Time Consuming

 Still waiting for a sack of cash from the Civil Service pensions people, but hopefully that will turn up in the next few weeks. If not, I may have to resort to busking on the streets of West Wiltshire to keep body and soul together.

It's been a whirl of creativity here for the last couple of weeks. Mr WithaY and I decided to go along to a Regency picnic at Stourhead, which we'd seen advertised on social media. A couple of re-enactment mates were also planning to go, so we met up with them and had a splendid day in the boiling sunshine. There were about 20-ish people taking part, but it was hard to tell as we were all scattered around the house and grounds, so I never counted heads.

The picnic was a great success; the weather was spectacular and we all looked marvellous. Well, to be fair, I looked like a red-faced, slightly overheated middle-aged woman in a bonnet, but that was pretty much the look I was going for. 

The "around the grounds" walk after lunch took ages, and boy, is it a long way round the lake! Fortunately the scenery is exquisite, and there was loads of shade, but I felt it the next day. I shall definitely do more Regency events if they involve sitting on the grass eating pie, and then sauntering about in a big hat. 

The village held a Jubilee picnic last Sunday to celebrate the Platinum Jubilee. It was lovely to see so many of our neighbours after the last 2 years, and to meet some of the new people who've moved in over lockdown. Mostly from that there London. 

There was a Grand Jubilee Pudding Contest, with a Mystery Prize*, so of course I submitted an entry. I made a chocolate mousse cake, artfully decorated with Smarties in a rainbow motif. I didn't win, but it was all eaten (and not just by me) so that was a top result. 

The rain held off until late in the afternoon so everyone had a chance to chat, eat, listen to the band, and enjoy the novelty of being in a public space with almost the whole village again. 

I'm still going to the gym regularly, and enjoying it very much. I am also planning to re-kindle my very ancient tennis skills and start playing with a friend from the village. We are both Ladies of a Certain Age (although I am a bit older!) and I think it will be fun to get together and see exactly how eroded our techniques have become. 

Inspired by the recent Regency dressmaking, I have been doing a fair bit of research, and am planning to make some more historical kit so that we can attend events in future. 

I feel a trip to the excellent fabric warehouse coming on. 

*A John Lewis giftcard! I don't know the value, but I'd have LOVED it. 

Lady of Leisure

I've bitten the bullet and put in the paperwork to claim my Civil Service pension a few years early. This means that:

(a) I have a regular monthly income, albeit a smaller one than if I'd waited, and

(b) the pressure is off me to find another job, until I either get bored, or spot something I really fancy.

I've had a job since I was a teenager (part-time), throughout studying for my degree (part-time, and full-time on the summer holidays) and then after graduation for over 20 years until I left the Civil Service (full-time) so I feel like a bit of a hiatus now is not anything to get stressed about. 

And how am I filling my days, without the endless drudgery of earning my living?

Well. 

I have joined the gym, and am going along 3 times a week to try and sort out the annoying wheezing/coughing which has become much more pronounced since I had Covid. Also, it will get me fitter and hopefully give me more energy. My fitness instructor/lard wrangler was most helpful, and so far it's been very enjoyable. Let's see what I have to say in 6 months.

A holiday has been booked. We are off to France in a few weeks, to visit the gorgeous city of Lyon. I've never been there before and am very much looking forward to seeing the sights, visiting the ruins, eating the food and mangling the language.  We're going on the train, so will hopefully see a fair bit of the countryside as we travel down there. 

Dressmaking. Yes, I am once more grappling with my creative demons. We're off to a Regency picnic at the end of May (no, I don't really know what that entails) so I am making myself an early C19 outfit. I've made loads of re-enactment kit for myself, Mr WithaY and various mates over the years, but that was all either English Civil War or Medieval, so a more tailored dress in very different - and much less forgiving - fabric is proving challenging. 

So far in this project I have:

• Acquired a lovely Egyptian cotton duvet cover in a charity shop (£3!) to make a toile;
• Made a toile from a commercial pattern, then redrafted it to include more authentic C19 tailoring and construction;
• Cut out the new pattern in gorgeous embroidered fine cotton lawn for the overdress;
• Tried on the toile-and-overdress combo;
• Discovered that they are at least three sizes too big for me, and deconstructed them;
• Re-drafted the toile pattern to (hopefully) fit me properly.

I have also found some passable-looking footwear, some gloves and a straw bonnet which I can gussy up to match the dress once it's finished. I shall make a small bag to match either the dress or the jacket, depending on which fabric I have the most remnants left to play with.

Oh, and I have to make a jacket, but I think I can use the dress pattern as the basis for that, if I amend the neckline and add long sleeves. Plenty to do.

