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.

Do Not Press

I've been on Blogiday.

It's like a holiday, but just from blogging.  Obviously all the other many and various on-line communication systems I use were being hammered regularly, but I never quite got round to feeling like writing anything on here.  I blame Twitter.  If it takes more than 140 characters I can't manage it these days.  Attention span of oooh look!  A squirrel!

Anyway. How is everyone? Not been swept away in the floods, or the gale force winds, or the rains of ash and blood we've been having this summer?  Not yet, at least, I hope.

We've been very busy here at WithaY Acres.  Once all the horrible, complicated but not TOO* expensive plumbing issues were finally resolved we were able to get the back garden into some semblance of order again.  There's still a stack of stuff out there which needs to be found a home, but we're definitely winning.  Mr WithaY's new workshop was completed this week, with some very smart custom-made work benches in there, and all the electric sockets any man could ever need, including a massive "don't you touch that red button now, Father Dougal" for his lathe.

Every time I go in there it draws my eye, compelling me to step closer, to reach out one finger and just have a little go. I will press it one day, I just know it.  It's big and red and looks EXACTLY like something from an old sci-fi movie to stop the launch of a spaceship with bare moments to spare.

In my head.

The other end of the garage is now a proper rain-, bird- and mouse-proof pantry, complete with freezer and ample storage for cooking stuff, pots, pans, jars and so on.  It even has a little double-glazed window, which makes it feel like a Wendy house.  We still need to finalise the "moving stuff around and optimising the space" thing - I want all the giant vices and boxes of carpentry tools out, for a start - but we're very nearly there.

Just as well, as I have a visit from the Environmental Health lady from the Council next week.

She's coming to inspect the kitchen, which has recently been registered as somewhere that will be producing food for commercial use - i.e. cooking for other people for money - and as a result our downstairs doors have blossomed with dog-proof gates in the last week.  I've washed the floor more often than ever before, and all the corners that previously housed collections of esoteric kitchenware have been emptied and cleaned out thoroughly.

I've also started my new part time job, which I am enjoying very much indeed.  It fits very handily around the rest of my life, there's a four minute commute (by foot) and the people I work with are lovely.  So, a fine result.

Can I just say that a four-minute commute on foot is about a billion times nicer than a three-hour one involving a car, a train, a bus and the London rush hour?

If I can find another local part-time job (about 15-20 hours per week) I'll be made up.  Until then, I am enjoying having lots of time to spend with Mr WithaY and the dog.

This morning we all went for a long walk.

I took some photos:

Walking up the hill to the woods, admiring the impressive sky.  Hello trees,  Hello clouds.

The woods themselves were dark and pretty muddy. The dog loved it.  She's very good off the lead, and comes back when we call her, which is more than our last one did most of the time.  Someone told me "Labradors are born half-trained, Spaniels die half-trained" which I rather like.

The river, looking just lovely in the sunshine.  There were some swans but they got a bit lairy when they saw me staring at them, so I thought I'd better not try and get a photo in case they broke my iPhone with a single blow of their wing.  They hate the Paparazzi, do swans.

Mr WithaY insisted - INSISTED - that this was a path.  Yes, yes, yes, it really is.  Stop moaning.  Crawl under that log, then just scramble over this bramble thicket, then through the bog and nettle patch.  It's very straightforward.

He and the dog nimbly hopped and pranced off through the greenwood, I lumbered after them, mud dragging at my wellies, nettles lashing my face, brambles snagging my clothes. It was great.

We're so outdoorsy.

He's off for another weekend of Bushcrafting, I am going to work, and to a party, and will chill with the dog. I might even get some sewing started. I bought a load of fabric and patterns the other week, but have yet to cut anything out.  It's my least favourite part of a sewing project, cutting out, especially if I have to cut the pattern out too.  Once it's all cut out I love to get on and sew it all together, but the start of it puts me off.

Plus I will have to make sure the dog can't wander in and lay down to sleep on top of whatever I am doing. She does like to sleep on top of things - my feet, Mr WithaY's feet, a heap of freshly-ironed clothes on the bedroom floor, a carelessly dropped towel - if it's on the floor it will end up with a small black dog snoozing atop it.

The hoover is earning its keep these days, I can tell you.



*Under £500, thankfully.  And they did a good job of tidying up afterwards, too.

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.

Sweets

Gah, another ridiculously long gap betweeen postings. Sorry.

In the interim:

Had a very lovely "almost my last day" barbecue at a colleague's house on Friday, where the team gave me a beautiful gift and all said very kind things. One week left in this job, and then it's all change. I am really excited about it, as well as being nervous.

London! Bright lights! Trains! People who aren't wearing baler twine to hold their trousers up! Can't wait.

Ooh yes....we got the On-Line Village Fete Vegetable PRIZE through the post! From jaywalker at Belgian Waffle! I am so proud. The winning certificate will go on my wall. I may even post a photo of the prize, it's so marvellous. Big thank you to her for that.

Went to spend the weekend at my bestest mate's place, because we hadn't seen each other for months. The weather was perfect, which meant we walked into town, walked all round town, sat in the park and ate ice cream and then walked the long way home through rat-infested fields. Ah, the countryside. It was very interesting. I tried to get some photos but they were too far away.

Plus they looked like they'd have demanded royalties.

Whilst mungoing around town, we went to Thornton's to buy an ice cream. It was a glorious day, so there were a few people in the shop, all picking which flavour ice cream they wanted, and admiring the fine display of chocolate spiders, ready for Halloween.

It got to our turn. The flustered lady behind the counter asked us what we wanted.

