where art collides philosoperontap

Taxi driver Tref this am. Dropping THG off at the gym and then picking her up after the classes to then drop her off downtown. Nobbut a small payback for everything she does for me. Let there be no doubt I am lucky to have her.

I am reminded of the time when one of the kids passed his driving test and was happy to provide lifts here, there and everywhere including coming to pick me up from Newark Northgate when there was a problem with the trains. One Saturday I rang at around lunchtime and asked if he could pick me up from The Lawn on Union Road. It was only a mile away but it was a cold day and I figured we would buy some coal en route. He grumpily got out of bed and drove round in his dressing gown. His Facebook status change to “xxx Davies is sick and tired of being treated like a taxi driver”. Ya gorra laugh. I’m sure I must have told that story before but it was worth repeating.

Amazingly, I have two conference calls this afternoon. For the last few years I have avoided any work on a Friday afternoon and often extended that policy to the whole day. Unfortunately Friday afternoons are also when folk typically keep their calendars free in order to wrap up the jobs from the week and are therefore when people are available to talk. I don’t mind.

I say “conference calls” but really they are just chats. Wossgoin on in your world then Fred? I sometimes sit in on the sales team meetings just to keep up with business but dip out when it gets boring as it often does. “Well I resubmitted the proposal and it is going to be looked at when he comes back from vacation”. Drone one, bebe.

Had dinner with the boys in Hickory’s Smokehouse last night. Burger. Didn’t eat all my food. Can’t say I recommend it and I woke up in the night with indigestion. Hmm. Maybe it was just me. Not used to carbs.

…

En route from the gym drop off I noticed a woman walking along dressed in a skirt and open toed shoes with no socks. Now there is nothing unusual about this. The point is it was four degrees Centigrade according to the car. Amazes me how tough some people are. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and warm woolly Nordic socks. Maybe it’s me wots the wimp.

Another observation, as I drove in to Waitrose, was that their petrol station is undergoing major works. Keep forgetting to ask in the store wossapnin. If anyone knows then feel free to spill the beans. Clearly they are having a major upgrade as the garage is going to be closed for five weeks apaz, according to THG’s grapevine. That’s not the same grapevine as is growing around our bbq area, obvs. `What I’m after is more than just “they are replacing the tanks” or similar. I need to understand why they are replacing the tanks. If that’s what they are doing. I just used that as an example.

All I needed from Waitrose was some Rennie but bought a few other lunchy bits and had a cuppa in the caff. Twas quite empty. At nine fifteen ey am they were dishing up a lot of full English. Only ever managed a bacon roll or a croissant there meself. Tea with the bacon roll, latte with the croissant. That’s just how I (bacon) roll. 

THG safely dropped off near to M&S for a cawfee with her pal Rachel. I was at uni with Rachel’s husband Phil.

Frosty out there. We are reminded it is still January. A month of wooly jumpers and warm fire. And smashed avocado on sourdough toast with chopped walnuts, chilli, lime juice and a drizzle of very good balsamic vinegar on top. Side of bacon.

Grilled the toast alongside the bacon. The toast was ready first but I knew that would happen. It was an efficient use of facilities and the output of the toasting was better than had it been done in our crappy toaster.

We are waiting for Tom the Tree Man to rock up this morning. Annual hedge trim plus I’ve got a load of oak logs he gave us last year from a neighbouring job that need cutting down to size for further processing, ie splitting. V heavy they are.

The day ahead offers a mixed bag of entertainments. I have to redo a quote in Euros rather than the originally requested dollars. Then the search for eighteenth century marriage certificates will continue. 

The other day, in a Baptist publication, I discovered a fairly extensive obituary of my gggg grandfather the Reverend Daniel Davies of Penybont Chapel and Talgoed farm in Llanfihangel ar Arth. Wow what a guy. Moreover the obit gave me names I didn’t have, the fact that his wife Anne was a Jones not a Harry and a couple of daughters about which I had known nothing. No names but I’ll find them.

Anne Jones was the daughter of a local schoolmaster called, unsurprisingly, Mr Jones of Maesnoni farm. It might have helped had his first name been given but I guess schoolteachers have never been known by their first names. It’s a bit like the fact that my hip surgeon is an Andrew but everyone calls him Mr Manktelow. Doesn’t feel right to me but who am I to say?

Anyway details of Mr Jones the farming schoolmaster remain as yet undiscovered but he is my ggggg grandfather and at least I have something to go at. We are back to the 1720s ish here and records in Wales become scarce. Fortunately as a deeply religious crowd I have a fighting chance. The period under investigation is a time in history where even published historians talk about there being very little written information about an individual if he or she was not of the Gentry.

Turns out that Daniel had two brothers who became vicars of the Established Church and another who crossed over to the Independents and was minister at the church of that denomination in Aberhonddu (Brecon). A cousin, Thomas Phillips was also an Independent Minister at Neuaddlwyd in Cardiganshire who established a famous school for church ministers and missionaries and was awarded a Doctorate of Divinity from a New York University. Hows about that. Daniel’s nephew John Phillip became a famous Welsh Baptist orator and JP’s brother William was one of the first Baptist missionaries to South Africa. Hows about that then. Again.

Plenty of material there including lots of findable stuff online but none of them give me the name of Daniel’s father. One brother’s marriage cert was witnessed by an Evan Davies who could have been daddy but could also have been the Independent minister of Aberhonddu.