The dog is loving having both of around more during the day, and has lost weight due to the higher activity level this generates. We've also had family down (up?) to visit at weekends a couple of times, which has meant sitting in the garden and having drinks and barbecues. Lovely. 

So far, so good. 

Hay and other fevers

Our brush with DOOOOOOOM* seems to have passed fairly quickly, compared to some people. I still have no sense of taste and very little sense of smell, and we are both still far more exhausted and achy than usual - even at our advanced ages.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, I am trying to get stuff done every day so that I can at least feel like I am being reasonably productive. Admittedly, sometimes that stuff consists of "an hour doing my jigsaw puzzle" but hey, it's SOMETHING.  

Whilst in the throes of plague I wasn't able to concentrate or focus, so anything creative was out. I have a couple of embroidery projects on the go (one has been "on the go" for at least 5 years) but lacked either the eye-focus or inclination to make any progress. I have a couple of new dressmaking projects in mind, and it's only been this weekend that I've given any real consideration to starting them.

Today I have baked a loaf of bread, and had a go at making gnocchi for the first time, using leftover baked potatoes I made a couple of days ago. The gnocchi had a splendid texture, and I am reliably informed that they tasted of "mostly potato." Result. 

I boiled them for 3 minutes, then pan-fried them in sage butter till crispy on the outside. Served piping hot with grated parmesan cheese and (because we're BEASTS) tomato ketchup. I am quietly confident that if Stanley Tucci made my house a destination on one of his TV shows, he would not be disappointed by the food. 

Appalled by the leering middle-aged woman serving it to him, possibly. 

It was Mr WithaY's birthday yesterday, and we had been invited to lunch with some of the lovely neighbours. The sun shone, we sat outside and drank the finest wines known to humanity (I couldn't taste them, so it was a waste of fine-ness) and had a truly memorable meal.

I took along a coffee and walnut birthday cake for dessert, and some jaunty unicorn and rainbow candles, which were all eventually lit at the same time - it was breezy in the garden. 

When it was time to go, I boxed up the remains of the cake (I did check with the gracious hostess if that was ok) and took it out into the garden. 

As we were saying our farewells, the boxed cake was left on a low wall. Within reach, it turned out, of at least one of the resident black Labradors.

 It seems dogs like cake. Who knew?

Anyhoo, we had a slice of it today (not from the dog-nibbled side) and it was still delicious. Apparently. 

All I could smell/taste was a faint whiff of coffee.  The texture was good though.

I'll be glad when my senses are back to normal, and I can actually enjoy food again. And no, I'm not getting thinner as a result of not being able to taste anything, which is annoying.

Today is a Bank Holiday, although I suppose every Monday could be viewed as a holiday from now on. 

I'm starting to half-heartedly look at job websites, but haven't seen anything I fancy yet. I definitely don't want a full-time job, and I don't fancy working at weekends, so my options are limited. 

I might just become a lady of leisure, and swan about wearing a big hat and a flowery frock all day. Or become a village busybody, in the style of Miss Marple, delving into everyone's business, whilst solving murders and drinking tea with locals of note.

Early days.  

*Covid. It was shite. 

Magnums

Hello....hello....anyone there? Yes, sorry. It's been ages, hasn't it? I wish I had a really good reason for not being more frequent with the posting, but the sad truth is that I just seem to have lost the ability to write stuff down. As a result, this might be really dull. If it is, sorry. Again.

I'm mostly fully recovered from my surgery in January, although I went to the doctor a few weeks ago as I was anxious that I was still very tired, and very sore.  She said "When did you have your operation?" I told her, early January.  She said "Well, yes, but don't forget that there's a good six-month recovery period, it's all perfectly normal."

Six months?  But the hospital literature (and the surgeon) told me a six to eight week recovery period, I said.

The doctor explained patiently that the six WEEK recovery period is from the effects of the general anaesthetic and the actual mechanics of the surgery, the six MONTH recovery period is from the total procedure. She also made the point that just because it was all done via keyhole surgery, and thus left me with several teeny little external scars, there's been a lot done internally, and I probably have hundreds of stitches which all need to heal up, and muscles which take ages to repair and so on. Pleuk.  I had some blood tests and am "perfectly normal" which is nice to know.

So. I'm pretty much ok, although I'm still unable to climb hills without it making me very sore and exhausted the next day.  It's fortunate that we live in the middle of a large area with plenty of dog-walking opportunities which don't involve strenuous hill-climbing. I have discovered a new skill in falling in the mud in the water-meadows as a result.  There are several beautiful water meadows nearby, and I love to take the dog down there, as long as there are no cows in the fields.  She gets to race around like a maniac, and I stroll through the flowery countryside, watching herons and egrets and buzzards, and sometimes having the shit scared out of me by almost treading on a partridge or a duck lurking in the undergrowth.

