where art collides philosoperontap

Blast. Rain is forecast today and I was going to prune the apple trees and grapevine. Blast Blast Blast Blast Blast. Yesterday was too wet. It was forecast to be nice today but now it is not. As I already said, Blast. 

Ah well. I might go swimming instead. That’s an indoor activity unaffected by the weather. Many of this afternoon’s sessions are showing the maximum availability. I’m hopeful that this means there will hardly be anyone else in the pool.

I can hear the rain beating on the bedroom window. I wouldn’t say it was loud enough to drown out Radio 4 on the wireless but it is definitely noticeable. I might need to wear a coat on my journey. Hat as well. When you are a glasses wearer a wide brimmed hat does a good job of keeping rain off your specs. Saves you having to dry them when you reach the shelter of the shed and avoids the risk of knocking in to anything due to blurry vision caused by raindrops on the lenses. Today’s top tip. 

I mentioned the shed but the same rule applies wherever your ultimate destination might be. I try to make these laws of physics as general as possible as it increases the chance of them being accepted by the global academic community. The experts. Those in the know. 

It is dark and dismal out there. Dark and stormy. No sun in sight. I daresay most birds are sheltering in their nests. Shelters. Places of safety. 

The winter solstice is this coming Sunday. Same day as the Morning Star carol session. Something quite apt about that. This feasting (Ness usually lays on some mince pies for the singers) at this time of year dates back millenia. Our singing of the Christmas carols is merely a modern way of celebrating the end of another natural cycle. Another lap of this planet of ours around that blazing (sometimes) ball of fire in the sky. 

Lunch on Sunday is pork. This is quite apt as pigs were, as you probably know, on the menu for these solstice celebrations of old. We won’t be gnawing at bones whilst sat around the blazing fire. Twill be a more refined, modern version. A pork casserole, perhaps flavoured with a splash of calvados and a swirl of mustard and served with a selection of nutritious vegetables. Might light the fire though.

Breakfast is something that the ancients might well have similarly partaken. A mix of grains, seeds and dried berries with a dollop of fermented milk (is yoghurt fermented?) topped with some preserved berries picked by THG and I during this year’s harvest. We are surely in tune with the planet. Raise your hands, palms facing upwards and repeat after me. Ommmmmm. I am now going to consume a hot drink made by infusing boiling water with some dried leaves, picked at dawn from the upper slopes of a hillside in northern India and purchased from a merchant recently returned from a long and hazardous journey to those exotic climes.

Coincidentally, and whilst I remember, I have my annual eye test tomorrow at Clearview opticians. I suspect I will need a slightly changed prescription of lens. I’ll have to sell a pig to pay for it, unless Clearview will accept one directly in exchange for the new lenses. Suspect they don’t work like that otherwise they would have had a picture of a pig in the window next to the VISA and Mastercard signs. I can but ask. Probably easier for me to use my card though especially as I don’t actually have a pig to sell. That was me being creative with words, metaphorically speaking.

Did you know that in 18th century Carmarthenshire only one farm in eight had a boar. Neighbouring farmers would have to take their sows next door to be serviced to ensure the continuity of their bacon supply for the following year. In return for the “service” the owner of the sow would do a day’s work helping with the harvest the following year. I do like a bit of bacon and now know where to go to get some in.

My grandparents used to keep a pig in a sty at the bottom of their garden and our house in Greetwell Gate also had one. The deeds specifically mentioned our right to keep a pig which we used to do but in the fridge or freezer, already slaughtered and then not a whole one. It was only when they passed a law making people take such animals to an abattoir to be slaughtered that people stopped keeping them at home. Abattoirs were either too far away or too expensive. The disappearing customs of old. I’m sure I’ve told you this before. The good old days…

No fox news.

At nine thirty fiveish on a Saturday evening the brightly lit number 18 to Broxholme Gardens raced past the Lee Road stop. Looked pretty empty but it shot by so quickly I didn’t properly see in. I guess it was too early to be bringing party revellers home. Unless they were the afternoon crowd. Early doors more like it. We are off out for an afternoon sesh ourselves  next Saturday. Disco at Home night club. Doubt they call them discos anymore. Showing my age. Was unaware that the number 18 came past our house! Useful to know.