Daniel, btw, farmed 163 acres and was considered to be quite well off with a farmhouse that was described as extensive. I know where the ruin is and shall investigate. Didn’t look extensive when I visited in 2008 but there again it was overgrown by trees and I didn’t know to dig deeper, so to speak. Archaeologist Tref.

Tom the tree man is due to arrive any minute now so if this narrative draws abruptly to a halt you will know why. 

The other entertainment in prospect today is a trip to the golf driving range with the boys this evening. I won’t be able to hit a ball but we are off to Hickory’s for nosh afterwards. Until it was pointed out I hadn’t realised this was a branch of the Hickorys we’ve visited in Chester. Twas quite good as I recall but it is a long time since we visited.

The main issue with a place like Hickorys is carbs. I expect they have low carb options but temptation will definitely be dangled. I am generally being quite a good boy so the occasional consumption of carbohydrate is ok.

…

TtTM came, did his job and went. He does a good job does TtTM fair play. Two of them take half a day to do our hedges and other various jobs. When you think about it, if I had to do it all myself it would take a lot more than a day, even if my hip wasn’t buggered. He has all the right gear and a big trailer for the removal of branches and trimmings. Now have a yuge pile of logs ready for splitting at leisure. The smaller branches don’t need splitting.

I am now sat on a conference call, on mute with the camera turned off. Telecoms fraud n stuff. In the garden THG is beavering away, filling the green bin. We are planning to dedicate a chunk of veg patch to strawberries and using a bit of the lawn nearest the house for veg. Gets a lot of sun there so we figure the beans etc will do better in that spot.

Bit late with writing a post this morning. I like to start off with it but I had other priorities. Someone tipped me off to the possibility of finding ancestors in the press. I was somewhat sceptical of this as I’m looking at darkest Wales in the eighteenth century. I say darkest only in the sense that it was deep into agricultural territory where even now you can drive for half an hour with no mobile phone reception but see half a dozen red kites on the way which was my experience when on a family tree trip fourteen years ago.

Reality is that the area had very much seen the light by the end of the eighteenth century. Griffith Jones’ circulating schools had brought literacy to the masses over a hundred years before it happened in the rest of the British Isles. My own family was deeply religious and in just a couple of generations produced many ministers of religion.

It’s this divinity that did the job. Although the amount of press was limited at the time there were lots of religious journals and I found a lengthy obituary for my great (x4) Daniel Davies in a Baptist publication. Gave me lots of leads including to siblings hitherto unknown and to cousins that may provide clues as to Daniel’s parents. Also I had his wife down as Ann Harry but her name seemed to be Jones which probably explains why I have found bugger all about her.

Anyway I’ll keep you posted. I know you’ll be on the edge of your seats 🙂 

Old Daniel Davies’ obit also mentioned that he was very good looking which explains a lot dunnit 🙂 

Had a good sesh with the pre op nurse yesterday pm. All seems to be ok, amazingly touch wood, rabbits foot, ten leaf clover etc. The slightly interesting bit of news is that the pain killer they give you after the op is very strong morphine. Wow man. Also arranged to stay the night before the op. They want me there by 7am. I might as well make it easy for meself considering all the crap that lies ahead. 

I say crap but that should just be short term. 99% of the folk I’ve spoken to who have had the op have praised it as being transformational. Doubt I’ll ever run another marathon but there again, I hadn’t done that before anyway.

As I write fast jets keep buzzing the shed. I can’t see whether it is the red arrows or something based at RAF WAddington which is only two or three miles south of here. Trouble is experience tells me it is not worth dashing out to look as the jets will have flown out of sight by the time I get to the door. The Reds. Saw em at lunchtime.

…

Nice night watching footy with THG in the snug. The Peul letting in too many goals. Not good enough defence. Only their second team.

…

Getting a bit fed up with the lack of mobility. In truth there is nothing to stop me from taking the car when it is available but nowhere I particularly want to go. Less than two weeks until the op now.

…

Got chromecast working on the Macbook. Had to disable “Use the network framework for local device discovery on Mac” in the experimental features section on Chrome. Didn’t even know there was an experimental features section let alone that I had it running. Must have clicked on something at some stage. It hasn’t given any gyp until now. Still it’s working now. Was a bit annoying especially when chromecast was working on every other device. 

I was this morning accused of being a crusty old man and thus the conversation naturally turned to string vests. Can you still get hold of them I wondered. M&S, being a leading purveyor of undergarments both male and female, would have been the obvious source but they haven’t been on sale in that iconic outlet in living memory. According to a poll of one leading expert. She of crusty accusations.

Google was my friend here. Of course you can still buy string vests. Amazon obviously. Now there are two points worth making here. Firstly there may well be other sources of a garment that is at once traditional and utilitarian but I didn’t scroll down on my phone to take a look. Lesson there for those selling stuff online.

Secondly none of the attire on offer looked like my kind of string vest. Each vest was modeled by a bloke whose body shape did not resemble anyone I know. The string vests was being promoted as a fashion item and not the useful bit of underwear guaranteed to keep you warm on a cold winter’s day.

There is a third point and that is I am not in the market for a string vest, not being a crusty old geezer an all. Anyway a tshirt works fine and I have plenty of them. 