There is (as the name implies) quite a boggy basis to the water-meadows.  If you walk along the semi-defined paths it's mostly alright.  Sometimes it's a bit wet underfoot, but if you're wearing wellies there's no problem.  However, if (for example) you see a friend walking along a different path and decide to strike out across the middle of the meadows in order to catch up with them for a chat, there is a real risk that you will put your foot down on what seems to be solid ground, sink in to the top of your Wellington boot, fail to pull your booted foot out of the mud, and end up standing on a tussock in your socks, hauling at the stuck boot with both hands while your dog licks your face joyfully and your friend is beside herself with laughter.

That aside, it really is a lovely walk.

Other news: I have volunteered to be a helper at Stonehenge.  The new visitors centre is open, and the Neolithic houses that Mr WithaY was involved in building are due to be opened to the public very soon, and they want people to come and assist with the visitors.  So I sent in an application, was invited to a "this is what it's all about" morning, then a full training day, and I am planning to start in the next couple of weeks.

I get an English Heritage fleece and everything.

The new visitor centre is spectacular. I'd only seen it from the main road and had decided I disliked it, but once you get close to it, and see how it fits in with the wider landscape you appreciate how cleverly it's been designed.

People have been complaining about the increased admission prices, which I had wondered about too, but apparently Stonehenge almost solely supports the rest of English Heritage financially.  Also, I think a lot of people don't realise that the monument covers more than just the ring of stones.  If all you look at is that, as part of a rushed coach tour of the entire South of England in a day, then yes, you're going to feel short-changed. But if you come for the day, walk around all of the site, check out the Neolithic houses, go through all the exhibitions and galleries, and really get a feel for the sheer scale of the place, I think you'd feel like you'd had your money's worth.

Avebury is part of the same site, which I hadn't been aware of.  They've built a model of the area where you can see all the various barrows, the cursus, stone monuments and so on, all linked together over miles and miles of the countryside, and it is astonishing.

So. Go and take a look. And if you see me there, say hello.

I've also picked up a part-time job in the garage/shop in the village.  It's rather nice, I see loads of people, hear all the gossip, and have learned a great deal about the buying habits of the sole business traveller.  Magnums, Red Bull and Haribo sweets.  That's what blokes travelling around for work seem to live on.  Farmers live on pasties, Lucozade and Mars bars.  Women buy wine.  Kids buy Caleppo ice lollies when they get home from school in the afternoon, but middle-aged blokes in company cars buy Magnums and Red Bull.

One of our neighbours came in and bought an ice lolly, and told me he planned to walk home via the river, where he would sit on the bridge while he ate it.  How charming.

Me:  That sounds idyllic!  I hope you enjoy it.

Him:  I will.  Mind you, the other day the wind caught my Magnum and blew it into the river.

Me: .......

Him:  I went in after it!

Apparently it was still in its wrapper, so he squelched home triumphant, soaked to the knees, enjoying his ice cream.

Stoned

Stonehenge!

Where the demons dwell.  And the banshees live.  And they do live well.*

Yes, last week I went to Stonehenge.  I know the Solstice celebrations aren't till the 21st but I like to be early.  Beat the traffic and all that.

Inevitably, I took a bazillion photos. Well, of course. It's a spectacular place, even more so on a glorious early morning in June.  We were fortunate to have been invited to go along as part of a small group by the English Heritage team with whom (posh grammar eh?) Mr WithaY has been working recently. So at 0730, bright and breezy, we rocked up in the car park and met the rest of the group.

It immediately became apparent that we had dressed over-optimistically for the trip, as a stiff wind was blowing, but being British we gritted our teeth and ignored it.  Take that, weather.

There are some semi-tame rooks living in the monument, some of which were interested enough to come and watch us.

This one is called Gerontius and is trained to peck out your eyes if you fail to return your audio tour.

We were given strict instruction not to touch the stones because the acids in our skin would damage the lichen, apparently.  Perhaps they had a bad experience with a visiting group of Geiger aliens.  We were also warned not to climb on the stones, deface them, lick them or try to push them over, or they'd set the rooks on us.

I've always thought Stonehenge was a tad unimpressive, to be honest. I know it's a world heritage site and all that jazz, but when viewed at 50mph from the A303, it seems underwhelming.  Even when I've paid to get in, and walked around the outside with the audio tour (which I was careful to return, for fear of Gerontius) it's felt a bit, well, commercial and dull.  Plus you're always surrounded by massive crowds of tourists, probably all feeling as disappointed as yourself.

