where art collides philosoperontap

There is a football in the middle of our lawn. It has been there a few weeks now, nay months. Our John was kicking it about sometime over the summer and there it stayed. I might occasionally give it a gentle tap, moving it. 

The football is now surrounded by fallen leaves. Unaware of any symbolism here although I could make something up. “Permanent impermanence”. Let it roll.

Autumn is very much out there. After the rain of the weekend the days ahead look clear. The relevance of this is that Thursday is golf day. Whilst an arthritic hip is currently keeping me off the greens I do join the golfers for dinner afterwards. If it rains we just do the dinner and over the winter it seems likely that it will be mostly just dinner. We are a crowd of fair weather golfers. I expect the hip sitch to be sorted and should be back on the fairways next season. The occasional use of a buggy should allow me to keep my hand in.

The leaves fall now in flurries. At the end of the summer it was the occasional leaf, drifting by my window, but now they come down in groups. Teams. Branchfuls. At some stage we will need to decide on the optimum time for lawn leaf clearance. This is important. Do it too soon and you do it twice or more. Leave it too late and the lawn gets damaged.

The other news is that the dishwasher is still broken. Error code F11. Drain pump. Can’t see any blockage. THG has reached out to our dishwasher repair man so see how it goze. I reckon it’s only our second dishwasher in this kitchen in oo maybe twenty years so perhaps it is coming to the end of its useful life. See what dishwasher repair man says. I have visions of a bloke turning up in overalls purposefully clutching a spanner. 

Tis a Monday morning according to every calendar I have looked at. Google calendar. Plus it says so on the top right hand corner of my macbook screen. That’s two sources, both being global tech giants (behemoths?), agreeing on this subject. Plus my native wit and intuition brought me to the same conclusion, knowing as I do that yesterday was a Sunday. Important 🙂

There is nothing in the calendar for today but there are a number of items on the jobs list that might well get done. Fixing the catch on the cupboard door in the hallway. It’s where THG keeps some of her shoes. Fixed it once but obvs didn’t do a good enough job.  Will put more effort into it this morning. It should be a simple matter of glueing the magnetic catch in properly. 

I also have a tool tidy to make in the garage and a little shelf to hold drinks next to the sofa in the shed. Not particularly important jobs but little things that all add up to a better overall experience. The shed is getting a major investment in lighting which will not be ready until mid December. You will have to wait to see what that is.

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I was minded to play Autumn Leaves by Edith Piaf. I have it on repeat. Seems to be an appropriate tune for the moment, not that I am in a particularly melancholic mood. It is certainly relaxing. Just felt one of those shudders of relaxation go through my shoulders. Moved on to La vie en rose.

Doesn’t take much leaning back with eyes closed to imagine you are in Paris. Reality is Paris doesn’t live up to the romantic image brought up by these songs. Doubt anywhere does. Except maybe New York which is a totally mad place.

Been giving some thought as to where to go on our next big trip. Got tons of Avios. Half thinking maybe Hawaii followed by somewhere else on the way back. India? Needs a lot of careful consideration. We haven’t done the Pacific nor the sub-continent. Does it matter? No. I dunno. Plenty of time to think about it as we are looking at 2026. 2025 is already spoken for!

Moved on to Jacques Brell. Ne me quitte pas. One of the all time greats. Don’t really get on with most of his other stuff but that one song just blows everything else away.

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You may or may not know I cancelled my Virgin broadband account and am returning their router. Got an email from them identifying two routers I needed to return. Sigh. I returned one of them years ago when they sent me the new one. So I’ve just spent an hour trying to get through to them to sort this out. I finally got a WhatsApp message telling me to ignore the email and just go ahead and send the one back.

Now just waiting for Amex to call me. I’m trying to buy tickets for Jeff Lynne’s farewell gig in Hyde Park next summer using the Amex presale facility. Unfortunately the Amex ain’t working on their website!!! Amex usually has a very quick customer service response but on this occasion it’s taking ages. A lot more than the ten minutes for a ringback their message said. Presumably lots of people trying to do the same thing. Finally spoke to Amex who said it was the crap ticketing site at fault.

