where art collides philosoperontap

The hidden cost of a hip replacement. Just broke the lid on the butter dish dinneye. Was carrying it from the butcher’s block to the kitchen table whilst using my crutches and off it slipped. V dramatic. Lid smashed to bits and scattered all over the kitchen floor. Not the desired effect at all. THG looked on and said she sensed it was going to happen. One of those things you see in real time but can’t do anything about. Ah well.

We do have two butter dishes that get rotated as necessary when one needs a wash. We will have to keep an eye out for a new one. Not just any butter dish will do.

The other bit of news, and this must be considered to be real progress, is that I am writing this from the conservatory. Hitherto my only places to sit have been the armchair in the snug, a seat at the kitchen table (with a cushion) and the stool at the butcher’s block. My right arse cheek is sufficiently recovered that it makes sense to vary my places to sit during the day. As I approach the full weight bearing phase of recovery, currently T minus 8 sleeps, it makes sense to move around a bit more. Being sat in the armchair all day has had a knock on effect on muscle (as opposed to bone on bone hip) soreness that will have to be sorted before I can properly walk to the Morning Star again (or Post Office. Not using the armchair as much is going to help I’m sure.

The conservatory is a much better place to sit and write. There is no real reason why I shouldn’t have used it before other than it’s been bloody cold out. The conservatory is heated but I sense it would still have been relatively cold compared to the rest of the house. With the sun shining and spring in the air this is no longer the case.

One massive benefit is that the view has changed. Instead of having my back to the drive and the main road I am now looking out over the back garden, the greenhouse and the shed. Still not been to the shed yet. In fact not been out in the back garden since my op. That will change very soon.

The back lawn is in a bit of a state. It needs scarifying and vertidraining and likely some reseeding in patches. A combination of chafer bugs and not clearing all the leaves away from last autumn. As I write a squirrel bounds across the lawn. Lorra moss in there. That should read pesky squirrel although they haven’t given us a problem since they were ejected from the loft space.

We will see if we can get someone in to do the lawn. Someone with industrial strength kit. We don’t want Green Thumb because they want a regular monthly payment for coming 4 to 6 times a year. Green Thumb were good but when we started getting chafer bugs they said they couldn’t help so we cancelled the service as I couldn’t see the point of paying them if they couldn’t sort the problem. At the same time the area of lawn they were having to treat was getting smaller and smaller.

Yesterday I booked a cottage in West Wales at a farm called Cwmiar, Llanllwni. It was one on the family estate and the next one along to the main gaff Maesnoni. Very excited to be going there in April. Solo trip as this is all about research and meeting people.

Last night during a short period of wakeness (is that a word, it is now) I decided to peruse the Register of St Cynllo’s, the Parish Church of Llangynllo (obvious really although I did google it to check). I’ve been trying to find the family details of Thomas Jones, one of the sons of my 5g grandaddy John Jones of Maesnoni. The parish register at Llanllwni has a lot of missing years so it hasn’t been a particularly helpful place to look. I had found Tom’s brother John. He became the Rector of Llangynllo. There was also evidence that Tom himself was man of the cloth. Yesterday, or the day before, it is all somewhat hazy, I found a reference to Tom’s demise in Cenarth Parish (Kenarth in those days due to the Anglicisation insisted upon by English overlords).

The lad was vicar of Cenarth and the obituary, or the announcement of his demise, included a statement that he was buried in Llangynllo where all the Joneses of Maesnoni were interred. This was a big clue.

Anyway at 4am I found the burial record of Thomas Jones, in Llangynllo. Llangynllo is now on my itinerary for the West Wales trip. There may be lots of gravestones of interest. They are mostly not online. It suggests that the Joneses were originally from that part of the world and not Llanllwni where they ended up. The whole point is getting me further back in time. See how it goes innit.

PS THG has set off for her usual Monday morning weight training class. Good on her.

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Did some exercises in the kitchen using the butcher’s block for support and then donned my green pea jacket for this morning’s walk. Turned right for a change in the direction of the lamppost with the Openreach notice. The notice had already suffered from the ravages of the weather and was dangling at the back of the lamppost in a not particularly readable fashion.