Last week, though, it was very different.  The stones are HUGE.  Really, really big.  And when you stand next to them, you appreciate how incredibly hard it must have been to move them from where they were found, organise them into the correct alignment, and then stand them up.  And then, incredibly, somehow hoist the equally-massive lintels onto the tops of them.

The guide, bless him, tried to explain all about Stonehenge, but was hampered by the fact that he did not have answers to the burning questions we all wanted to ask, viz:

1)  What's it for?

2)  How was it built?

He gamely explained various theories, backed up by the archaeological evidence, but basically had to reply to many of our questions with a smiling "We're not sure..."

Here's one of the rooks, keeping a wary eye on the group:

We were there a few hours too late for sunrise, but it was still lovely to see the long shadows crossing the centre of the circle.

That's a view of the Heelstone between the central pillars, thankfully without any traffic passing by on the road behind it to ruin the atmosphere.

This is one of my favourite pictures which gives a sense of the circular-ness** of the monument from the inside.

And this is the view off to the north west, across Salisbury Plain.  Usually there would be a thick crowd of people in an unbroken line around the path, so it's gorgeous to just see the stones and the big sky.

When the new visitors centre is opened, it will be a very different experience, and I am looking forward to seeing the changes.

Mr WithaY and I amused ourselves as we walked around by quietly exchanging comments in the "Neolithic Accent" as seen on Armstrong and Miller's TV show.

One careers option I was made aware of that day, and never offered at school, is "Astro-archaeologist."  I demand to know why not.  Is it because it sounds like a load of made-up bollocks?  Or just that the people who write horoscopes AND have a keen interest in digging holes want to keep it secret from the rest of us?

The truth will out.

In other news, the catering business is making slow but steady growth, and I am selling more of my home-made chutneys to people.  Mr WithaY has been carving some beautiful wooden bowls recently, and I am trying to persuade him to sell them online.

We've been making the most of the last week of fabulous weather to get stuff done outside and have  replaced the roof of the shed, planted more fruit bushes, cleared a huge (and I mean HUGE) amount of assorted shite out of the garden, and planted a lot of mixed wildflower seeds.  I have high hopes that in a few weeks we will have more flowers.

This of course, is a celestial cue for torrential rain until September.



*I still adore Spinal Tap.

**Yes, it's a word.  Shut up.

In the News

I do enjoy reading our local newspaper.  Not only does it feature either the Mayor, the Town Crier or representatives of the various local military units on almost every page, the headlines are reassuringly bonkers. 

It's how every local newspaper should be, really.  Plus, and this is quite an important point, the hilarious "no news is what we're all about" publishing ethos demonstrates how little serious crime we have on a regular basis around here.  So it's funny AND reassuring.

Last week almost the entire front page was covered with the scandalous revelation that the man who has bought the derelict Town Hall building has previous convictions for failing to comply with planning regulations when renovating a different derelict building.  The last two or three years have seen many and varied front page stories about how is is a disgrace - an absolute DISGRACE!- that the Town Hall remains empty and derelict.  Now there's a whole new angle to be outraged about. Our gorgeous pigeon-shit-encrusted Town Hall is in the hands of someone who might renovate it without getting the final sign-off from the planning officer to undertake internal modifications to the building.  I'll keep you posted.

Ahhh, the Town Crier is on Page 2.  All is well with the world.  Something else I love about this newspaper is the way that the publisher - our local stationer - fills all the spare space on Page 2 with advertisements for their own shop.  They sell everything you could possibly need in the stationery line.  Wedding invitations? Calendars? School pencil cases? Maps? Greetings cards?  Books about the local area?  Labels of all types?  Poster paint?  Glue?  Glitter?  Dictionaries? Paperclips?  They've got it all. 

The shop itself is a delight, rambling back into nooks and crannies, all of them crammed with treasures you never knew you needed.  It's staffed by a selection of elderly ladies who know exactly where everything is.  Sometimes they have to get ladders to reach the high shelves, delicately avoiding setting off avalanches of rolls of brown paper and boxes of treasury tags. 

Top Page 2 headline this week: 

Break In  
Nothing Stolen

Fantastic.  On Page 4 we have the almost-as-good Air Rifle Pointed, which hints at all sorts of ill-natured duelling potential.  When you read the story, however, it was a couple of blokes in a van with an air rifle, off out rabbiting probably.  They were "subsequently allowed on their way" after being given some "suitable advice" by the police.

Two stories side by side on Page 8 in an unfortunate juxtaposition. One relates how our nearest cinema, a small independent one in Frome with a bar and everything, has been damaged by fire* and will be closed for a while.  The story beside it tells us that a new cocktail bar has opened in town.  The accompanying picture shows a frosty-glass delicious looking cocktail, with the strapline "Try out a cocktail this weekend."