Anyway all’s well that ends well and THG and I are on our way to see Jeff Lynne next summer. Diamond VIPs us both 🙂

Storm Ashley is battering its way towards us no doubt wreaking havoc as it progresses. As a precautionary measure Gunby Hall is closed for the day. Was there yesterday, in the car park at least, picking up some walkers. The woman in the hi viz jacket whose role was to take the money informed me. 

At the moment all is calm in Skendleby. From our cottage we have views over the remains of the mediaeval village, now just outlines in the ground. Ripe for an archaeological dig I’d say. The mists have cleared but no sign of the wind to come.

Had a strange dream just before I woke up this morning. Wrote it down immediately so as not to forget. It was the opening night of a show in which I was performing and I got to the theatre very early to get in the zone. As I arrived I realised that I hadn’t learnt my lines. Hmm, there was still time, maybs. Then it struck me. We hadn’t even had any rehearsals! I think that’s the point at which I woke up.

No idea what happened after that. Can only imagine they cancelled the show. Lots of disappointed ticket holders. Always assuming they had actually sold any 🙂

Dream interpreters feel free to comment.

Gonna be a simple bacon roll for brekkie this morning as we have a big lunch planned at The Blacksmiths Arms. Table for eighteen? Have you booked? Tomato soup followed by roast boeuf. They talk like that around ere. Actually the accents of the locals yesterday sounded more as if they had all retired here from Essex.  Wouldn’t surprise me. Though no idea why people want to retire to the Skeggy area. Cheap. Here we are in the wolds where it is v pictureskew but on the whole it is v deprived and v cold and windswept in winter.

Was amazed to discover how much history there is to the area. The remains of Bolingbroke Castle are not too distant. Parts of Lincolnshire were settled by religious orders because of its remoteness. A string of monastic establishments. And of course there were the Vikings…

So we have a bit of time to kill this morning. Most of last night’s revellers will still be in the land of nod although Ashley, which is starting to make itself felt will serve as an effective wake up call. As usual we were in bed by ten thirty. Lightweights. The last whatsapp message in our camping group was sent sometime after one o’clock in the morning. We are particularly grateful to @Chris who had stayed off the pop and gave us a lift back to the cottage.

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One good thing about being away partying for the weekend is not having to see or hear the news. Ok it is difficult to completely avoid online but I tend to filter it out/not click on links.

The real issue now is that there is bugger all to do on a wet Sunday morning in Skendleby. We’ve already looked around the church and would avoid that in any case on a Sunday as I wouldn’t want to accidentally get caught up in a service. The church clock just tolled ten but when I looked there was no sign of any of the flock. 

Checked online but strangely found no definitive source of service times. However I then remembered I’d taken a pic of the notice board yesterday. Holy communion 11.15 every second Sunday of the month and evening prayer at 3pm every fourth Sunday of the month. Slightly disappointed as I wanted to see how many turned up. Ah well.

I quite like the idea of doing a tour of all the churches in the county. It’s the sort of thing people would have done in Victorian times when there was no world wide web to suck up all their time. Obvs this tour would note which hymns were up on the board of each church and provide a definitive list of past vicars. Feels like a worthwhile use of time. A definitive record of stained glass windows would also be a good thing to have.

Only an hour and forty mins until the pub opens 🙂

We wake up to seven chimes of the church bell in the sleepy Lincolnshire village of Skendleby. A pleasant gentle rain soaks the fields behind the cottage next to the church. The bell has a quaint flatness to it.

There is no hurry to the day. No pressing need to get up and get on with it. Enforced slowness. Thou shalt take your time.

The bemusing thing about the church clock, apart from the fact that it is about a minute fast, is that it sounds out the time every hour, even overnight. I guess in the countryside farmers get up very early to do the milking n stuff like that. 

Associated, as the church was with Bardney Abbey, the 24 x 7 nature of the chimes is probably also intended to help local monks tell when they need to attend to their devotions. Not seen a monk yet mind you but we only got here yesterday afternoon. Will ave a look today when we visit the church. St Peter and St Paul. Double bubble. Interestingly the church was restored by Gilbert Scott in the eighteen seventies. He got around dinnee. 

Skendleby has never been a very big village being mentioned in the 1086 Domesday Book as having a church and 36 households, with Lord of the Manor being Gilbert de Gant. In the reign of Elizabeth I wikipedia tells us Skendleby was recorded as having 27 households. Must have a few more now as it still has a pub, The Blacksmith’s Arms. Our cottage is at the end of the pub’s large car park.