Was on the way home from Brittain’s annual Christmas bash. Always a v good do fair play.

When I got home I sat in the snug for a few mins doing stuff on my laptop. Got an email from a clothing company asking for a review of the shirts they’d sent 14 days previous. I normally only leave good reviews and only then when they are deserved. This lot got a 1 star. That parcel has been “with Yodel” for the last twelve days with no obvious way to get in touch with them to find out what on earth is going on. It’s almost certainly a customs job but this ain’t the kind of service levels we are used to these days.

Forced out of bed this morning by a carol sung to the tune of Ilkley Moor baht at. It sounded  bit tinny and therefore not worthy of my attention. Someone will now tell me that the carol was the original version of the song and that Ilkley Moor is a popular adaptation. This would be a big disappointment which I refuse to believe.

We sang Ilkley Moor at the test match in Trent Bridge one year, quite a few moons ago. It was during the tea break. We were sat in the Radcliffe Road stand and some extremely drunk Nottingham Forest supporters began to bawl out tuneless football chants. Looking over to the stand in disdain I decided to start singing Ilkley Moor. Before I knew it a load of people had joined in. The song went on so long that the tea interval had finished and the game restarted. It was only after the last verse had finished that I realised that half the stand had been singing including with harmonies. Everyone clapped. Good times.

Can’t remember how the game ended. I think we were playing the Windies. These are very alcoholic days out starting with a pint or two and a full english breakfast. On that occasion we ended up in the curry house over the road to the ground. Most of us were on a minibus back to Lincoln except for Pieman who lived in Stamford and was being given a lift back by his wife. He had driven to Nottingham, parked the car near the ground and she was coming up on the train to bring them both back. Only problem was his iPhone had run out of battery and he couldn’t remember where he had left the car. Took him two hours to find it. She was furious. Good times.

No fox news to report. A quiet night at the lake. Wildlife mostly closing down systems for the winter I daresay.

Gales everywhere except Fisher and German Bight. Maybe even storm force 10 in some areas. Time to batten down the hatches. It is noted that the Isle of Man ferry has been cancelled. We have on occasion been on the island and brought forward the departure due to stormy weather forecast on our planned sailing date. You get some spectacular waves in Peel where our house was. Not over the house which was a couple of hundred yards back from the sea front.

Today’s storm is called Bran. Fwiw. I’ve been to Bran Castle in Romania. V interesting. Gory! Bran is also the Welsh word for crow. Brân actually. I challenge the weather gods/powers that be to name one of them Stormy McStormface. Makes sense to me. More so than Bran which doesn’t really roll off the tongue. Maybe it’s a typo and it was meant to be Brian. Obvious really when you think about it. I bet that particular weather god did a face palm when he realised it had gone out without being corrected. Too late now.

The deer swung by at half past one this morning. No sign of Reynaud yet again.  He must be a fair weather fox. Perhaps he has already indiscriminately and wantonly murdered all the chickens in the area and has moved on to seek new opportunities. Can’t see us ever getting hens. Whilst I like the idea of a supply of fresh eggs, they are much better than what you can buy in the shops, the knowledge that we have a fox visiting the garden from time to time is a show stopper. Even if we could secure their accommodation there is risk involved. Plus I don’t really want to have to look after them.

So today is a significant day. As you may know I’m seeing my hip surgeon this pm. THG is driving there and I’ll drive back. I did drive down to the Newland pharmacy yesterday and was completely fine but should get the official nod today. Figured THG should drive there in case he was looking out of the window when we arrived. Then it’s Castle View for a curry. What’s not to like.

Today really represents the regaining of my mobility. I am able to walk properly without limping and it should open the doors to doing lots more outdoorsy stuff next year. The limp really limited the range of things we could do. Everywhere was very slow going. In theory I am playing golf on Friday but in reality I’ll probably have to stick to driving the buggy. For now. Playing is made doubly unlikely in that I can’t reach down far enough to tie my own shoelaces yet and I’m buggered if I am going to ask one of the boys to do it for me with my golf shoes. THG will be on her way back from Liverpool. It’s too early to be swinging a golf club anyway.

Br(i)an is making himself known outside the shed with steady rainfall on the roof. Quite relaxing really were it not for the fact that there is a constant noise of some drill or chainsaw coming from somewhere down the road.