Why not? You can't go to the cinema, after all.

Page 11 has the menacing Children Visit Biodigester.  It doesn't say how many arrived, or - more importantly - how many left.  I think that's the sort of thing we ought to be told.  Next to that story is Chilli And Tomato Tastings.  I don't know about you, but my appetite vanished at the word "Biodigester." 

The sports pages are great as well.  Every single week, regardless of the weather, the time of the year or the prevailing economic climate, our local teams lose.  This week's football headline is Not A Good Home Day For Town.  It's interesting to see how many different ways the newspaper people can say "They're A Bit Shit, Unfortunately."  The Rugby headline is Better Performance But Still Defeated.

It reminds me of my old school reports. 

Are all local newspapers like this, or are we just lucky, I wonder?





*Probably caused by the manager making everyone a nice bit of cheese on toast to eat during the film.

Still got the blue(bell)s

We went for a walk in the woods the other week.  The woods by which I live.  The bluebells were out, and it was gorgeous.  In the absence of anything thrilling to tell you, here are some pictures:

I made a mental note of where the huge logpile was for possible Winter firewood foraging raids*.

We went with some friends and their charming dog.

There are little tiny white wood anemones mixed in with the bluebells, very pretty. 

Beech trees in Spring leaf.  I love that colour green. 

We saw a tree with a woodpecker's hole.

I do love how the colour of bluebells changes from the single flower, where it looks quite dark, to the huge swathe, where it is much paler.  Why is that?

It was all very pretty, and once again made me profoundly glad that I live here. 

Other news:  I've been really poorly with a hideous stomach bug for the best part of a week.  It laid me low for 48 hours, seemed to go away, then came back with a vengeance again for another 48 hours.  Today is the first day in several that I feel like myself again.

Yesterday - our wedding anniversary as it happens, 17 years, not that I'm counting or anything - I spent almost the entire day either laying on the bed with a fleecy blanket over me, sipping water and feeling dreadful, or curled up under the duvet, glaring at Grand Designs on TV with one squinty, tired, red eye. 

So yeah, that was all a bit pants.  On  the bright side, Mr WithaY gave me the most beautiful bouquet of flowers** which was a lovely surprise. 

Also, I made a few enquiries about selling my Rickenbacker.  I seldom play it, and I was sat here the other day thinking "I need more room in here to do my sewing.  There are just too many guitars, dammit." 

From there it was a short step to ringing a well-known guitar emporium and asking how much a second-hand Rickenbacker 620 12-string would go for.

Well.

If you look at the Rickenbacker website, there are no prices listed, as they have a mega waiting list for their guitars.  Anything up to (and beyond) 2 years is not uncommon.  If you order a guitar from them, you pay them what the price is WHEN IT IS DELIVERED, not when you order it.  So in 2 years it could have gone up a fair bit.

If you look on eBay, the average asking price for a guitar the same as mine is about £1500. 

If you look at guitar shop websites, expect to pay anything from £1450 to £1750.

So imagine my chagrin when I was told that the retail price for a Rickenbacker 620 12-string is "about £900.  So we'd offer you about £600 for it."

Their reasoning for this very low offer is that "the demand for Rickenbackers has dropped way down because of the waiting time."

Really.

I think I'll hang onto it for now, thanks.


Anyway, to end on a cheerful Spring note, here is some May in flower.  The hedges round here are full of it.

*If I actually tried thieving any of the Longleat Estate's wood, I reckon I'd be thrown to the lions. 

**For our anniversary, not because I had a hideous stomach bug.  He tends not to celebrate outbreaks of the shits.

Newspaper review

The local paper has been most informative of late.

Outcry Over Regalia Cost is a story all about the mayor having a new chain of office, and people getting grumpy because it will be expensive.  Over £1,200 to be exact.  That's a lot of chain.  But there's more to it than that...  The mayor has asked for a new chain because the old one is too heavy.  She wants "a lighter chain attached to a collar,"  a request which has provoked "fury" from some of her colleagues.  One of them was quoted as saying "People in the town have heard what has happened...and are furious.  The Westbury online forums are full of comments."

Excellent.

That should stop those pesky chain-buyers...a bunch of ranting Westbury dwellers on a variety of forums (fora?  forii?) arguing the toss in cyberspace.  Yeah.

The thing that has particularly caught my attention, other than the idea that a good pet shop could probably provide a nice light collar and chain for about £12, is the fact that there is more than one forum for the people of Westbury to vent their fury on.  Who'd have though it?