The Sunday lunch at the pub is meant to be v good. Will let you know.

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Ten thirty seven and the other inhabitants are showing signs of life. They were a couple of hours later than us getting back from the campsite and not in any case known as early risers.

…

Visited the aforementioned Skendleby church. Very much an impoverished small country place of worship. The only board that might have displayed hymn numbers could only have had one hymn. Furthermore there was no list of past vicars which was a disappointment. Did find one online but it only covered between 1549 and 1853. That’s a lot of missing vicars.

I did consider emailing the current Rector the Rev Fran Jeffries to see if she had the list but really I am not so interested as to go to any lengths to find out. The church notice board does provide some interesting detail such as the cleaning and flower rota for 2024 and a list of graveyard plots since 1960. No evidence of any flowers inside the church though.

There was a visitors book which I was invited to sign and did so: Tref of Lincoln.

Blessed be the dead which die in the Lord. Yea saith the Spirit that they may rest from their labours. Just sayin’. Stained glass window.

Error F11 is upon us. Dishwasher pump not working. Either there is a blockage or the pump is knackered. Sigh. It’s a blue job, according to the divisions of labour laid down by our camping fraternity. They are an old fashioned lot. I say camping. They are motorhomers or mohos. We now prefer to stay in glamping pods or cottages nearby especially at this time of year. 

I quite like the life camping but stiffness brought on by being somewhat over forty together with the need for night time sorties to the toilet block or hedge make a luxury cottage far easier to live with.

I must have told you the story before of how I went away with the scouts’ Mountain Action Team for a weekend of adventure and fun. Arrived late, in the dark in fact, at the campsite and had to pitch my tent in the snow. Our lateness of arrival meant we were slap bang in the middle of the field and nowhere near a hedge.

That night I lay in my tent in the small hours of the morning mulling over the fact that I couldn’t get to sleep. I wasn’t quite sure whether it was because I was cold or needed the loo. I decided to put a jumper on and walk five paces from the tent. The ground was frozen. It was v cold.

When I got back into my sleeping bag I kept the jumper on and slept like a baby. I still don’t know to this day whether my inability to sleep was down to the cold or needing a pee. Both probs. I haven’t been to the scout group camp for a few years now. It’s the best one of the year. We always seem to be away when it is on in September.

Meanwhile over in Multan, Pakistan has walloped England at the second test. One all now going into the third and final test which I assume is next week. The cricket has been a welcome addition to the autumn sporting scene at a time where there has been little worth watching from the football perspective.

Today we are off to Skendleby with the camping crowd. We have a tried and tested routine. Takeaway fish and chips on the first night, tonight, and a bbq tomorrow. Lots of beer,  wine and merriment. Mirth. Memories. Stories to be stacked up for retelling at the next get together or five.

Many of these stories centre around short walks that turned into ten mile expeditions with a crowd of knackered campers arriving back gasping for a drink. Then there was the time we had booked a restaurant near Woodhall Spa and were told it was only a short walk from the campsite. I was a bit suspicious about the amount of time it would take and the fact that there was rain forecast so booked meself and THG a taxi. When the others latched on to this they all ended up in taxis and we thanked ourselves for doing so when faced with the “short walk home” at the end of the night.

The packing for today is quite straightforward. Couple of spare tshirts and sets of undies with a warm coat (I have a down lined parka), blankets and camping chairs for sitting around the campfire. Plus toiletries etc natch. It’s a simple old life. The booze is already in the boot of THG’s car, having been left there after yesterday’s raid on Waitrose.

En route to Skendleby we are calling in at Alford. They have a museum, a shop called the Wool Factory and a church that may be visited. I like noting the hymns up on the board and the list of past vicars. Call it my contribution to the social history record of where we live 🙂

PS took the dishwasher apart as far as was possible and eventually found some fibrous material in the section with the motor. Hopefully the removal of that has sorted it.

I thought I’d share my shopping list today:

Booze
Burgers
Kebabs for Anne if they have em
Bread rolls
Breakfast stuff
Toastie bread
Mayo
Nibbles (not nuts)

This does leave plenty of leeway as some of the items are quite vague or at the least, generic. For example when we say Booze do we mean a four pack of lager or something else. 