Actually I have too many tshirts as I tend to buy them at gigs, interesting pubs and restaurants (when merch is available obvs) and places we visit on holiday. I periodically have a clear out. Reality is I tend to only wear a few tshirts. Just the ones at the top of the pile. These are always the same few as they get put back in the same place in the wardrobe after they’ve been washed and ironed. Must dig out my Paul McCartney tshirt today now I mention gigs.

Got my pre op appointment today in Nottingham with nurse Barbara. Looking forward to it. Brings the whole bionic process nearer to happening. Just two weeks to go.They’ve given me a load of exercises to do before the surgeon wields his knife and they really serve to highlight the need to get the hip sorted. V constricted movement.

I thought a bit before deciding to post stuff about the hip replacement but yanow it is what it is. I once met someone who had a stroke and who documented the whole process. Not sure she did the ‘before’ bit but certainly the recovery. She said some of what she wrote was not coherent but an interesting window into her life at the time. Not seen her in over ten years so no idea how she is now.

Won’t be giving a blow by blow account of the op. “He is just making the first incision”. You can be fully awake but I’m not sure I want to hear the sawing sound (grimace). At least things have moved on since the old Battle of Trafalgar days where all they gave you was a  leather belt to bite on.

Breakfast this morning, if yer interested was gran o’lah with yo’ gurt and blackberries. A new batch of ‘la this time using dried apricots as we had run out of figs. I daresay the fig supply will be replenished at THG’s earliest convenience. Didn’t even know I liked figs. My dad always used to have them at Christmas but they never took off with us kids.

…

I’m going to do something revolutionary while you are out. What? Storm the winter palace? No mop the kitchen floor.

…

A veritable cacophony of birds on the walk to the shed this morning. Just as it started to rain. I understand that there are no warnings of forest fires in the area today. This morning I’m ploughing through a very interesting “A History of Wales” by John Davies. I initially bought the original Welsh language version but his Welsh was too difficult for me to follow. I wonder if we are related? It was first published in 1990 so it is likely that he is no longer around for me to ask. Doesn’t matter.

The sound of the rain on the shed roof is quite relaxing. It isn’t cold. Just wet.

It’s new day, it’s a new world. Well, same as yesterday. Just a little bit older and a little bit more, if that makes sense. Where do I get this stuff from?

Birds were fairly vocal during the hobble to the shed this morning. Same yesterday. It’s a bit early for them to be getting excited. Spring is a long way off. Still January innit. Fresh snowfall still expected on the slopes. No meltwaters filling the rivers and gulleys coming down off the mountains evoking memories of new awakenings. The heating is still on.

I have been eyeing an apple tree or two en route to the shed thinking there was more pruning to be done. Will have to see how it goze. Certainly been starting to think about onion planting. More about how to get bigger onions. It will be all about furtiloizer. We have never approached it scientifically. The books telly you to dig in some well rotted compost in the autumn. Bit of well rotted manure if you have any. We didn’t. The raised beds have had some wood ash scattered on them so that will help.

The shed is very bright this morning but that is largely to do with the fact that the low sun is reflecting off the bathroom window providing additional illumination. Nature eh? Dontcha love it 🙂

I dunno if you find this interesting but last night I was reading about a day in the life on a farm in Wales during the 18th century. The dairymaid would get up between two and three in the morning to do the milking. Urgh. Imagine that in January on a hill farm with no heating and just a flicker of light to work by. 

I guess most of a milkmaid’s work was done by feel anyway 🙂 Reminds me of the time we visited @Chris Conder’s farm and saw the milking in action. Fully automated including the allocation of feed mix to the coos on an individual basis. The cows even knew when it was time and made their own way to the milking shed. Took the romance away from farming, if there ever was any. 

It’s probably only us non farmers who have ever looked upon the lifestyle as romantic. Ah the healthy outdoor existence. I think I’ll just go and scatter a bit of feed for the hens. They’ve been so good with their egg laying. Then I’ll take the horse for a run out before coming back from some home-cured bacon with fresh bread made with our own flour. Oo arr. I’m sure it must be still like that, mostly. Probs 🙂 

Anyway back to reality and amazingly a pot of tea has just appeared on my desk. Just to the left of the keyboard. Nothing ‘just appears’ of course. It is all part of a well coordinated plan. Teamwork at its highest level. Needs to brew for five mins for the perfect cuppa to be achieved.

We have different experiences with tea brewing. We once had some friends around and THG brought in a pot on a tray, leaving it on the coffee (tea?) table to nip and get something else from the kitchen. By the time she came back the friends had poured the tea, Totes dishwater. They never used a pot and just left a  tea bag in a cup. It is never as good.

My sister Sue is not a tea drinker and in an effort to declutter her kitchen has disposed of her little used tea pot. In fact I think it must only be THG and I who ever used it. We had to resort to the dunk in cup method last time we were down. 

There are some places you just have to take your own teapot along with you. Not a biggie. It’s like taking extra teabags when you go to stay in a hotel. The staff that make up the room typically have no idea that the main event is English breakfast tea. Mint, camomile and other green varieties are all very well but not for volume consumption. It is easy enough to get more teabags from the hotel reception but just less hassle to take your own. Usually we pinch some milk from breakfast and keep it in the room for the day.

