where art collides philosoperontap

I am happy to announce it’s a typical British spring day. Rain, wind, and in the absence of Mrs Davies who is away visiting her mother, no jobs list. Whilst nothing is written down on the chores front that isn’t to say nothing is getting done. I’ve already dropped John off at hockey training, admittedly because otherwise he was going to be late and it suited me to head in that direction as it took me on to the post office where I had to pick up a recorded delivery letter followed by filling the car up with diesel as I have to take John to Sheffield this pm to play in a top of the table hockey clash.

That’s enough of the long sentences. My next job, unwritten, is to refill the bird feeder. The little loves have been pecking away and the level is running low. Adding seed as well as the suet balls seems to be attracting more of a variety. We are now getting blue tits as well as robins and blackbirds. Fair play.

There is a sound of shooting emanating from the TV room. John is back from hockey training.

With Mrs Davies away us kids get to do stuff. Mainly choose our own food. Last night it was burgers. Today I had planned a takeaway curry but there has been some murmuring of dissent from amongst the hockey playing community who voiced a preference for pizza. Doing both is very much possible. Tomorrow we have a pork joint and I’m going to cook it in the slow cooker. Might even do it overnight. In fact my next job will be to check out a recipe.

In the meantime the rain still falls, the wind blows harder and a storm is on its way. Ships pull into harbour.

The postman arrives. I don’t rush to the door to see what news the post brings. It is unlikely that there will be letters from far away places, descriptions of big game safaris or mundane communiques from far away relatives confirming another year where nothing really has happened.

Before refilling the birdfeeder I will have to put on some socks. Otherwise my feet will get cold.

I also need to buy some new guitar strings. Apparently. I will give an offspring cash to get some from downtown. I’ve already been down once, to get the recorded delivery envelope, which was a family railcard btw.

Cars flow steadily on the Wragby Road. I’m not sure it’s called “the” Wragby Road. Normally it’s just Wragby Road, Not any more. Adding a “the” gives it more status. Makes it more iconic.

I’ve just decided, seeing as it’s raining, to go out and bring the bird feeder in for reloading. Makes sense to me. I’ll just go and do that now. There will be a pause.

I’m back and there is news. I picked up the mail off the floor in front of the front door and two of the three letters were for me. One had a Nectar card that I’ve had to sign up for since East Coast trains was taken over by Virgin East Coast. The other envelope contained my tickets for the Ashes test in Trent Bridge. Yay.

I shall finish this post immediately and run off to tell the lads.
Ciao bebes.

Sunday afternoon and it’s raining heavily here in Lincoln. This is in contrast to yesterday which was tshirt weather. Spring is very definitely here. I replenished the bird feeder and now it is getting frequent visits from robins and blue tits.

I find the rain very relaxing. It’s been a busy day so far. 2pm and I’ve just sat down. After breakfast we watched Trawlermen on Dave (ok I did sit down earlier too) but since then I’ve been hard at it in the kitchen. Firstly I made an industrial sized batch of tomato sauce in the stockpot. I am assured there is room in the freezer for it. The ingredients included 8 onions, 4 carrots, 12 ans of tomatoes, 8 garlic cloves and a bottle of pinot grigio. I did wonder whether it would all fit in the pan but fortunately it did.

Whilst that was bubbling away I then made a pork steak casserole. More of a sauce really but it should be fine. As I write I realise I forgot to stick apples in. The cider will make up for it. I also washed up from last night, breakfast (full monty) lunch and all the food prep. Some of you out there will regard that last sentence with contempt. “It’s what us mothers have to do all the time”. Ok. Fine. 🙂

Joe and I will shortly be going for a drive. His driving test is coming up soon so the more miles he gets in the better. I can hear the lads elsewhere in the house. All is well.

Anne is due back from Harrogate at around 5pm. Although she has only been away for one night it will be nice to see her again. She’s my girl 🙂

I was out for a walk in Peel and decided to spend some time browsing in the second hand bookshop there. Imagine my great sadness when I found that the bookshop had closed.

I felt numbed. The world had dumbed down even more. There was a notice in the window. I moved closer to read it, expecting a note thanking people for their custom over the years and bidding everyone goodbye.

That wasn’t the tone of the note. It told me the shop had moved round the corner to 10 Michael Street. Yay. I’ll be there later today:)

Saturday. This morning I picked up a beef joint from Fosters Butcher. A double rib. It’s Hannah’s farewell meal and “something with gravy” was requested. Rib of beef it is. The gravy is going to be a work of art. Caramelised onions with red wine, beef dripping and beef stock.