In other news I just got spammed by patisserie-valerie. How on earth they got my email address I don’t know. I may have been in one branch once. Thought they had all closed down. Maybe it’s all mail order now? If you can still call it mail order. Online. Can’t imagine the patisseries delivered by DPD or similar will stay particularly fresh, or undamaged.

On the eve of my thirtieth birthday I went out to the Morning Star and celebrated the last day of my twenties. Today is the eve of my sixty fourth birthday. I have no plans to celebrate. It doesn’t feel as significant as the last day of your twenties. I am off out every night for the next six days on the trot anyway and need to conserve my energies. I also don’t ordinarily make a big thing of it being my birthday but for sixty four it seems different. This really is only because of the Beatles song but I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks now.

It’s a bit odd to be thinking of sixty four being “when I get older, losing my hair, many years from now” when actually it is tomorrow. What on earth am I supposed to make of that? At least I still have a reasonable head of hair. Ok, maybs thinning a bit at the front but I’m ok with it. My dad had a thick head of hair right up until the end.

Another thing is that the chances of me staying out until quarter to three is somewhat fanciful. I’m usually in bed by ten. Unless we really mean quarter to three in the afternoon which could be more understandable but still a little odd. An unusual time to pick. We are off to an 80s disco in a club in town on the 20th December. 2pm until 8pm followed by a dirty kebab and then a taxi home. Still sticking to the sentiment of the song I suppose. THG is coming with me so none of this locking the door nonsense, other than the fact that we would anyway when leaving the house.

The biggest issue I have is the “many years from now” bit. I find it difficult to reconcile the notion that sixty four is old and that old would appear to be a long way off. My mental age is still in the teens. Of course there are signs of physical deterioration. I’ve had two new hips as most of you will know. You don’t hear of people in their teens having a hiphop, boogeying aside.

There are other signs of change. When I was nineteen I hitchhiked to Greece. Slept in hedgerows and on beaches en route. Nowadays I’d fly business class and stay in a nice hotel in town. Or hire a villa. The Beatles, who would have gone by private jet, must have dropped that verse from the song. Would have made it too long. This was when singles needed to be three minutes or less and before the days of Bohemian Rhapsody which at six minutes altered the rules of the game forever.

For my actual sixty fourth birthday me ‘n THG are going to have a quiet couple of beers before we pick up a curry from the Castle View Indian and take it home for a cosy night in front of the telly. I will put my slippers on but not my cardigan because I don’t own one. When I get older indeed…

…

Deer strolled by at eleven fifteen last night. No fox news.

Tis the sabbath. A day of rest. No enjoying yourselves now. Somewhat blurry eyed this morning. Something to do with the amount of alcohol consumed last night. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had that brandy at the end of the night. Felt like a good idea at the time. Or maybe it was the Peroni, or the TT Landlord. Can’t have been the gin surely? Not too bad, especially after a couple of slices of toast with THG’s newly made marmalade washed down with a glass of milk. I’ve always been a milk drinker.

Seems fairly still outside. Could do with sticking the heating on but I’d have to go upstairs to do that. Ok I’ve done it. Bet you didn’t even notice the pause in the flow. Of words. The babble of conversation filters through from the kitchen. Our Hannah is home for the weekend. Heading back dahn sarf on the ten fifteen.

Although rest is the order of the day there is some clearing up to do. The black bin is full of bottles and needs to be tipped into the brown recycling bin. The sound of bottles crashing into the bin is quite satisfying. If I can I’ll record it but I won’t have a free hand. Unless I film THG doing it. Not sure she would appreciate that.

The last of the singers left at ten past midnight. Uber. We were joined over Whatsapp by Joe and Lucy from Cardiff for Hark The Herald, fair play to them. There was a slight lag so we had to put the phone on silent. Still it was nice to have them onboard. A couple more carol sessions to go before the big day. THG is making a one off appearance in the church choir next Sunday for which there is a three line whip in place. A rare visit to the church for me. Then it’s the Morning Star carols night on Sunday 21st.

Monday is our only quiet night next week. Urgh. Tuesday, when I’m sixty four, I have a review with my hip surgeon. Shud be gud. Sounds odd to say “my hip surgeon” innit but that is what he is. He isn’t my dentist, he is my hip surgeon. He’s done all my hips 🙂 Not sure I’d call the dentist “my dentist”. It’s “the dentist”. Woteva.