As I approached the lamppost a guy came slowly towards me on a small skateboard which he was having to work as it was moderately up the slope. At first I thought he was wearing a WW2 German army helmet but as he got closer I could see it was a proper skateboarding helmet. Must be on the way to a skateboard park I thought though I’m not sure where there is one in Lincoln. I’m obvs not in the know. In that fraternity.

Considered walking to the next tree past the lamppost. This is roughly as far as the bus stop in the other direction but when I got to the Openreach pole that is subject to the now slightly battered announcement I decided to turn around and head back. As I was doing so a guy walked past me. Sounded as if he was talking to himself but I guess he might have been on the phone using his earbuds. Couldn’t see any buds as he sported a burgundy coloured beanie. He also wore black trainers, a pair of black shorts with two stripes down the side and a black hoodie, all a bit of a contrast with my green INEX hoodie and warm tweed jacket.

Approaching the drive I observed a couple standing at the bus stop. This is quite rare. Although still at some distance they looked of retired age. One clue was the fact that he was wearing a brown suit with a bright red tie. She had a matching bright red woolly looking coat with a beige shopping bag sporting red and orange hoops.

As I walked along he leaned out to see if the bus was coming and then turned around and scurried, half run half walk, up the road away from me and the bus stop to what would appear to be his car. Interesting. So people are using Wragby Road as a Park and Ride. No yellow lines and assuming they are pensioners a free bus ride into town. Don’t want to encourage this – can’t have people parking all the way down our road 🙂 

Anyway I’m back in the snug with nicely glowing cheeks. Good to get out of the house innit.

Aaaaaaaanother gorgeous morning in the shire to be sure to be sure, aaanother gorgeous morning in the shire. There ya go I’ve started writing a song. Easy really. Dunno what all the fuss is about. Dum dum dum de dum.

On the news this morning was a report that the bastards have put the price of railcards up. Mine has run out and I toyed with renewing it last week but firstly my logon didn’t work and the reset email didn’t come through. I had to set up a new account. In any case they wanted to renew the railcard from the expiry date and I won’t be using it until the end of March when I go to London for the Gamma shindig @Mike @andy @lee so I guess it didn’t matter that I now have a new account as I’ll be able to renew it at a time of my choosing. Albeit at the higher price and with the faff of having to redo the photo and proof of age stuff.

It’s gone up from £70 to £80 for three years or £30 to £35 for a single year. I am confidently going for the longer validity job and am fairly sure I have enough money in my Post Office savings account to cover the increase. Jokes. Mind you a tenner is a lot of dosh for some people although that is unlikely to apply for people planning train journeys. 

You can get really cheap train tickets if you drill into the booking system. When our Hannah was en route home from Paris on the university year abroad the Eurostar was cancelled because of high winds. Nae bother they said. We’ll stick you on one the next day at no charge, natch. 

The issue was the ticket from Kings Cross to Lincoln which she had purchased way in advance.  She couldn’t figure out how to change it and there was no freebie the next day because the LNER trains, or whatever they were called in those days, had not been cancelled.

I did the right thing and called the train company to sort it out. They said they didn’t really consider anything if the ticket had cost under £10. Hannah’s was £6. London to Lincoln. 2 hours. The problem was there were no cheap tickets left for booking the next day. First world student problems.

Can’t imagine you would get that fare for six quid nowadays and certainly not in first class. The free gin is worth more than that.

Back in real time THG has cooked me an excellent full English. She was opening a tin of beans anyway and I figured what the hey, it’s a Sunday. Had cawfee instead of the usual char and am now sat in the snug tapping away.

There is a downside to being sat here in that the wireless is shortly about to go on. Sunday morning politics. Completely missed the morning service so I can’t advise on its listenability. Did nod off after the Shipping Forecast though and can confirm there is a high over the country, or similar. Most winds down to force 2 or 3 with a few exceptions that include Rockall which as usual is being battered by gales. Who’d want to live on Rockall? Well nobody does actually 🙂 

The high pressure has manifested itself in another glorious morning out there as stated and I feel confident that the bus stop will be an achievable target for my walk. After I’ve done me exercises.

Feel very much constrained still by the need to keep 50% of the weight off my right leg. Limits my range and activity levels big time. The big day is a week on Tuesday, the 4 weekyversary of the op which as you know I’m counting down to. In the meantime it’s the laptop in front of the TV in the snug. I don’t switch the telly on until knocking on five pm although the occasional Dad’s Army has been known to slip through the picket lines. Unless there is sport on which I deem acceptable even though I would not normally have any interest in the teams playing.