When I was buying some cheese (not on the list I know but essential for a weekend on a campsite) they were giving out shots of wine. I tried one. I rarely do this, believe it or not. On this occasion I was seriously impressed and bought three bots of Cairanne Cotes du Rhone. Only nine quid or similar. I very rarely buy French plonk.

I only bought cheese because I’d tried some of the Roquefort being sampled and was also impressed. Even better was the fact that it had 25% off which I hadn’t noticed until the assistant told me. While I was there I also bought some Epoisses.

The breakfast stuff I got from Fosters including dry cured back bacon and some smoked back. Essential supplies for a weekend away with the gang. We already have eggs, shrooms and tomatoes. The toastie bread is mostly for breakfast. It is multifunctional and can be fried, toasted or used for cheese and pickle butties on Saturday. 

Fosters didn’t have kebabs so THG is having chichen. Burgers are for moi. BBQ sat nite. Firepit. Banter. Bit of cheese.

Next door is a hive of activity this morning, early. Phil and his roofing team are round there sorting out our rear extension. The old garage. It’s been needing doing for donkeys and now is the time. The store room that it now is gets a bit of damp and fixing the roof will hopefully sort it. All part of the putting the house in the right condition for the next ten or twenty years of occupation.

The old garage, which is at the back of the house, will not have seen a car for many years. Access was down the side of the house with just enough room to hold a vehicle built in the 1930s. Am thinking a Wolseley Super Six or a Riley 1 ½. Austin 10-4 saloon even (I googled all these). Dad used to have a Wolseley. When I were a lad.

Now, with our side extension the garage has been incorporated into the main building, the east wing. It was for a while my office, then a playroom but it eventually degenerated into a general dumping ground and store which is what it is today.

The roofers arrived before eight, urgh. Seven forty five actually. At least Tony next door has left his side gate open and they are just getting on with it without the need to involve me. Got me out of bed anyway which is good.

Have cancelled my stretch and flex class this morning but do have a consultation at twelve with Jess from Prikli Pear who I am talking to about getting a custom shirt made for tropical trefbash. See how it goze. Depends how much she wants to charge really. I guess that depends on how cool I want the shirt to look and therefore how much effort will have to go into it. Yelavetowaitandsee.

I have another meeting tomorrow pm with our graphic designer Jodie to discuss other things for the bash. Again yelavetowaitandsee but some of her excellent work is visible on my Facebook profile. Exciting times. Just invented a new word there. So good I used it twice. I daresay it will end up in the OED someday.

Satisfying short session deleting apps, some of which I don’t even remember installing. 3 different Paris olympics apps! A Broadway ticket app called Tix, used once. Can’t remember what other apps went. They were that memorable and rarely or never used. Useful things to do whilst lying in bed not listening to the news.

Looks typically autumnal out there. Raindrop covered kitchen window panes. Gangly apple tree limbs, clutching still the occasional stubborn fruit, sway with bluster. Leaf filled greenhouse gutters need clearing.

The kitchen is brightly lit, the table furnished with a cafetiere of cawfee and a small pot of tea.

Today we turn our minds to the making of cider. The demijohn airlock thingies are being delivered before 8pm which should be good timing. All operations will be conducted in the kitchen, it being an environment more conducive to operational success. Far too cold to do it in the potting shed/garage/greenhouse. Plus it will be dark out. Look out for photos.

I’m not really a cider drinker but it seems daft to have all these apples every year and let  them rot on the floor.

Meanwhile I finished my book on the story of the Spitfire, again. The only downside to the book is that it has a quote by Jeremy Clarkson on the dust saying it was the most perfect machine ever built, or similar. What value does Clarkson add? Been reading it in bed each night. Nothing like descriptions of technical differences between different versions of aircraft to help you nod off. 

Next up is “US Airborne Divisions in the ETO 1944-45” by Steven J Zaloga. Were it not for the likelihood that Steve is American you might almost think it was a pen name. He has written a lot of books if you want to Google him.