Not fully decided what to do for my birthday. Could be a takeaway I guess. Don’t want to go out, particularly. Maybe a couple of beers early doors. Home early, stick the slippers and cardigan on and have an early night. Certainly not out until quarter to three. I say cardigan but that was only for effect. I don’t actually own a cardigan. It’s on my radar. Chunky one. One day.

If organisers turned up at park run this morning to find a herd of stampeding buffalo where the park runners normally ran they would almost certainly have to call it off. This would be the case even if there was just one buffalo aaaand it had registered for park run and had the appropriate bar code.

Just thinking out loud there. There are other reasons why a park run would be cancelled. Tornado warning for example. Or an aircraft landing on the track because it ran out of fuel. That would be freaky bad luck when you consider that RAF Waddington is just a couple of miles away. As long as those onboard are OK that’s all that really matters.

I daresay others could think of more reasons for cancelling a park run but my intention here is not to produce an exhaustive list. If I have at least managed to stimulate debate on this most important of subjects then I am happy. I won’t go so far as to say I’d die happy. I don’t want you to think this is something of particular importance to me personally cos it ain’t. It may have struck a chord for you but not me soz. Also I wouldn’t want to tempt fate re the die happy thing.

Now some may be thinking Tref’s lost the plot here. Huh what do they know? Get a life.

Apaz today is St Nicholas’s day. Fair play to him. heard it on the wireless when Thought For The Day came on. I think we should celebrate it. Party. People used to celebrate a lot more saints’ days. We should reintroduce these important old traditions. I’ve been reading someone’s PhD thesis on Land, people and power in early medieval Wales. It discusses traditional rural customs during the course of the year and how laws were in place that defined what was done on a farm as the seasons changed. The changing of the seasons also involved celebrations of multiple saints days. In the days when people went to bed when it got dark and there was bugger all on the telly (nothing changed there then) they looked forward to their saints day celebrations. A chance to let loose. They would brew a batch of beer specially.

Nowadays we have far too many calendar events for people to celebrate. Father’s Day for example. Designed to make you buy more greetings cards. I set no store by Father’s Day but I did once buy a job lot of Happy Father’s Day cards in a newsagents clearance sale. Somewhere in north London fwiw. Seven identical cards featuring the same sporty red car. Dad got the same card from me for the next seven years on the trot. Didn’t notice a thing 🙂 When the cards ran out I stopped sending them. As you know I don’t do Father’s Day. Doubt dad noticed that they’d stopped either.

Right, THG has gone to park run and I need to get on with the day. Beef stock to bag up and freeze.

Better kip last night, assisted no doubt by a few pints in the strugglers. A rare couple of hours in the pub but actually the second Thursday on the trot. Coops arrived just ahead of me so bought the first round, result. Pub was full so no place to sit but I did manage the occasional perch on a stool. Dropped off and picked up by THG fair play. Orrible weather but warm and cosy int pub. Morning Star is likely to be the next pub visit on 21st Dec for the carol singing although we do have our annual boys lunch at OleOle with @Wayne coming up next thursday and there may be a supplementary pub or two involved.

Big day ahead. Beef stock making. Picked up a load of beef bones from Fosters yesterday afternoon so all set to go innit. Home made beef stock is vastly superior to the stuff you can buy in the shops. Even the expensive liquid stock that is sold as posh stuff is still pretty dilute in my mind. My beef stock cools to a gel and I think this time I’ll reduce it even further. We aren’t exactly over endowed with freezer space and won’t need the stock until Christmas so a smaller volume for freezing will help.

When I say we are short on freezer space it has to be seen in the context of our having three freezers. Gawd only knows what’s in there. Gawd and THG. I did manage to find the fish fingers last night but that was only because THG showed me where they were before she went out. One of them really needs defrosting. Will need to wait for a sustained period of sub zero temperatures. We keep the contents in a bin liner outside whilst the freezer defrosts in the garage. Obvs the bin liner needs to be suspended from a tree to avoid attention from wandering bears looking for food. Only joking. They are all in hibernation by now around here. Deep in their snow holes.