Historic Monocle Unearthed makes you think there's an Indiana Jones-stylee story coming, maybe involving the undead guardians of some forgotten tomb, or a bunch of fanatical ninja priest warriors, all sneaking round West Wiltshire in pursuit of the Monocle of Doom.  But no.  It's a bit of photography kit used by William Fox Talbot, "found" at Lacock Abbey, where he lived and worked.  So not so much "unearthed" as "moved a few things and there it was, right where he left it. "  How disappointing. 

Post Office To Fish Shop Plan is a collection of words which, when put together, make no sense whatsoever.  When you read the supporting paragraph, all becomes clearer.  It's a planning application.  Dull.

Other headlines to spark mental images:

Pavement to be widened
Thief Disturbed
Bingo Fun
Census Plea
Accordian Night
Spinning Fun
Historians Meet

This week, though, the prize for "non news item" goes to this, which I make no apology for repeating in full:

Parked car block.  A poorly-parked Honda 4x4 blocked Kingsfield in Bradford-on-Avon from 10am for several hours on Friday before being towed away by police.

Fantastic.

Wiltshire.  Where no news really is good news.

Other news:  We had a call from the police this afternoon.  The thieving bastards who robbed the garage at the weekend have pleaded guilty to the charges and are due to be sentenced in the Crown Court soon.  Excellent.  The police rang to thank us and to say that "your call was extremely valid" which was nice of them.  Also the lovely people at the garage have given us some wine as a thank you for being helpful and community-spirited. 

I think we should get capes and masks.

And utility belts.

News of the week

I was reading the local paper this morning, over a refreshing breakfast* of bacon, eggs and baked beans.  Always full of interesting things, the local paper.

If The Framley Examiner went bust, I reckon my local paper would be in the running to replace it. 

Top headlines this week:

Town Hall Tidy Up.  An in-depth expose about how the town hall needed to be tidied up.  A start has been made by a group of volunteers who have already "removed rubbish from offices...and cleaned the carpets."    Phew.  I hope next week we hear about the windows being washed and the bins emptied. 

Advice From Local Travel Expert.  A local travel agent is giving people advice about, well, travel.  I wonder if Deanna Troi is a reporter on this paper.  "Captain, I am sensing the bleedin' obvious..."

Yes to Flats.  Some flats will be built.  I was wondering about that myself.  This is in addition to the regular feature on planning decisions, where we all get to read about who had their planning application approved  and who had theirs rejected.  This usually leads to conversations with the neighbours along the lines of "Well, I thought they were pushing it, asking for a new conservatory...that's a listed building, isn't it?" and endless speculation about why they need a garage that size anyway**.  Oh, and it's about bloody time those trees were cut down, they're dangerous. 

Burglary Halts Broadcast is one of those stories that you have to read, just to understand the headline.  Sadly, it wasn't about the local radio station DJ being stolen away mid-show, leaving a lot of dead air time until he was found dumped in a garden half a mile away.  No, much more mundane.  The transmitter was stolen.  Much less exciting, but probably harder to replace than a DJ.  And easier to sell for scrap. 

Longleat Keeper Becomes Mum To Otter Pups led me down a line of thought that was rather unsavoury.  Who's the father?  Will she be breast feeding?  Was it a water birth?  Will her child support be paid in fish? 

It turns out, on closer inspection of the story, that she is a foster mother.  Aaaaah.  That makes more sense.  Too weird, otherwise, even for Wiltshire. 

Talking of weird...

Warminster, The Final Frontier details the recent Weird Weekend, held in town, where people who are keen on UFOs, the paranormal, space aliens, the X Files, anal probing*** and ghosts all get together to discuss it.  I imagine there are a lot of unresolved issues.  Nobody can ever say definitively "Well, I KNOW this is true."  Must make arguments go on forever.  There are photographs of the convention goers, most of them clutching self-published books about their pet subjects and looking cheerful. 

There are several pages of exam results, because, as we all know, names sell local papers.  My favourite story this week is:

Cow Trapped In Ditch.  Yes, it's a headline.  Once I stopped laughing and actually read the whole article, I learned that the unfortunate animal "was stuck upside down in a ditch near the Co-Op store." 

Upside down?  Was someone reversing it, and got the back hoof stuck in the ditch, and overturned it?  Why was it near the Co-Op? Had it nipped out for some milk?  Unlikely, I'd suggest. 

The story reports that several fire crews came to rescue it, using a sling to get it out.  Not though, the kind of sling where they fling it into the next county.  More like a hoist, I suppose.  But the best part?  It was trapped in a "four foot ditch".  A two foot ditch could have trapped a chicken, maybe, or even a person, but a four foot ditch?  That's for quadrupeds only.