When we stayed in The Soho Hotel during trefbash last December there were no tea and coffee making facilities in the fairly expensive room. No problem said reception. Someone brought up a tray. Even calling for more milk and tea bags was no problemo. It is only when we checked out I clocked the fact that they charged us £3.50 every time we called down for more supplies. Hey…

In other news I upgraded my Google storage from 2YB to 5TB yesterday. Was at 80% capacity which Google regularly reminded me of. Then yesterday for some reason my phone photos didn’t back up, or at least not immediately in the time I was looking. Whether it was a coincidence or not but as soon as I expanded the capacity, hey presto they were backed up. 

I still had 200GB of free space at the time which I figured would keep me going for a while. Now I have 3.2TB free space. The upgrade seemed to have a few AI goodies thrown in which made me think I should have been using the tech to help with copying nonconformist church locations from a book into sheets. 

It was phenomenal fair play. I gave it clear instructions and in seconds Gemini did work that might have taken me a day to do. I did need to make a few corrections but that seemed to be down to the quality of the photos of pages. They weren’t all perfectly flat. I had tried using macros in sheets but they were more hassle than it was worth. The data being presented was not uniform having been scanned in a photo and the text lifted and pasted into the sheet.

AI is good for repetitive actions that also require a bit of interpretation but in my experience doesn’t replace the creativity of the human mind. Not yet anyway. I suppose if it ever gets to that point we all pack up and go home.

Ciao amigos. Tea to drink.

Opened an eye. 5.44. Next time it opened the clock showed 5.50. Six minutes of my life gone in the blink of an eye. Dozed a bit more. At 6.30 I went downstairs and made the tea. If THG is away I don’t bother making the tea. She is not away that often. Making the tea in the morning is a bit of a ritual. I daresay you have your own routines.

This morning I have a clear mind. Feeling relaxed. Who knows what might happen. Unlikely to be much. The shed needs tidying but it doesn’t feel like that sort of clear mind. It is the Sabbath after all. Wouldn’t want to be excommunicated for working on the Sabbath which did use to happen. Not to me obvs. Maybs.

There are two aspects to the job of shed tidying. There’s a lot of clutter that needs sorting but I also have a few things that need passing on to someone who might do something with them:

1. An old telescope I bought second hand but have never really used because we have too many trees around us and whenever I tried the sky was too cloudy.
2. A perfectly good banjo I bought meself for my 30th birthday but never really picked up. Needs a new machine head and a bridge so a nice simple project for someone.
3. A spanish guitar I seemed to have picked up from somewhere. It’s a spare. I don’t need it.

If you think you could use any of these items drop me a line/swing by for a looksee. I’ll stick the kettle on.

I also need to hoover the shed and give it a bit of a dusting. Floor also needs a mop putting to it. I’ll try getting that done before I go in for the op which is only a fortnight on Tuesday now. We are hosting a 6 Nations session for one of the March games so the shed will need to have been sorted by then. Unlikely to get the mopping done. Whonose.

Quite like the time of year when the 6 Nations is on. Actually the time of year is crap but the rugby makes it a bit easier to take. It isn’t even the rugby, especially right now if you are Welsh, although Ireland does mitigate the sitch. It’s the craic. Gone are the days really where we would pile into a pub or the rugby club to watch the games. Home comforts are preferred these days and there is enough of a crowd of us to make it a good atmosphere.

So I am trying to decide what sort of a clear mind I have. Who or what will benefit from this clarity? Perhaps my mind is so clear that it wants me to lean back in a trancelike state and focus on nothing. Elevate myself to a higher plane. It is the Sabbath after all.

There are some people for who the Sabbath means going out for brunch with friends. We did that when we lived in London before we got married. Perhaps we should consider doing it in Lincoln sometime. If anyone wants to pop somewhere relaxing for a coffee and a croissant or even a full blown English hit me up. Take the Sunday paper. We don’t get a Sunday paper any more but I would buy one especially. Something with a suitably highbrow section natch 🙂 Is there such a paper? Perhaps that’s not what folk want on a Sunday.

It could be something that reveals the sophistication of the reader. Le Monde or the International Herald Tribune or simlar. Maybs. The Weekend FT is good and it doesn’t matter that it is printed on the Saturday. The good stuff has nothing to do with the news. Having a few sections it is also quite handy to keep for lighting the fire. As I recall the Sunday Times has more sections but I draw the line at reading that comic. What is needed is something without too much news.

When I were a lad I subscribed to the Times Literary Supplement but canceled it soon enough. God it was boring. It’s a bit like the time I joined the Poetry Society. Didn’t rejoin for the second year. It was full of people who took themselves far too seriously.

The brunch thing clashes with church for some members of the household so it might just be me but let’s see how it goze. Is it even a thing anymore? It was in London in 1986.

Going out for Sunday lunch is definitely still a thing because we did it twice last year. I’m in two minds about this because I can cook a better roast dinner myself than you would get in a put or a restaurant who have to cater for lots of people. We did have very good roast potatoes in Heaneys in Cardiff last Sunday but the main attraction is just being able to rock up and eat rather than the fact that the food on offer is better than you can do at home. I’m not saying Heaneys was bad, it was good but not Tref good.

I think we will try the White Hart. When I’m over the op. The menu looks good and it is just down the road from us so staggering distance home.

Enough thought of food. It is not the type of clarity of mind I have today, although at this rate the clarity will morph into mist. I made another cup of tea.

Thought for the day’s subject is the traitors tv programme. Honestly! Even more of a reason to turn the wireless off. Avoided it last night by watching a History Channel programme with Wayne Mills-Kidals’ cousin Guy Martin parachuting into Normandy. THG watched the traitors on her device listening through her Bose phones.