There is darts but I can’t get excited about that without the Davies lads being around to watch at the same time. Luke the Nuke.

Gorra go.

Felt a bit like a curtain twitcher yesterday afternoon, not that I have the curtains closed during the day. Noticed that when next door’s car pulled bin to their drive they got out and walked to the pavement to peruse a notice taped to the lamppost. I’ll ave a bit of that I thought to meself so on my next “walk” instead of turning left for the pedestrian crossing I made a right (Americun term) and snailed it directly to the lamppost. 

It was Openreach announcing that they had applied for permission to erect a new pole. Ours is already aluminium but two doors down is served by an old pine job. Well I assume it is that one being replaced. I also assume that replacing it they are. No point in having two side by side is there? ?

Looking at the existing pole I couldn’t tell whether it needed replacing or not. I have a pal called Steve who is a recently retired Openreach pole tester. He would know. In fact he swung by for a cuppa only the other day and had we known then what we know now we could have nipped out to examine said pole. I’ll message him and see if he wants to come again in the week. I’ll report back obvs.

Steve used also to climb poles but in recent years I think that might have been left to younger sidekicks. Something tells me there were four pole testing teams in Lincolnshire. I must have got that fact from somewhere. Steve I assume. 

Steve was one of a group of dads who would go along on scout camps. A beaver would have to be accompanied by a parent. After the beaver had swam up to cubs the parent was still invited along and a cohort of us did indeed go. They would stick the (mostly but not exclusively) dads in a separate area of the camp away from the leaders and the kids. This was great. We had the benefit of the use of the mess tent but could chill out in camping chairs doing blokey things and talking blokey talk. Whittling wood and discussing the best place to buy replacement car tyres as I recall.

Privileged as we were, we had to fit in with the constraints of the scouting organisation. We took part in the activities, which were by and large fun, but had to wait until the kids had settled down in their tents for the night before cracking open the pop. This we would do in the mess tent accompanied by a cheese platter and a bottle of port. I would also borrow Akela’s geetar and bang out a few tunes more suited to the adult audience. We would already have done cumbaya earlier around the campfire.

The food was always good and plentiful and spuds peeling duties a prime job as it got you out of doing some of the morning’s team building challenges. The peeled spuds would be tossed into a large pan filled with water, sometimes obtaining maximum splash effect and wetting the person sat opposite. The lunches were fruit, crips and sandwiches with a multitude of choice fillings that included peanut butter, chocolate spread and jam as well as the usual cheese slices, ham and fish paste. My preference would be cheese and ham with a crisp sandwich as a sneaked second helping. Fill yer boots.

Good times. We always got home knackered, especially those of us who had had to pack all the gear back in the scout room at the Bailgate Methodist Church. The marquee would go back in the cellar unless it was still wet, in which case it would be draped over the pews of the upstairs gallery of the church to be stored away later in the week.

The remnants of the dads together with the associated kids would gather for a pint in the Morning Star before heading home for a soak in the bath. Happy days.

One summer we had a dad and lad camp in Jubilee Park, Woodhall Spa where we did the scout thing without the organised activities. Breakfast ingredients were sourced fresh that morning from the butcher in the village including copious quantities of bacon and sausages to be cooked in lard back at the campsite (my bad and the only time in my adult life I’ve done it – mam always used lard).

The kids were allowed to roam wild doing what kids do whilst the dads sat around chewing the fat. Another walk into the village secured the bbq ingredients, nothing too posh, and the evening began at around 3pm when the first tinnie was opened. Ahhh.

I did also, for balance and due to heavy demand, do a dads and daughters camp. Identical routine but different set of dads of Hannah’s friends. Our kids grew up with the camping lifestyle, mainly because with four of them and only one of us earning, it was implausible to go on holiday to anywhere other than a campsite or our mums and dads’. 

We had a huge tent that slept up to nine people and that required a  skilled and knowledgeable team to put up. This we had. TYHG’s main criterion for a tent was that she could sit or stand up in it and this one, the Gelert Zenith 6, had a large central atrium (?) where we would put the camping table and could in fact fit two large families in comfort when it was raining which it often was.