This morning THG is taking the Silver Bullet for a service. 23,000 miles. Not bad for a 7 year old car. She keeps it clean. It’s a clean machine. This is made easier by the fact that none of the kids live at home any more and are not on the insurance 🙂

Meanwhile it is a leisurely start to the day here. Perfectly ripe avocado on sourdough toast with a side of bacon. I cooked the bacon quickly in a pan on very hot heat. Gets the fat nice and crispy that way and a lot easier to do if all you have in the pan is bacon.

…

At my desk before ten. What’s not to like? This is not good really. The wild swings of the Trefor Davies morning routine. Some days, usually in the summer, I can be up by five thirty. In all fairness I was out of bed at the normal time this morning coinciding with Thought for the Day coming on the wireless. 

However after my leisurely breakfast I was in need of a shower and a shave so that pushed the time back. If I go for a swim I tend not to shave. Whilst I may well do some lane ploughing this pm, if the silver Bullet is back from its service, my chin very much did need some attention. 

…

Spent the afternoon cleaning and sterilising my cider making gear. Not sure if I needed to go as far as sterilising the crusher but sterilised it (mostly) is. The apples have been crushed and we are now taking a break for dinner before restarting the activity. Next up is the pressing.

Tuesday is the first day of the week. It is this week anyway. First full day at home. 

Got home around two ish yesterday and immediately stuck the heater on in the shed. Then a few bits and bobs to do including an expedition to Waitrose to buy little potatoes, a few slices of orange and marmalade ham and some salad. I made some lovely French dressing to go with it. It’s all about using quality olive oil and vinegar. Makes a huge difference.

First job after breakfast is to go for a swim with THG. To say we go swimming together doesn’t really tell the whole story. She is a lot faster than me and swims in a different lane. One that requires you to have go fast stripes on your costume. We do half an hour and I head off in her car while she does a few gym classes. Well maybe one.

The good news for today is that there is cricket. The cricket commentary nowadays is not quite what it used to be. Over the years some of the fixtures of Test Match Special have disappeared from the scene: John Arlott, Blowers, Fred Trueman, Geoff Boycott et al. 

Arlott left the scene a long time ago now. And actually I don’t mind not hearing Boycott. I used to turn the sound off when he came on anyway. Then Trueman started to get a bit repetitive and Blowers was a little long in the tooth. Funny how our mind plays games with us about “the good times”.

I am pleased to say that our three sons are all cricket fans. Well brought up obvs. Natch. I won’t be renewing my membership at Trent Bridge for next year though. Only used it once in 2024 and there is no decent Test Match on in 2025. Just Ireland. Not dissing Ireland but they ain’t in the same league as India, Australia et al. Also the pavilion at Trent Bridge is being renovated next year and will be out of use for the season.

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Three thirty and I’ve sort of finished for the day. Gonna crack open a tinnie. Diet coke 🙂

Off home daujourdui. I care not about the sbelin or the lingo. Or about the journey really. None of this ‘better to travel hopefully than to arrive’ stuff. On this occasion travelling hopefully is fine but arriving will be good. A few quiet nights before the next onslaught.

Now off down for breakfast without my device. Figured I’d then be able to give my breakfast companion the attention she deserves whilst also charging the phone back in the room 🙂

Observations from the breakfast room:

When we arrived there was some noisy drilling happening in the ceiling behind the bar. Two blokes stood by watching. Then one left and later returned carrying a plastic trug containing plaster. The third person got up on the step/support/whatever you call it and did some plastering. Apparently they had had a leak and had to fix the roof followed by the internal work.

In the background the cleaning lady was dusting the high up bits of the restaurant.

On our table there were two bottles of HP Sauce. Every other table had one red and one brown. This felt good to me. I don’t do red sauce at breakfast. One of our bottles was almost full and the other two thirds full. I used the latter. My only regret is not having the phone with me to take a photo.

We chatted with the waiter and mentioned that we had been to Khans in Tranmere last night and were impressed with the £15.99 meal deal for poppadoms, a starter, main and rice or bread. He thought that was expensive as he pays £28 for a takeaway three course meal for three people.

Now to continue our journey…

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Motorway musings.

On the road to Lincoln. Google maps not Waze. Anne’s Waze voice is a woman with an irritating way of pronouncing “roundabout”. I need to fix that but not when driving and the phone is in use. 

I am the passenger for the first half of the journey. This is good as it means I am not driving on the tedious 50mph limit bit of the M62 around Manchester. Stressful. A full tank of fuel means no need to stop other than to swap drivers at the halfway mark, usually Hartshead Moor services.