Switched to Sioe Frecwast on Radio Cymru and they even started talking about the Traitors there. Is there no escape? Turned the volume down and a few minutes later they’ve moved on to discussing the chances of Wales in the Six Nations Rugby.

A piece on Diwyrnod Santes Dwynwen was played in with Dim Ond Mor O Gariad by Meic Stevens. It’s the Welsh equivalent of Valentines day but I guess you already knew that. It’s on now in da kitch. THG sat there patiently filtering it out in the same way I do when the news is on Radio 4.

Moved on from Sioe Frecwast to Ar y Marc where the content is mainly football. Apaz it’s the 30th anniversary of the Eric Cantona king fu kick. Who knew? The presenter did name drop the winners of the Traitors. I suppose everyone who wanted to watch it tuned in last night otherwise I’d be a bit pissed off about the spoiler. Don’t worry the ‘secret’ is safe with me.

I’ve turned off Radio Cymru. Swiped up. Peace at last in the kitchen. The tea brews.

A clearing up session lies ahead of me after an acceptable avo on toast with a side of bacon. I stuck a chopped chilli in the guac. Came from a bag of mixed Thai chillies. This one was particularly hot which was fine. Only thing is you can’t tell which ones are going to be fiery and which are just normal until you’ve started to eat them. Whatever ‘just normal’ is when it comes to chillies.

Sat on the church pew with the low sun edging around the side of the window trying its utmost to dazzle me. If it gets to that I will get up and get dressed. After tidying up obvs. Ok as it stands.

We seem to have avoided the worst of Storm Éowyn. This has to be good considering the wireless was reporting a million people without electricity in Ireland and Scotland. Hopefully their batteries held out and they had a plentiful supply of candles. Might experiment with a candlelit dinner tonight for me n THG. Romantic.

In the ‘old’ days, the days of yore, Éowyn would not have had a name and the bothy dwellers of the Celtic nations would have already been using candles. Or lamps. Candles were probably expensive. Nowadays you can buy 102 birthday cake candles (with holders) for £3.88. Otherwise it’s £12.99 (plus £4.49 delivery!) for 20 off normal candles which will probably be more useful in a power cut. Each one will burn for 6 hours according to the blurb so should last longer and the kids won’t be tempted to blow them out. Unless they were notionally doing their homework by candlelight and wanted an excuse for not finishing it. We have a few candlesticks dotted around the house…

…

Yo Steve

You probably know it is an old Lincolnshire tradition that when a bloke reaches the venerable age of 60 they throw a quiz in his honour. Here is the quiz:

What was Steve’s main source of employment?

1. Pole dancer
2. Pole vaulter
3. Pole tosser
4. Pole climber

There are prizes of a kiss off Steve for both correct and incorrect answers and you can have as many goes as you like. People called Tref are exempt from taking part.

Lotsa lurve

Tref & Anne

Éowyn is starting to make herself heard. Lying in bed I can hear the wind roaring through the branches of the trees on wragby road.

The Beeb reports 50 mph winds in Lincoln, 65mph in Pwllheli and 83mph in Peel in the Isle of Man. Ride not your bike. 

I saw yesterday that The Harbour Lights caff on Peel promenade said it would not be opening its doors today. Won’t be anyone on the prom anyway. The sea will be crashing over the wall. The waves at Fenella Beach, nestled below the castle, should be spectacular. 

The cosy snug in the Whitehouse pub will have the fire lit. A sensible place to sit out the storm, securely up the hill and away from the seafront. There used to be 60 pubs in Peel, at the height of the herring fishing, long since gone. The fleet is now reduced to a few crab and scallop boats.

Been looking at the webcams on the island. Still too dark to see the action. Will look again later.

…

I quite like it in the shed when there is a bit of weather. In here you feel cocooned and can look through the large glass doors with interest. Not much wildlife to be seen. They have more sense than to be out in this wind.

…

Avocado
Teabags
Bean salad
Milk
Carrots
Oil and vinegar
Tomatoes
cucumber
Bacon?
Mushrooms
Lettuce

Picked the right scanner today. It’s a game I play. On this occasion there weren’t many left on the wall so the odds were in my favour. However when it gets to the last few a number of them are only there because they don’t work properly so it isn’t that simple. Bought a lottery ticket on the strength of that success.

Storm Éowyn is a new one innit? Named after a Lord of the Rings character apaz. Old English origin. I looked it up so that you didn’t have to. “Horse lover“ or simlar. Who knew? Probs you did. Better start battening down the hatches. Éowyn hits town at the weekend. End of weather forecast.

Storms never used to have names. They used to be called a storm. Not sure what naming them does for us. It’s the Met Office trying to jazz up what may be an otherwise humdrum existence. Making rainfall measurement more glamorous.  They now advertise their job vacancies as “exotic storm naming engineers” Think you have what it takes? Knowledge of Tolkien and advantage. We are an equal opportunities employer.

I do have a raincoat. Not looking for a job though. Call me an amateur rain tester. Not yet certified. I did once invent a rainfall measurement technique based on standing in the pub doorway and holding your specs outside at arms length. It could only have been invented in a pub. We were probably trying to decide how heavy rain needs to be before we could officially declare ourselves stranded and settled in for a long session. A point where even walking from the pub door to the waiting taxi could be considered too high risk.