The lake cam has hitherto not picked up any bear action. I have mixed emotions about this. On the one hand bears are just the kind of wildlife we should expect and want to gather around the lake. After all their diet does include fish (I’ve seen the youtube vids) and as we know there is plenty of fishing to be had in the expanse of water that is the lake. On the other hand we wouldn’t want any harm coming to Brian the fishing gnome. It doesn’t matter right now as he is overwintering in da Caribbean maan but there again the bears ain’t around at this time of year for the very same reason Brian shoots off to warmer climes. You will be the first to hear of any sightings, natch. Standby…

The kitchen will today be a hive of activity. Marmalade on the go. We have a quantity of clementines and sufficient jamjars for at least a first batch. A number of jars were disposed of recently in one of “our” periodic purges. Dinnae fret the ladies of church are coming to the rescue.

Had toast and marmalade for breakfast. Coincidentally. It wasn’t a matter of noting that marmalade making would be ongoing after breakfast and thinking it would be appropriate to have toast. I made the menu decision before remembering about the marmalade. Subliminal perhaps. 

I reached into the fridge to get the commercially made marmalade and only realised my mistake when I was sat down and had arrived at that moment in the preparation process where I was about to spread the marmalade. It wasn’t marmalade it was pickled cucumber in a repurposed marmalade jar. Totes inappropriate. As you might imagine I swiftly rectified the sitch and fetched the marmalade and since the incident THG has moved the offending jar of cucumbers to a safe place at the back of the shelf. My upcoming Waitrose treat, btw is a jar of Bon Maman preserves. I shall choose marmalade.

You will obvs receive an update on marmalade making progress. When the time is right. No fox.

Bit of a  misty day out there. Grotty. Cosy in the kitchen though. THG is listening to the wireless. I’m filtering it out. Politics n stuff.

The big news is that this is my last day on blood thinners. As of tomorrow I will officially have thick blood. No idea whether that is good news or not. Bear in mind that thick does not equal stupid here. We all like the idea of having intelligent blood obvs.

The next major milestone is my follow up with the surgeon in six days time where I am expecting him to say that I can drive again and sleep on my side. I will in anycase unilaterally cast aside the final crutch. Perhaps I should do it somewhere public like the Bailgate whilst simultaneously shouting “I can walk, I can walk, it’s a miracle”. 

Probs not. Don’t want the bishop of Lincoln, who presumably is often to be seen in the area around the cathedral, it being his gaff, coming over to investigate and see who should next be lined up for canonization. They are always looking for good PR opportunities especially in these days of social media. Just google it and the bish does appear to be active but only through his social media team.  Obvs when you are a bishop you need to stay focussed on praying, blessings and other clergyman related stuff. Polishing his crook. No he will have a flunkey to do that I’m sure. And keeping his vestments in good order.

This is very much a no pressure start to the day. THG is off out to the gym as usual at around nine. Ordinarily that would be the trigger for me to be mostly dressed and ready. I say mostly because I have been unable to put  on my left sock as I my left hip is not yet flexible enough. I bought a contraception to help me do this before hiphop1 but discarded it as being of no use whatsoever.

Last night however I was pondering the big issues in life and in particular the thorny problem of how to get my left sock on for the two mornings that THG will be away in Liverpeul and I will be in London. There’s no way I could ask a pal to do it for me, nor the maid at the hotel. I picked up the previously discarded sock putter onner and tried it again. No good. Bloody useless in fact.

Then I decided I should watch a video on YouTube to see if I could find out where I was going wrong. It was one of those moments of revelation. The bish will tell you it is very much like Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus. I might be wrong there but you surely get my drift. I’ve been using the gadget upside down. Wtf! Turning it round I tried again and gawd blimey, on went the sock. 

Not only was this a revelatory moment but also one of those occasions that makes you think blimey o’reilly why didn’t I watch the youtube vid back in February when I first tried using it. In total, that’s two months or more where I’ve been imposing unnecessarily on THG when she could have been doing something more useful like making another cup of tea (red herring that – THG can easily multitask).

Not looked for overnight fox action yet. WIll do later once I have my socks on and update the post. Fox rhymes with socks – just noticed!

Link below to the post that includes the bishop of Lincoln.