Me: Two medium ice creams please, one with chocolate and truffle, the other with...

Flustered shop lady (interrupting): Don't tell me any more! One at a time! I have problems remembering different ice cream flavours!

I almost said "Well, you're in the wrong bloody job then, aren't you?" but thought better of it. The ice creams, once she managed to serve them, were lovely, incidentally.

Other news: Mr WithaY had to consign my lovely lemon curd to the bin today because it had grown a fluffy green coat.

I should have kept it in the fridge. Ah, hindsight.

I bought a new capo for my guitar, as the one I already have works fine on my acoustic but not on the Les Paul. The new one works brilliantly. Hurrah.

The nice man in the handmade guitar shop is getting in an electric 12-string on sale or return for me to have a go with. Just out of curiosity, you understand.

I'm not going to buy it or anything.

Honest.

Changes

I have recovered just about enough of my normal sunny disposition to feel up to posting on here today. I know how dull it is to read all about someone else's grumpiness, but I have been quite low this week, one way and another.

I think it's primarily work-related. I know, I know, it isn't real life. I know it should stop being in my head once I get home. I know that my job does not entail saving lives or making the world a better place, particularly. I know all that. But I have worked bloody hard to be where I am now, and it is painful to think that actually I am not very good at what I do.

So I made a decision this week, that rather than just spend the next 20 years* being sad and feeling like a rank underachiever, I will look for another job in a different kind of business area.

Accordingly, this weekend I have found a job advert I will be replying to. The job is in London, as most of them seem to be these days, but I will be looking to negotiate at least a 2-days-a-week working at home deal. I can't see it being that hard, what with the interweb and phones and all that high tech stuff.

It takes about 2 and a half hours to get from my house to the centre of London. I could do that 3 days a week. If the money was right. Which, on this advert, it is.

So, we shall see. If nothing else, it makes me feel like I am doing something about the situation, and not just grumbling.

Other news: Mr WithaY completed his 30 mile walk across Salisbury Plain in his scuba gear. It took him about 10 hours, and he was completely exhausted afterwards, as you might expect.

His feet were a bit of a mess. There was a bit of sterilised needle deployment to deal with blisters once we got his boots off, but it wasn't too bad. Apparently the worst thing today is the pain in his knees and calves** so he is limping around like he's a hundred years old. Which he isn't. Yet.

We're having a quiet day at home today. He has his head buried in his OU studies***, I've been ironing and clearing up the house a bit. When I'm not wasting my life on the internet, of course.

Apparently our neighbours with the chickens are going to downsize them to bantams. Too much poo, apparently.

What a great idea. If it catches on, what's to stop people doing it with other things? Too much poo from the children? Get a fishtank instead.



*Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

**on his legs, not in the dairy farm down the road

***Nano technology today. Maybe my life will be like Star Trek someday soon, after all.

Two go mad in Dorset

As it has been such splendid weather this weekend, Mr WithaY and I have been Out and About. In the open air. Doing stuff.

It's been lovely.

Yesterday was a Doing Stuff At Home day. I decided to wash my car, despite the dire consequences last time, and in direct opposition to Mr WithaY's views on car washing. I offered to do his as well, I was feeling so optimistic about the exercise.

He declined, on the grounds that he "doesn't want to be driving around in a big shiny Landrover." I suggested he get his car covered in green velvet for a really matte look, in that case.

He ignored me and went to clear out the garage instead. A brave man. Isn't it amazing what mice will eat?

Anyhoo. Washing my car. I spent bloody ages on it.

First, I washed it all over with the hose and a soft brush to "remove the loose dirt" as per the car wash soap stuff instructions.

Then I mixed the correct quantity of soap stuff with warm water and washed all over the car with a sponge.

Then (and by now I had been going at least an hour) I rinsed off all the soap with the hose pipe.

I stood back to admire the gleaming loveliness.

It looked fantastic. The whole time the car was wet, it looked really clean and shiny. The moment it dried, it was streaky, dull, and splattered with I know not what.

Frankly it looked worse than before I started.

I gave up in disgust and went to wash out the bird feeders instead. I love having a hosepipe with a trigger control on it.

But the Dorset thing. That was today. We got up early and scooted off to the coast. We went to Worth Matravers, a fantastic Dorset name for a village, and parked up. I was very taken with this sign:



Not here, you fool! There. There!

I also liked the giant dry stone beehive thingy.



We found the footpath, not too steep, not too muddy, and wended our way to the sea.
Please note Mr WithaY's funky stick. I borrowed it on the way back, and managed to not trip over it. Unlike him. Heh. Anyway, he went striding off in his huge boots and gaiters and I tripped along behind feeling as though I ought to have been carrying a small dog in a handbag, and wearing a pair of high-heeled, fluffy pink mules, so under-equipped was I in comparison.



We got to the sea. Windspit (another charming name) looks like it used to be a quarry, and there are loads of odd square caves cut into the rock.



A group of people were rock climbing up and down the cliffs. Brrrrr.



We watched for a bit but nobody fell off.

The sea is too far away, down scary cliff faces to get to, but we sat on the edge of the rocks and watched it for a while. Most relaxing.



After scaring ourselves silly on the edge of the cliffs for a bit, we trekked back up the hills (didn't notice them on the way down) to the car, and then to Swanage for splendid fish and chips.



...passing the village duckpond on the way. One of the ducks was on a mission. He kept diving under the water, trying to catch one of the goldfish in the pond. Nice symbiotic relationship there. I bet the fish are really relaxed.



And then home for tea and medals. Marvellous.