Those were the days. Not sure any of us could manage a long session like that anymore. Well maybs…

Up relatively early for me gran o’la. I do some exercises nowadays before getting up. Physio stuff in advance of the hip op. Gotta be done. Some of it hurts. When your hip is buggered… The exercises come with sound effects because I have to time and some of them and I do that by counting out loud. Ya gorra laugh. Just two and a half weeks to go now. Not that the exercises will stop then. Not until I’m bounding up Steep Hill or Y Wyddfa. Look em up. You know it makes sense.

Through the kitchen window I see some blue sky through breaks in the cloud. Nature lulling us into a false sense of security. No wind yet. The temperature is on the rise. Tomorrow is the day for the wind. I’m sure it will almost feel as if we are in da Carib ’ean during hurricane season mon. You can understand why folk depart these shores for warmer climes in January and February.

What’s life come to when all you can talk about is the weather.

…

At ten thirtynine it began to reign on Ragby Rode. THG took her car to the gymnasium which makes a lorra sense. I am in a brightly lit shed, observing. I’m also dipping in to my latest read which is handily positioned on the desk.

It must be said I am really looking forward to this hip op. I am sat on my backside all day. Not by choice. It’s because walking is v difficult. The worst bit is my “good” hip which really is no longer good and just as bad as the other. It has more strength and slightly more mobility  but is sore as hell. Two weeks on Tuesday is the day.

At 9.32am yesterday a fox came into the garden. Came through the beech hedge from next door, around the back of the shed, back between the shed and the greenhouse then around the back of the raised beds and through a hole in the bottom of the fence to the other next door.

I wasn’t in the shed at the time. And even had I been there I probs wouldn’t have noticed the fox. My desk faces in the wrong direction. Might have done. The fox may not have come had I been in the shed. Cunning.

Then two nights ago we had a hedgehog on the back lawn. Keep meaning to build a hedgehog house. It has been a long term item on my jobs list. Perhaps 2025 is the year of the hedgehog house.

Simple bacon and egg brekkie with a slice of toasted sourdough. I quite like the simple life. Some might not consider that breakfast to be a simple on. Porridge, Tref my son, that’s simple. Well I am not a porridge fan. I do eat THG’s very fine gran o’la with yo’ gurt and berries which is similar and perhaps slightly posher. Not today though, like I said.

Yet to cook said breakfast. Have settled onto a sofa in the snug. Too cosy man. On another sofa the talented THG is knitting a patchwork blanket. Fits in a row here and there when she can. We will be alright when the winter is at its worst. Oh that’ll be now. We have other blankets.

Makes me realise how different our lives are now compared to times gone by. Even when I was a kid, pre central heating days, you had to force yourself out from under the blankets. When you lived in a small farmhouse in Wales in the eighteenth century it would have been a tough one. They bred em hard in them days. 

I only mention it because that’s where I am at with the family tree research. THG’s side goes back a lot further – someone else has done the work. May get around to checking it someday. V time consuming. We are back to 1580 on her mum’s side, the Fletchers. Scotland.

I’ve been leaving the heating on in the shed so it is warm as soon as I get there. Otherwise it takes half an hour or so to get up to temperature and I’m sat there in a jumper with freezing cold hands. Ish. Only do this in the depths of winter.

It’s a big contrast to the height of summer where the shed doors are left wide open all day and I allow nature to enter into the picture. I have to shut the doors when going into the house for a cuppa or similar in case nature decides to go inside the shed. Had a bird do that in the past.

Anyway gotta go. There is bacon to cook.

Pre dawn down, stairs. Was awake. Time rushes by. Wind the clock forward, at pace. Back to  bed after making the tea. Back down for breakfast. Up, down, turning around, brewing the tea and defying the ground. I have another pot, of tea, in front, of me.

Bugger. Just missed a parcel delivery. Both of us were in but were otherwise engaged and didn’t hear the doorbell. The Ring doorbell is not the most reliable going. Now got to pick it up from the Carlton Centre Post Office tomorrow. Annoying innit. 

What if I was a little old person who couldn’t get to the door in time. I certainly was the latter. I almost certainly know what it is and due to the value will probs have needed signing for. Ah well.

Got another delivery coming between 11.10 and 13.10. Quite precise that. I’ve had examples of DPD arriving five minutes early and having to wait for the delivery window before letting me sign for something. This ain’t DPD. So I’m sat on the settee in the snug using my laptop. 

I’m wearing my spare specs this morning because I stood on my Oakleys in the shower room. Fortunately it looks like an easy fix but I’ll need to take them in to Clearview Opticians, when I have the car. Always something innit.

It’s come to something when listening to “thought for the day” is preferable to the news. Not that I normally like listening to the news anyway. Right now the news is full of Donald Trump crap. Ironically I’ve been putting drops in my left ear to unbung it a bit. The wireless set is next to my left ear. Feels as if I should be leaving it bunged up. Fortunately/unfortunately the drops seem to be working :).

Was a productive enough weekend, fwiw. I reattached the bath panel that the plumber had removed to replace the taps. All it needed was a replacement screw and a few drops of superglue at the top to keep it in place pending application of sealant. Simples eh?

Also took a look at THG’s ‘new’ slide projector and determined that it had been shipped sans slide magazine tray. Ten quid plus postage on eBay and five second hand magazines are winging their way to Lincoln as we speak, inshallah. We have zillions of slides from THG’s childhood to work our way through. A few gems in there no doubt. I believe we may have a screen in the attic somewhere but the front room curtains will do.