I love living here.



*Well, lunch really, but I feel less slovenly if I pretend it was breakfast

**Unless it's our mate who is assembling an aircraft in his - we all know he needs a big garage for that.

***Aliens always seem to do that, apparently.  Why?

The Long March

So, other than the visa excitement, what else has been happening chez WithaY lately?  I know you're all dying to ask, but are too polite.  Well, that's my assumption, anyway.

The other weekend was Mr WithaY's birthday.  This year both of us have been lucky enough to have birthdays that fall on a Saturday, so we have both had parties.  Hurrah for us.

Mr WithaY, having a Spring birthday, gets to have a partially outdoor party.  We get the brazier out, and hang lanterns in the apple tree, and light the fire, and people can sit around and look at the stars in a romantic and nature-loving manner.  Or, as usually happens, smoke fags, talk bollocks and sing loudly.  Both are good, of course. 

Mine is usually a smaller, less rowdy affair, perhaps a grown-up dinner party* or a few friends round for an elegant cocktail soiree**.  Always chic and well-planned though***.

Anyhoo.  The party.  We took Friday off work and got the house sorted out, ready for all the guests.  Mr WithaY spent hours, HOURS, tidying his study.  His study has been a bit of a bone of contention for, oh, about 5 years now.  It's normally a cross between a fishing tackle shop, a historical weapons exhibit at a museum, Ray Mears' Winter wardrobe, and the office of a dodgy tax accountant who never files anything to avoid trouble. 

The cleaners were given strict instructions when they started with us not to go in there.  Hell, I don't go in there. You never know what you might turn up. 

A hand-made fish spear?  Some carefully scrimshawed ox bones?  A hundred five-year-old copies of Shooting Times?  A large, lavishly-illustrated book on sausage-making?  A filing cabinet stuffed with telephone bills from the 1990s?  A Victorian chamber pot?  It's all possible. 

He spent the day sorting it all out, and by the time he'd finished, the place was just lovely.  We had a whole new room that people could go into, sit on the futon, have a drink, listen to music**** and chill out.  The carefully-placed coasters added to the total trance-room ambience, I think. 

It needed doing, as we had mates staying over, and unless that room is habitable there is no bed for some of them to use. 

Anyway, the party was a success, everyone had a nice time, or at least told us that they did, nothing caught fire, and nobody punched anybody else.  Always a sign of a good party, that.  We didn't overcater too dramatically, which was a pleasant change too.  Well, I say that.  I found several uneaten platters of party food in the big chiller in the garage the next day.  We had them for lunch.  Nom nom nom.

Party aside, what else?  Very little that I've felt compelled to write about in here.  Mr WithaY is in into the second week of his tree-climbing, coasteering, adventure training course, so the house feels big and quiet and empty.  Not that he usually runs around it shrieking and waving his arms when he's here, but I still miss him.

I went for a Long Walk on Sunday with some friends and their unfeasibly huge dog.  She is charming, well behaved and gentle, and a pleasure to be out and about with.  We drove up to Heaven's Gate, walked through the woods to the amazing stones and then down the path to the edge of Longleat Safari Park. 

The rhododendrons (sp?) were all out, and looked wonderful.

Obviously my photos don't do them justice, but you get the idea.  The stones looked fantastic in the weird kind of half-cloud that was going on.  I like this photo very much.

I didn't know that you can just walk right into the estate for free.  You only pay if you want to ride the gorilla boat or go in the mazes or go round the house or whatever.  We sat and had a drink at one of the cafe places there, walked around the gardens, then back over the fields and then UP the very steep hill to Heaven's Gate again. 

We walked from where I took this pic through the woods and along the road in a big loop to the house (helpfully arrowed) and then back up the hill that drops away in front of the bench in this picture.  By Swansea it was steep. 

It was all very pleasant; despite having to practically crawl up the last part of the hill on my hands and knees, stopping to wheeze at frequent intervals, I made it to the top without collapsing.  The friends I was with are both very fit.  Very, very fit.  The husband of the two ran - RAN - to the top of the hill, stood there for a bit, got bored and ran back down to where I was toiling up in the manner of an ant carrying an entire leaf on its back, and then ran - RAN - back to the top.

I had just about enough strength in my lungs to shout "You're not helping!" at him as he did laps of the hill.   It made me feel better.

Longleat House is gorgeous.  If I was Lord Bath I think I'd be very happy living there, despite the hordes of great unwashed traipsing through the garden. 

The gardens aren't half bad either. 

 

There are some excellent bits of sculpture and statues and so on.

Bonkers.

Other news:  Very little.  I have not really felt much like blogging for a few days, I think Mr WithaY must be my Muse, and with him out of the house, I have no ideas whatsoever.  Heh.