Times have changed and I now prefer the comforts of a cottage or a hotel although I wouldn’t completely write off another camping trip once the hip is fully up and running, so to speak.

As the pips squeaked eight o’clock this morning the newsreader announced the first day of spring. Meteorological spring, fwiw. Sgood. I daresay someone will know the difference between spring and meteorological spring. The plants probably do. Not sufficiently bothered to look it up meself.

Today is a Saturday. A day for kicking back and relaxing. Going for long walks to the bus stop, stretching exercises, chillin out in my armchair and watching sport on the box. Same as it ever was really. The countdown to crutch removal continues – see updated profile cover photo.

THG is preparing to head out for the park run and will afterwards swing by a shop for some essential ingredients. Coincidentally, bacon, sausages and a bottle of port. The port is because we need a splash of two for the sauce that will go with tonight’s duck kindly sourced by @Max and stored in the freezer once dressed on the kitchen butcher’s block by yours truly. Feathers everywhere. 

A bottle of port lasts us quite a long time. If we ever want a drink with cheese after dinner it is usually red wine and not really that often. We prefer the French way of eating where the cheese comes before dessert.

Azzal a hírrel fejezem be, hogy a jobb fenekem ülve úgy tűnik, hogy teljesen visszaállt a normális kerékvágásba. Gifted linguist me. Professor Higgins would be in his element. Time is a great healer.

Hasta la vista bebe.

…

Btw for convenience THG is dropping in to Tesco for the shopping. It is what it is. This is a compromise we all have to make as the quality of their bacon and sausage is terrible. Most get only 2 ½ stars, three at the most and when you look at the ingredients list the meatiest sausage I’ve been able to find has only 85% pork. Some are down at less than 50%. Moreover the bacon is all full of water and white crap. Even the dry cure. We love you Fosters.

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Totes gorgeous morning out, it being both the first day of spring and St David’s Day to boot. This being a case I donned my green tweed pea jacket and went out for a stroll in the sunshine. I was far more comfortable with a coat on and felt emboldened to walk further. The pea jacket is the one I bought in Belfast when I had a bit of time to kill before the taxi came to take us to Will and Catherine’s wedding.

Turning left out of the drive I went past the pedestrian crossing, past the tree near next door’s drive and right up to eh lamppost that I noticed had some tape keeping the “door” at its base from swinging open.

On the way I noticed an old dear across the road racing the other way. She was pushing one of those strollers with a seat on it for when you want to stop for a bit of a rest and was making much faster headway than I. I must have been walking into the wind though I didn’t notice any air movement and nothing stood out to that effect on this morning’s Shipping Forecast.

On my way to the lamppost I passed a bloke with one of those nose rings as worn by large fierce bulls but in his case the ring was a lot smaller, walking the other way towards Tesco. No eye contact was made. He was focussed on getting where he was going, I assume.

Touching the lamppost and turning round I was overtaken by a young Asian couple. She smiled at me as she tried to keep up with him.

Then I noticed the postman turning into our drive. I hoped he had nothing that needed signing for as no way would I get there in time. Nope, he quickly reappeared and turned back to go into the next door drive that he had just walked past. Bit odd I thought and I mentioned this to him when he finally walked past me. In a nice way obvs. He smiled back and said he’d found a letter hidden underneath a leaflet which is why he’d delivered in the wrong order. 

Interesting what you see when out walking innit.

Back at the ranch and indeed in my armchair the box has been fired up and a very exciting Crystal Palace v Millwall FA Cup tie in prospect. Well, fairly exciting, or at least better than Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmare USA that I eyeballed when flicking through the channels to find the sport and light years away from the news that is all about an ignorant person with a bright orange fake tan. I’m not allowed to name the person as it would break a rule I made some time ago.

I can report that this is their eighth meeting in the FA Cup. Palace and Millwall that is. That’s what the commentator said anyway but I guess you are probably watching the same game so you knew that. Looks to be very sunny in London as well.

Oh dear. A Millwall player has just been sent off after 8 minutes. Game over. Might as well watch Gordon Ramsey. No wait.

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Swallows and Amazons is on the box. One of my all time fave children’s books. However I finally think I’ve outgrown it. I’ll never outgrow William though.