Finally the dinner last night was chops with veggies and the gravy for saturday’s poached partridge meal. Sensational even though I say so myself.

Exciting stuff eh? 

In the meantime I had a bit of a result on the family tree side. There’s lots going on but one of my great great grandfathers, William Davies was a farmer and a poet with the pen name Y Bardd Coch (The Red Bard). I’ve been looking for some of his poetry. Other than his epitaph I’ve not had much luck there but his gravestone does say that both he and my gg grandmother lived in a place called Maesybidie, or Maesybidiau.

Now their farm was called Coedsaithpren and the census records for his lifetime don’t show him as having lived in Maesybidie. However his burial record, found yesterday, says that his wife Anne died there and he died at his daughter’s woollen mill Maesdulais and that he had lived in Maesybidie.

This tells an age old story. Old couple retires from the farm and go to live in a cottage. Maesybidie may well have had other family living there as the census shows Davieses from the mid 19th century but not from 1901. William and Anne must have moved there after 1891. When Anne died in 1897 William will eventually have moved out and seemingly moved in with his daughter Mary Ann at Maesdulais.

Maesybidie is quite a famous place locally. It is a Welsh longhouse that has been there for hundreds of years and it is said to have provided shelter for Llewelyn ein Llyw Olaf, the last true prince of Wales, after a visit to Dinefwr (Dynevor). If yer interested there is an article from The Carmarthen Journal on Maesybidie here

If anyone can help with finding Y Bardd Coch’s poetry that would be most appreciated.

Ciao amigos

Finally found a use for the iPad Pro. I bought it maybe a couple or three years ago in a rush of blood after a boozy lunch in Soho with Charles Edwards and Martin John. Top of the range with all bells and whistles. We weren’t far from the Apple store in Covent Garden and it seemed to make sense. I had after all been thinking about doing it for ages as it could be useful to take on trips, being a smaller footprint than my macbook.

The reality turned out to be different. The user interface is crap for typing and it was not nearly as responsive as the macbook even with the expensive keyboard attached. Moreover, being a rubbish artist, I never used the stylus/pen thingy.

It is good quality for media streaming but most of the time I have my macbook for that although yesterday for some reason the latter stopped being able to see the chromecast. Even after I’d followed all the troubleshooting tips and updated mac os and chrome. I might have to resort to using the iPad to cast if I can’t fix the macbook but that is another story. Software eh?

So anyway now the iPad sits conveniently on the butcher’s block island in the middle of the kitchen in the ideal place to look up recipes. There is a scenario whereby THG decides it doesn’t belong there as it gets in her way but we aren’t there yet. Even looks the part. The modern kitchen/chef etc

Last night I cooked a deelish one pot poached partridge supper. It was loosely based on various online recipes but they all seemed a bit elaborate with fancy ingredients which I couldn’t be bothered to even look in the cupboard to see if we had them so I made it up as I went along. Did follow some of the processes which included pan frying the partridges first in butter. I think it made a difference. Anyway the result was good and was complimented by THG which is always v satisfying obvs.

This morning the day has started with one of THG’s invigorating granolas with yo’ gurt and blackberries we harvested in abundance last autumn and have frozen in batches. What’s not to like. Fruit related conversations this morning did cover the fact that the plumb tree planted against the trellis at the bottom of the garden was not doing the biz and we are considering replacing it with a fig. 

The apricot is diseased and is going to be felled. A bit of a dramatic way to say we are going to chop the apricot tree down. I’ve been watching too much Lawless Island on Disney Plus. It isn’t a particularly big apricot tree but an expert has said it ain’t going to do the job for us so going it is.

I don’t watch very many TV programmes but we got a free Disney Plus subscription so I trawled around the National Geographic section to see if there was anything worth watching and landed on Lawless Island, so to speak.

The first series was v good. Different. The subsequent series have been pretty samey. Wood chopping, fishing and deer hunting with a bit of trapping thrown in. Lots of swearing that is beeped out. Anyway I was watching the first episode of a new (to me) series to find that one of my fave characters had died during the winter because of a fire in his cabin. Oh dear. V sad.

Figured I’d google it  to find out more and it turned out it happened four years ago so presumably I still have a bit of catching up to do. Not sure I’ll manage the whole lot. 

During covid  lockdown I binge watched one of my fave programmes which was the one about the auction house in Yorkshire that sold classic cars. Can’t immediately remember its name. After four series I figured that every episode was just a repeat of the previous one but with different cars. Haven’t watched it since, even though I’m pretty sure that at least three more series have been produced.

It’s a problem, finding stuff to watch on the telly. Actually, no it isn’t. Just don’t watch the telly. We are ok tonight because the snooker is on and Liverpool will be playing in the week so that’s ok as well. And it’s University Challenge tomorrow. Yay.

Otherwise when the TV is on in the house I usually have my headphones on so that I don’t have to hear it. I’m a v fussy telly watcher. Dad’s Army isn’t on at the moment, at least not on free to air.  I especially don’t like the news. Too much bad shit happening.

THG has just put on her coat to go to church and I’m not even dressed yet. Better go. Ciao amigos…

Hooray it’s the weekend. That’s great isn’t it? Watcha doin? Anything good? Great outdoors, go to see a game, shopping? Stuff like that?

