me with the food, James is in charge of drinks, and Ally and Andrew are sorting out the fireworks. This will be a challenge as the weather is wet and windy! All we need now are the guests!

A bird in Ally’s hand

It isn’t unusual for me to come downstairs in the morning to find a large amount of feathers drifting around in the hall. These are sometimes, but not always, found near the sad little dead body of a bird; often a sparrow, and on occasion a robin (perhaps the cats’ idea of a festive gift for us). Sometimes there is no bird to be seen, presumably because the cats have taken it back outside. So today when I found a goodly pile of feathers at the foot of the stairs, I hoovered them up and thought no more of it.
Later I saw Tom staring fixedly at the top of my pulley which was festooned with washing. And there was a little sparrow hopping around up there and watching us warily. By the way, I love my pulley, it’s so handy and can carry a full load of washing.
I waved ineffectively at the bird but it showed no inclination to come down, so I waited until James came home and asked him to deal with it. He certainly noised the bird up by flicking a tea towel at it but it just flew around the room crashing into the glass of the door. So we texted our secret weapon - Alasdair. When he arrived home from work he brought through the step ladder and there was a lot of flapping (by the bird) but in the end it took both James and Ally to capture the unfortunate avian and wrap it securely in a tea towel (which has since been washed). We pride ourselves on our hygiene! When Ally set the birdie free outside, it flew off energetically into the darkness, hopefully that means that it still has enough feathers to get by.
Later when I took the washing off the pulley I found that our fowl friend had left a little present on my trousers - bird poo!

Aches and pains

I have just had the most dreadful evening. I had one of my occasional terrible gut aches, probably brought on by eating six satsumas while making the dinner. I love the tasty, sharp satsumas that you get at this time of year, but six turned out to be too many especially since I then wolfed down a hearty dinner of home made beef stew. It didn’t take long for the consequences to arrive. After dinner Ally had started showing us his photos of his holiday in Jordan, and they were really good, but I started getting excruciating stomach pains that radiated right through to my back. I had to excuse myself and paced the house like a wounded lion, as the pain got worse and worse. I couldn’t sit down because that seemed to make it even sorer, although walking about didn’t do much good either. From time to time my stomach rumbled promisingly but nothing transpired.
No enquiries as to my well being were made by either James or Ally. To be fair, this has happened before and they both had work in the morning, but a solicitous word of comfort might have helped a bit. Instead they took themselves off to bed in due course, and at one point when I was shouting particularly loudly for my Mum (why do I still do that?) I’m sure that I heard a voice saying “Shut up.” Not my Mum sending me a message from the afterworld, but the harsh, unsympathetic tones of an Anderson male.
Eventually I vomited copiously which brought almost complete relief, and I decided that since the satsumas were probably acidic I should drink a glass of (alkaline?) milk to neutralise the effects.*
Despite my almost complete lack of scientific knowledge this seems to have the desired result and I’m now tucked up in bed, pain free. What a relief.
While I’m on the subject of my ailments, I have had a very sore hand this week - not a part of my body that has ever troubled me. The fleshy part under my thumb is very achy, and so is the back of my hand blow my index finger; it almost feels like there’s a knife sticking into it, especially when I try to grip something. I presume that I have pulled a muscle and hopefully it will be better soon because it’s really annoying me.
Oh it feels SO GOOD that my poor old gut has stopped taking revenge on me!

* I have just done a google search to find out which foods are acidic / alkaline and it looks like I have got it completely the wrong way round, but it seems to have balanced out anyway!