For a special girl - Ponita - who has her op this morning.

Today's blooms

Below is Casa Blanca lily-highly scented with glistening white flowers. This measures 8-9 inches in diameter.
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My first aganpanthus is doing well. That yellowy foliage was therefrom the start

Everybody admires these orange flowers. They are much better in their second year.
They are either Silene 'Jack Flash' or Sparaxis - I think I orederd both.

Wise Words...

from Clarissa Pouncer

"When death's agent leaves his dread calling-card at one's door, he also brings a Sense of Perspective. Time is very short, friends, and we Neither Know the Hour nor the Day, as dear old Jesus Christ said. Now is the time to do all that is l...eft undone, particularly those things that we are shit scared of. Particularly all those things that we think we can't do because other people will go hog wild. We must be brave and put our houses in order. Quite literally in my case. Item 1: clear out attic."

On Face book this morning.

The Gas Man cometh

Sheila “Can you smell gas?”

Pat “I’m not sure. Can you smell gas?”

Sheila “I think so. Can’t you?”

Pat “Well I did think it was a bit frowsty in here when I came in this morning so I opened all the windows.”

Sheila “Well I think that proves it.”

We rang the emergency number cursing the fact that our recently acquired phone has developed a rushing sound and so far unplugging and plugging hasn’t really helped. Heaven forbid that it should muck up the computer.

I got through and oh joy a person from a foreign land answered. When I told him the problem he was intent on reading out precautionary measures – as a litany which was barely audible.

The gist was: turn off…naked flame…open windows… electricity…with you under an hour.

MTL was out.

I knew the gas thingy was in the garage, there was quite a new meter and an ancient lever which neither Sheila nor I could shift. MTL told me later this was a cock so either way would have worked. On the gas fire is a little cock. In the last month both the fire and the Aga have had their annual service and when the gas man cameth he found the little cock was the problem – a design fault and required a sealing paste which he applied. Job done.

MTL was mightily relieved that we hadn’t switched the gas off as re- lighting the Aga is not his favourite job. Such a nuisance – Sheila couldn’t vacuum, I couldn’t iron, the fridges and freezer stopped. The tooth brushes couldn’t recharge and the computer was off. So I’m terribly behind and have spent all day trying to catch up. One thing I am determined about is that that fire will be replaced before the winter. Wish me luck!

I have just been watching Mr Murdoch and son facing the special committee.

James could talk for Britain and bores people into submission. I felt a wave of compassion for Rupert – so old and frail and a bit deaf. It seemed to take a while for things to sink in. He did seem genuinely contrite and said this was the most humble day of his life. At one time he was so impassioned he was beating the table and causing bangs on the sound system. His wife sitting behind him tried to nudge him to stop. Will something good come out of this sorry mess? I do hope so.

Is that a patch of blue?

It feel as if the clouds have lifted somewhat. Nothing much has changed – MTL still has numbness in his hands and feet but I feel we have turned a corner. The other day I blind-folded him (courtesy of some old air-line mask) and guided his hand to touch:

a/ A metal grater.

b/ A silk scarf.

c/ A rough towel.

d/ The bristles of a clothes brush

e/ My flesh.

His reactions were:

a/ A rough pan scrub.

b/ Silk.

c/ A pan scrub

d/ A piece of cloth

e/ A kind of cloth.

Not very scientific but at least I know he does feel something and when he sees his doctor and consultant later on they can do their own testings. Of course it may be nothing to do with the chemo.

He continues to eat and sleep well and has got a tan from sitting in the garden. I seem to have lost the gift of sitting, soaking up the sun but do lots of pottering in the garden.

Good news - our eldest grandson has at last passed his driving test, has a car and is all set to drive the 24 miles to his new permanent job which would be very difficult with public transport. Another ray of sunshine – my dear friend Margaret is coming to spend three nights here so we can celebrate the ‘girls’ August birthdays. There’s been some wilting since she left for Cheltenham.

Writing – other than blogging - is going well and I’m following Daisyfae's idea of doing something for thirty days. This should ensure I complete the present project in good time. Below are some shots of The Northfield Hotel where we lunched last Sunday and I met an interesting woman in the Ladies Cloakroom. I hope to continue our conversation when she comes to coffee this week.

My regulars may remember some time back when my younger son and I spent a week-end at the Duke of York Inn in Iddlesleigh. I now learn from an article by Nicola K Smith that a regular of the pub (now up for sale alas) is Michael Morpurgo. Not only did he used to listen, spell bound to his friend the late Ted Huges, but he also met a Captain Budgett a First World War veteran:

“He talked in this moving way about how it was to be there as a young man of 17, leaving this tiny place and going to the horror of the trenches, and he said the only person- he used that word- he could talk to about how frightened he was, was the horse. I was very touched.”

Morpurgo wrote a book about the village which tells the story of the boy and his horse. This resulted in War Horse and Steven Spielberg has just finished filming the big screen adaptation. Who knew?

The Bristol channel from the grounds of the Northfiled Hotel


The Northfield Hotel

The Duke of York at Iddleslleigh

Thames barge in the background. Pat at the helm.