*shedloads of wine and hilarious shouting, often with the hostess falling asleep on the sitting room rug in front of the fire
**shedloads of cocktails and hilarious shouting, often with people falling asleep on the sofa and having to be evicted at 3am
***Not really.  Too much shouting for chic. 
****Trance, unfortunately, but hey, at least they didn't have to stand up to listen to it

Sausage time

Today has been a constructive one in the WithaY household.

We have made:

Bread

Spaghetti bolognese.  Which was mighty fine.

Roast lamb (to be eaten tomorrow), which made the whole house smell like the best Sunday ever.

Aaaaaand...

Sausages! 

Mr WithaY bought a load of professional mincing and sausagifying machinery, and today was the day it got tested.  He mixed a big heap of venison with some pork sausagemeat, a load of seasonings and spices bought from ye olde seasoning and spice merchants, and two bottles of red wine.  He had a huge mixing vat.

I'm not kidding.

This is with a 6'2" bloke for scale:

He also had a box of sausage skins, something you don't want to come across unexpectedly when you open the fridge looking for margerine.  Just saying. 

Anyhoo, we have a mate who is a chef and (probably) sausage expert, and she and her husband popped over this afternoon to assist with the sausage creation.  I think she and Mr WithaY made about 400 miles of sausages in the end. 

There was a bit of the meat mixture left over afterwards so I fried it up into little patties and we all tasted it.  Bloody lovely, was the general verdict.  The sausages have to mature for a couple of days in the chiller, and then Mr WithaY plans to prance round the village, distributing largesse like the Hogfather.

Other news:  Some other mates acquired a puppy this weekend.  It is a very beautiful black labrador* and has meant that Mr WithaY and I have been having The Conversation.  Again.  There are still a couple available, you see, so we could in theory just go and get another dog. 

Which would be great. 

Because we loved our last one, despite his terrifying behavioural issues.

And we missed him so much, another one would be very welcome. 

And, you know, puppies.

*sigh*

Anyway, the harsh reality is that with both of us working full time in jobs where dogs are not welcome (although I do like the idea of doing my 3 hour commute with a dog in tow, then having him sit under my desk all day in the office snacking on sushi and Pret a Manger crusts) it's just not practical.

But then, neither is making sausages in the garage.   

I met the little chap yesterday afternoon as he was being taken for a walk, and he is charming.  He sat down obediently and did that incredibly cute head-cocking thing at me as I talked to my mate.  He'll be getting a sausage or two, I imagine.

*Well, this is Wiltshire

How

Guess what we did this weekend?

I mean out of the ordinary. Apart from the domestic stuff like doing the washing, going shopping for food, visiting ailing hospital-bound relatives.

Apart from all of that.

You won't. Unless you are one of the mates who I texted on Sunday about it, of course.

We went to a Pow-wow. In Wiltshire. It was an experience.



There is, fairly near us, a Bison Farm. They have other animals too, it turns out.





Look, up the tree. Asleep. Not moving. Yep, that's him.



Not like these guys, who made a racket and terrified all the small children who came near their pen.

Anyhoo, this weekend, the Bison Farm was hosting the 14th Pow-wow. How have we missed the previous 13? What were we thinking?



So, in the heart of the slightly damp and dull Wiltshire countryside, we drove off, hearts high, pockets full of change to spend on native American trinkets and mementoes.



The place is fairly scenic. There's a pond with a canoe (full of water, so not useable). There are many stinky farm buildings, some containing prairie dogs and chipmunks.





Fucking thing wouldn't keep still.

Reminds me of our last trip over to the USA. We hadn't been there 24 hours when Mr WithaY had a chipmunk sitting on his head. He's like St Francis of Assissi. But with more weapons.



We had a stroll through the dingley dell-esque grounds, till we came to a huge fence and a field full of camper vans, so turned round and came back to the main arena.

Ah, the main arena.

Picture a large crowd of people, many in mobility scooters, the majority well into the Third Age. They are mostly from the West Of England, it seems. Many are wearing a mixture of buckskin frocks, feathers in their hats, immense amounts of turquoise jewellery, and a variety of antler-related adornments.

One chap was dressed (I think) as a Pictish warrior. A great look, right down to his huge army boots. If you look carefully, you will see him at the back of this circle, scowling and tapping his foot in time to the music.



There were many tents and tipis, and lots of people clearly having the best weekend of the entire summer.



We wandered around, looking at the stuff for sale. It reminded me of a very dispirited car boot sale, possibly in Eastern Europe.

Still, it was an experience, and as Mr WithaY wisely remarked, it got us out of the house for a couple of hours.