Queensferry, Stanlow, Runcorn. A sign. We have one hundred and fifty miles to go.

Abba cars 444444. Thats treble four treble four or double four double four double four. I googled them. They are based out of Warrington. Only get a two star rating with over a thousand reviews. Not good. You wonder how a business like that stays in business. Must have the Warrington taxi market stitched up.

The cows around Stanlow are upstanding. It is an overcast day but clearly no rain in prospect.

M62 Liverpool, Warrington, Southport (M57). Preston, Wigan, St Helens M6. Different accents of the motorway system.

Monday Monday, so good they named it twice. Speed camera ahead. Not wearing my thick jumper.

I decided to look up famous Mondays in history. The first site that came up published mainly American stuff so only of mild interest. It’s a bit like the fact that they hold the world championships of baseball despite only involving local American teams. 

The one Monday that seemed international was March 20th, 1916 when Albert Einstein published his Theory of General Relativity. You’ll all remember that one. Was a big scoop for the scientific journal Annalen der Physik. Made the headlines big time. Of course when they read it  loads of people nodded their heads knowingly but few of them really knew what Albert was on about (taps the side of his nose).

The rest of the google search results didn’t really tell me what I was looking for. I didn’t want to know why Monday was called Monday. On another occasion maybe but not right now.
Annalen der Physik btw is one of the oldest scientific journals on physics having been published since 1799. It has had a fairly chequered history bearing in mind that WW2 and the subsequent division of Germany into East and West with all the political shenanigans that entailed, got somewhat in the way. Would appear to be still going though, one way or another, fair play.

We had a bonus lunch in Chester with Uncle Ted. He and cousin Richard were up for a spot of urban orienteering, as you do, and messaged Anne yesterday to say they were in town. By complete coincidence so were we. UT is THG’s fave uncle.

He has a number of claims to fame that include  being both a Cambridge and Harvard don and head of research at some major international pharmaceutical company. The most important of his accolades however came when he was a student and he worked at Brian Epstein’s record store NEMS. He was there one day when the Beatles came in and John or Paul asked him to stick Twist and Shout on the record player. Going back a fair bit. UT is in his eighties and still as fit as a fiddle. He ranks number three or thereabouts in his age group nationally for orienteering.

Today is all about visiting friends and relashuns. This evening we are off out to Khans near Berkined for a curry with cousin Geoff and Glenis. Got to take yer own booze. Before then it is Dave and Steph down the Dibbinsdale. We have moved our base to the Dibbinsdale Hotel (the Dibby)  for the night.

Settling in now in our room for a bit of relaxation. A snooze maybe.

We walked the walls and drank the coffee
Watched the world as it passed us by
Listen to music, squeeze out lively juices
Background noises to the written word.

Cardholders scan the library shelves looking for inspiration. In the fiction section you have to be a fan for your attention to be grabbed. Unremarkable titles that don’t draw me in.

I feel lost without my laptop here. Lone amongst buried head students of life’s rich tapestry.

Opposite me a woman eats a sandwich with her right hand whilst working her phone with her left. A face appears on her screen and noises emit. A friend arrives. They chat. Gossip not quite loud enough for me to follow 🙂.

In case any of you were wondering what is in poultry seasoning? This homemade poultry seasoning is made with a flavourful and aromatic blend of dried sage, dried thyme, dried marjoram, dried rosemary, ground nutmeg, and finely ground black pepper. 

I didn’t even know poultry seasoning was a thing. I came across it during some casual research into bbq chicken recipes during my time at Storyhouse. The actual recipe that included it has somewhat been forgotten although I might have it on the browsing history of the phone.

A few minutes of repose before dropping THG off at the gym and heading to Waitrose. Busy busy busy. Already been down to Fosters for bacon and sausages. Apart from the food shop I am more or less packed. Oh and something to wear tomorrow night. Decisions decisions.