We used to have a routine at the weekend. The pre kid routine would have been different to when the offspring arrived but that would mostly have involved getting ready to go and play rugby, playing rugby, drinking, eating and falling asleep on the settee. Sundays were closed in those days though there may well have been a two hour window in the pub at lunchtime followed by a roast dinner and another slumber. I might be wrong. It was a long time ago.

When Tom arrived things changed. After breakfast he and I would go for a walk. It was the same walk every week. Living in Greetwell Gate we were only a stones throw from Lincoln cathedral and that would be our first port of call. First stop was the statue of poet laureate Alfred, Lord Tennyson, the chapter house and the flying buttresses. Tom and I would do Hunchback of Notre Dame impressions shouting “the bells, the bells”.

Sometimes we would nip in to the cathedral. We would do this through the coffee shop which in those days was next to the chapter house. You could get in the back door of the cathedral that way without having to shell out real money to go in. At the front door there were fierce looking guards with, I’m sure, false smiles making you dip your hand in your pocket for a ‘donation’. It always felt a bit of a result being able to sneak in for free. That’s local knowledge for you.

Then we would mosey across Castle Hill to the castle itself and go and see the Magna Carta. After we had been doing this for a year or so the Magna Carta room got a new guard/attendant. Seeing a delightful small blonde child looking at the Magna Carta she wandered over to explain to Tom what it was all about, not knowing this was about the fiftieth time he’d seen it. You have to pay to see the document nowadays.

Finally we would end up at the Lawn and The Sir Joseph Banks Conservatory. This was a great gaff with different world zones containing plants he had brought back from his travels. There was a path meandering around the jungle and a large pond containing koi carp in the middle. We could easily spend an hour in there pretending we were going through unexplored jungle. There was a bench for me to sit whilst Tom got on his hands and knees and dipped his hands in the water.I might even have a paper with me. If THG took him he would only get a couple of minutes quick in and out and definitely no hands and knees and water. Happy days.

The routine continued when Hannah came on the scene, perhaps to a lesser extent but things changed when more kids arrived on the scene and we moved down the road to a bigger house. Sports clubs, swimming lessons and other family related activities took over.

Saturday afternoon was still the rugby club. The deal was the kids could have unlimited lemonade and crisps as long as I got to stay in the bar. I drew the line at chocolate thinking they would probably not eat their tea. As it was, THG always wondered why the kids came home with not much appetite.

The rugby club was a great place for kids. There were lots of others there and they could run around wild in gangs. There was always some parent or other keeping an eye out on them, I assume.

Anyway that was a long time ago. Today I am dropping Hannah off at the hairdressers and nipping to Wickes to buy some superglue. This pm might watch the imps on the box.  What you up to?

Warm house this morning. Wasn’t cold before but the heating was not quite up to scratch. Had the boiler serviced yesterday and in respect of the heating not working properly all the plumber had to do was increase the speed of the pump. At least it didn’t involve a new boiler which we only had a few years ago.

Had me granola and now contemplating the day ahead. It was the last of  the granola so hopefully another batch will magically appear. THG makes great granola. Fair play. Got a bit of work to do but nothing that will get in the way of life. Actually I quite like doing a bit of work once I get in to it.

Red arrows just flew by. I assume it was them or it could have been a jet from RAF Waddington. Sounded quite low. I’ve given up dashing to try and see them as they’ve always gone behind a tree or a rooftop by the time I get into the open. When I can see them they are usually quite high up and no good for photography.

The only thing I have in the diary today is “pay tax”. Fairly sure I did this in December though many festive spirits have flowed since that time and I’m not totes 100% positive. Could check the bank account I suppose. Obvs I have other things I could be getting on with. We do need to chop down the diseased apricot tree but this is something I might leave to an offspring. I can lop off the branches easily enough with my branch lopper (natch).

They’ve flown by again! Five times now and I saw them as I was walking to the shed. Just the two planes flying very low. As low as is permissible I imagine. Normally you see more than two of them practising formation flying. 

Many years ago when we lived in Greetwell Gate our neighbour Al did a stint at RAF Cranwell running the multi engined flying training. The time came for him to move back to his day job at BRize Norton so he got permission from the CO to take me up in the jump seat when he was on a training run. They don’t let just anyone go up you know but I was pitched as a VIP, being on the executive of the Parliamentary Space Committee (breathes on fingernails and rubs them on jumper).

Worra day that was. Crap weather but I got a tour of the base including the ops room where you could see who was flying where that day. Noone was allowed to come within a certain distance of a royal flight, fwiw.

Then we kitted up and spent an hour low flying over Lincolnshire including a couple of flypasts of the cathedral and our house. Unfortunately I had a crappy camera and it was raining so I didn’t get particularly good photos. That night, after a couple of beers in the officers’ mess Al and I went out on the lash in uphill Lincoln ending up, as you do, with a curry at the Raj Douth as was.

The Raj Douth was on Eastgate and very close to the Bishop’s Palace. It was my custom and practice when on the way home after a few beers to nip inside the gate of said palace and relieve the pressure in the bushes. Al, being a serving officer, declined the opportunity. Wouldn’t have looked good if he had been caught.

Nowadays the house is a former Bishop’s Palace, is privately owned and has electric gates that stay closed so the pleasure is no longer available to me. It was only a couple of hundred yards from our house and I could have waited until I got home to use the loo but the mischievous side of me liked the element of risk involved, albeit low.

Telling you all my secrets here. Better stop before I say anymore…