I have some exotic mustards that appear to be a suitable accompaniment to the joint. Christmas present. Will see how it goes. May even report back afterwards. We have Dijon mustard as a fallback in case of emergency.

Vegetables will be roast spuds, carrots and peas. I shall be peeling the spuds after finishing this post. The joint has to go in at 15.45. It’s 3.8kg. A little larger than I had in my mind but hey…

Hannah is in another room phoning some people in Paris regarding a flat share that she’s seen on tinterweb. I’m off with her to help her get settled in. We’ve booked an apartment for 4 nights using AirBnB. Train down to Kings Cross then cross the road to the Eurostar in St Pancras. Exciting.

The radio fell silent. All I could hear was the sound of breathing and the occasional car going by on the road outside.

Windy out. The remnants of Hurricane Nora or a low crossing the Atlantic or some such meteorological event. Significant at the time but soon forgotten in a cloud of meteorological events.

The house is calm. John making his own breakfast. The full monty without sausages. I had the last of those! Anne busying herself. Joe still in bed. Teenage wont.

There is a jobslist. Not urgent. Looking out of the front window the bare tree branches and the tops of the hedge are agitated. Hedge needs a trim. Manana. Will have to get Anne to stick it on the jobslist.

The daffs and crocii are starting to peek through. A good sign. Hope. I quite like these winter weekends, at least when I can relax and potter about a little. I don’t mind a moderate jobslist. One I can barrel through quite quickly once I’ve set my mind on it. Although January and February are the most depressing months of the year there are compensations. Fire blazing away in the grate. Warm and welcoming pub at early doors. Snuggle on the settee with Anne. Maybe even one of the ids too – they’re never too old to do that.

This week I booked a couple of Paris trips. One with Hannah at the beginning of February to go flat hunting and get her settled in to her 6 months stint with Air France. The other to go and see her at Easter. We have booked a nice 3 bedroom apartment in Montmartre. Zut alors.

I quite like the idea of chillin around Montmartre for a bit. Un cafe. Une biere, ou deux. We are going to celebrate Han’s 21st birthday. Han believes in pushing the boat out for these things unlike her brother Tom who passed the mark with little fuss.

There will be bacon downstairs. Mushrooms and tomatoes too. Not sure about sausages. Hopefully yes. Maybe beans. Glass of milk. OJ. Toast. Breakfast beckons.

It’s a crisp Sunday afternoon in January. They don’t come better in winter time. The fire is blazing away in the grate whilst outside the low sun makes a poor attempt to warm the cockles. However, sun there is, a rarity for this time of year. It’s an in your face, just above the hedgerow sun that only really serves to warn you about how cold it is going to get once darkness quickly arrives.

Later we headed for Sincil Bank to watch Lincoln City play host to top of the table Barnet. We beat them 4 – 1. A fitting finish to the holiday season. Back home to slow cooked pork casserole, leeks and carrots and swede followed by apple and blackberry crumble with custard. Perfect.

Now in front of the fire again. The chimney is drawing well. I’m tempted to slow it down a little by shutting the flap at the back but it’s never been done and there is no obvious hook for me to pull on. Best left alone.

I have a cup of green tea and a book for company. The others are elsewhere in the house and the place is quiet.

There’s a trumpet lesson going on in the front room. Syncopation unless I’m very much mistaken.

There’s a pork chop being cooked in the kitchen. Nandos Peri Peri marinade.

The curtains are shut though it is still light out. Enthusiastic Mrs Davies.

A cup of tea rests on the arm of the settee. Going cold.

Work is over for the day. A night off.

Murmurs from the corridor and the sounds of a car departing. Football training.

A red light shines from the corner of the TV. Standby.

Assorted books fill three bookcases. Unsorted.

The cupboard doors are slightly ajar. Probably need closing.

Cars race by on the road outside and the sound of trumpets continues. The clock on the top of the bookcase ticks. It is showing approximately the right time. It may now be dark…

Forty something man escorts his aged mother onto the train and tells her not to get off at Newark Northgate as the train goes straight through to Kings Cross. She mutters disapproval and says “Oh God” whilst shaking her head.

A couple of minutes later she is heard to ask someone on the train whether this train goes straight through to kings Cross. Now she is asking a member of staff. The son escorting her on the train was clearly right to tell her – normally you have to change at Newark.

Made me smile.