Big news btw. THG found the spare car key. Hanging up next to the potting shed keys. Whodathunk. That’s one thing less to worry about, not that I was particularly worried. These things have a habit of turning up at some point or other. Sometimes, as was once the case with my wallet, after you’ve cancelled all the bank cards and applied for a new driving license. Hey…

The Silver Bullet is now heading west towards the setting sun. Not that the sun is setting yet, at least not in our part of the world. Hasn’t even reached its zenith. Plenty of daylight ahead of us. It should still be daylight when we arrive at our destination but three hours nearer to sunset. More after our mid journey pit stop. Driver change etc. Bit like the Le Mans 24 hr race but different.

Our journey takes us past the Lincolnshire Showground where a new McDonalds is opening on the 23rd October (you saw it here first). The site is a hive of machinery activity. I suspect there might be a service station going in there as well. Makes alorra sense. Not sure Maccy Ds fits well with the farming related brand of the Showground. Also they seem to be gradually building on bits of the, admittedly large, car park. It’s about the filthy lucre.

Near to the showground is RAF Scampton. The protesters and their paraphanalia have disappeared since the new government killed off the plans to turn the base into an immigration holding centre. Let them stay in someone else’s back yard.

The harvest has been safely gathered in from the large open fields of Lincolnshire, now full of stubble. They will soon be under the plough. Amazingly we have just passed a trattr carrying what looked like a large plough headed in the other direction.

…

On the M62 saw a lorry pulling a brand new trailer with two other identical brand new trailers stacked on top of it. Would have taken a pic were it not for the fact that I was driving.

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Glory Glory Halelujah. 

Great words. We can thank religion for a lot of great art. You don’t need to know the tune for that one. The words on their own are just stunning.

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art

We sang that at both my grandmother’s and my mother’s funerals, the former in Welsh in Cefneithin and the latter in English in the Isle of Man. I now find it difficult to sing because of the memories it brings back. The hymn came out top in the Songs of Praise 2013 survey to find the nation’s 100 favourite hymns, fair play.

We were singing The Battle Hymn of the Republic in the Silver Bullet on the way over to Chester which is what made me remember to write this. That and Arglwydd, arwain trwy’r anialwch. Probs William Williams Pantycelyn’s best known hymn. We sang the words in English so that we could both sing together 🙂

We have sung songs in the car ever since I was a kid in Wales and we continued the practice with our own family. Our kids have great voices and we get some lovely harmonies. Not that we go on family trips in the car anymore. The Silver Bullet ain’t big enough.

One of my great pleasures in life is sitting in the front room listening to the kids play music together. Joe and John are particularly competent, both being jazz musicians. Hannah is a flautist and has a lovely voice.

Glory Glory Halelujah.

4 pairs of underpants and socks
Spare pair of kecks
Pyjamas
Washbag 
Jacket for Saturday night
Shirt for Saturday night
Bow tie for Saturday night
Jumper
5 or 6 tshirts
Laptop
Phone charger

Foodstuffs

Coats can just get chucked in the car.

A pleasure to be listening to Test Match Special at the mo innit. It isn’t always thus. Let’s enjoy it while we can. The chances are the game will end up as a draw but ya never know. Cricket has a way of assaulting the mind. The confidence. The England bowlers will have spent the last couple of days resting whereas the Pakistan batsmen will be knackered from fielding the whole of that time.

Not everyone reading this will be familiar with the rules of cricket. If you are one of these people then I’m sorry but I’m not going to help you. Google it 🙂.

THG is off to Sheffield today for a day out with her old university mates. Leeds Uni. Leaves me on my own to get on with a few things. Stretch and Flex class at ten thirty. Sagoodun. I am in dire need of a bit of flexibility.

Still can’t find THG’s spare car key. I don’t keep it with my house key so it must have been put down somewhere and I can’t remember where. Doh. I only have one key on the keyring and a battered old Coop membership card thingy that I rarely use but at least it makes it a little bulkier without being overly intrusive. 

I see some people with every key they own on their keyrings but that would just serve to pull my trousers down and is not for me. The shed keys are on a separate bottle opener fob together with the key to the allotment gate which is immediately behind the shed. Seems appropriate. 

The shed keys only travel between the house and the shed. They are creatures of habit, if you can say that about a key. They know their purpose in life, unlike the spare car key which at this moment serves no purpose whatsoever because as you know I can’t find it.

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Just sorted the basket of hats and scarves as requested by THG. I was only able to choose two items for disposal. A brown scarf that wasn’t mine anyway and a thinning black fleecy beanie that cost about three quid and I never wear. I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of the by now manky TT Races hat or the Scouts World Jamboree jobbie. Didn’t even remember I had that one.