…

Always seem to get knackered in the afternoon. It’s because I’m not getting a good night’s sleep. So if I need to get things done it has to be in the am. At the mo anyway. Just had a not very good kip on the shed settee whilst watching a programme on the Celts. My people. Missed the end of it. Ferocious lot at times though also v cultured obvs.

Just fixed meself a lahtay. Bit of a kick to it and it is hot unlike some of the stuff that gets dished out in caffs especially the American chains who are paranoid about getting sued because someone burnt their tongue. Woken up now and watching a bit of snooker whilst at the same time communicating with the world from my communications centre in the shed.

Later THG and I will be watching Liverpool play association football. This is something we do together. That and watch University Challenge but that is on a Monday night and today is Wednesday, apaz.

Had to chuck some of the lahtay. A bit too strong and I’m not a big coffee drinker anyway.

Awake as usual from around 2am. After a period of trying to get back to sleep I resorted to what has on occasion been a banker and switched on “In our time” with Melvyn Bragg. Don’t get me wrong I like the lad/lord but with 1,700 episodes some are likely to cover less interesting topics than others. I chose the one about the goddess Kali which very much turned out to be an uninteresting subject but not sufficiently so to get me off. I think it was the hour long shipping forecast paired with lapping waves that did it in the end. Took a while though. In one week I’ll be able to sleep on my side which will hopefully represent the beginning of normality again. Tomorrow is the last day on the blood thinners.

Beeootiful day out there. Not an ordinary day. We have a Waitrose delivery coming at 5pm ish. Mostly wine with a few bags of crisps. I played Waitrose off against Tesco and found Tesco to be significantly cheaper on the beer front but not the crisps. Gave up Tesco wine many harvests ago. Our annual carol singing party on Saturday. The regulars should all have had their invites.

Although there is no time pressure this morning I figured I’d get up earlier than I have been doing. The only real deadline is THG’s departure for the Pink Ladies running club before which I need help with my left sock. Will have to see if I can get the sock putter onner contraption to work.  Bought it before before Hiphop1 but it was quickly discarded as being of no use whatsoever. Next week I’ll be on my tod for two mornings so need a plan. The contraption must be it. I shall make it work.

There is other news. Yesterday afternoon THG and I went on a jaunt to Branston. She had purchaysed two wooden bar from an address in Branston stools off Facebook Marketplace. Eight quid for the pair. Not bad. I need one for the workshop. The location of said stools turned out to be an isolated farm cottage a few hundred yards down a rough farm track. THG did a good job negotiating the potholes. A tractor wouldn’t have blinked obvs 🙂 

Afterwards we dropped in to the Old Library caff for a swift hot beverage. It was closing in 25 mins but that was plenty of time for us to swig back a cuppa and chat about our fave caffs. I don’t really have one. I do/did have a fave greasy spoon which was Silvas on Shaftesbury Avenue but that one did not survive lockdown and is now a Lebanese joint, so to speak. Never been back.

Just had the solitary muntjac last night at 00:53. I reckon it must be the stag. Lonesome creatures obvs.

…

The life expectancy of a muntjac deer in the wild is 10 – 14 years. At 14 it would be an old deer. Ours are wild. Free to roam. Fences no barrier. Dunno how old they are. Well the stag anyway. Less than 14 I’d guess buteye don’t reallyknow. No idea what made me think of that. I think I just wanted to use the pun old dear.

Now listening to some Christmassy sounds on youtube, Bose phones on. Only because Marseterchef is on. They already got rid of lewd Greg but this one still has the Australian. Also has Grace Dent who I like. What’s more it features Alun Wyn Jones who is a legend but it isn’t enough to get me to watch. Soz.

It is officially ok to talk about Christmas now that we are in to December. Dropped into THG’s church this pm as it was at the furthest extent of my current walking range. She was there helping with the old dears afternoon tea. Different old dears. Anyway was chatting with Robbie the vicar who mentioned that he was coming to my Morning Star carol singsong on the 21st. 6.30 for 7 start. All invited. No religious bits in between the carols. Just drinking. The setlist is on philosopherontap together with the lyrics. Not in the same order that we sing them on the night but let’s not worry about that. Deets. All the bangers are there.

The kids all normally make sure they are back for the Morning Star gig but two of them are spending Christmas away at inlaws. Swatappens.