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An afternoon at leisure in prospect. Have a little packing to do. We are off to Chester for the weekend.

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No packing packed as yet but I have brimmed Anne’s wheels with spirit of petroleum. Go fast juice. Mind you it is somewhat of a misnomer to think that the Silver Bullet can go fast. It is all relative. There is no need to go any faster than 70mph which in the days of yore, when petrol may well have been commonly described as spirit of petroleum would have been an unattainable dream. It is good to dream. Dream big.

Talking of dreaming big when I go to Waitrose I use their self scanners and play a game. Once I’ve scanned the barcode on the app I point at a random scanner to see if it lights up. I rarely get it right but today I did, for the fourth time ever. I had intended to buy a lottery ticket seeing as I was on a roll but the woman at the desk selling them was yakking away to a couple of customers who she seemed to know. Then when I stood in line she started scanning their shopping. Lots of small items. I gave up. I never get a single number right on the lottery anyway. Only buy a ticket a couple of times a year.

Many of you will be aware that Hurricane Milton is currently ravaging Florida. Doing its dastardly worst. Seems a fairly innocuous name, Milton, for something doing so much ravaging. You would think that something like Thor or Damocles would be more appropriate. Hannibal maybs. 

Hurricane Hannibal runs off the tongue far better than Hurricane Milton. Ain’t no poetry in this Milton. I’m sure the combined brainpower of my Facebook friends list could come up with an even better name.

We have three dripping taps. Hot taps! Hmm. Is there an epidemic of dripping taps or is it just us? Even the tap in the bath, which rarely gets used, is dripping. If anyone has an olympic sized swimming pool that needs filling let me know. Won’t be warm water, fortunately. 

We don’t often bother switching the water on. Dishwasher doesn’t need it, shower doesn’t need it. In fact it isn’t cold enough to have the heating on generally. Installing double glazing a couple of years ago made a huge difference. I know most of you just yawned and said welcome to the twentieth century Tref but our house was built in 1939 when they had never heard of double glazing. It had two fireplaces.

Our previous house in Greetwell Gate had a fireplace in every bedroom as well as downstairs. You can imagine the smoke pouring out of the chimneys. I once accidentally bought a bag of coal instead of smokeless fuel. Boy is the smoke filthy. It wasn’t an accident actually it was for some reason being sold off cheaply but I won’t make that mistake again.

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Correction. Two dripping hot taps and one cold. Important to get it right for historical accuracy. Just as big an issue is that taps these days tend to have ceramic workings and not have washers, at least in our house. I’m told that the theory is that ceramic means better long term reliability but the downside is if a tap starts dripping you have to replace the whole tap. This usually means both taps if you want them to match.

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Now in da shed. Heating on. Just during the day while I’m here. Last night I went to a scout group committee meeting. We used the room the beavers use but on this occasion there had been a yoga class on just before us. That room was not only warm but smelled of bodies indulging in yoga. Who knew such a smell existed!

The big news is that Akela is retiring at Christmas. This is very big news. She has been a leader in the group since 1976! Wow. There will be thousands of kids, mostly now adult, from Lincoln who will have had her as cub leader. A life spent selflessly helping others. Very impressive. As chairman of the committee I am not in the same league, just turning up as I do for the occasional meeting. 

Even had I wanted to (which I didn’t) I would never have been able to devote one night a week to the scouts. My work life would take me all over the world, sometimes at the drop of a hat. I remember once flying to Los Angeles with just a day or two’s notice for a meeting with Hughes Aircraft. Thirty years ago or so.

As Silicon On Sapphire product manager I used to visit Hughes fairly regularly. Our country manager at the time @Huw Rees and I used to play golf on the Friday of the week I was there. Somehow Friday meetings always got cancelled. How would always fix it for me to stay on the “club level” of the local Hilton/Marriott/whatever it was whereas Ernie Pusey the worldwide VP Sales would get a room on the lower floor. Nobody really liked Ernie. Always sharply dressed he once went to a meeting at Apple, having been told that the dress code was very much casual, in ironed jeans, shirt and tie. The guys at Apple cut his tie off and pinned it alongside others in the meeting room. He he he.