Empathy

I can help but empathise with the camel who has got the hump - see here for the story. His keeper thinks he is depressed because of the rain, and the symptom is that his front hump has gone floppy. If I can work out how to make my front hump floppy, I shall join him.

I'm also pleased to read that the Havant killing machine is not suffering in the rain.

Sunshine

Today the sun is shining. Ebony's foot is better, so we shall go for a walk in the sunshine.

The train journey yesterday was only possible after a landslip which was blocking the line between Leamington Spa and Banbury had been cleared. Seeing that and watching the television pictures of the efforts in Gloucester to keep the water out of that power station, it strikes me that an awful lot of people have worked very, very hard to stop the quality of life being eroded. From one humble citizen, Thanks to you all.

Let's have some sun

The dismal wet weather is driving me nuts. I want some sun, and I want it now. I want to sit on the patio with a beer and cook on the bar-b-que.

Rant Over

Water, Water, Water

All it has done today is rain, and I mean Rain, with a capital R.

Our friends across the road were having a big lunch party for some 60 people, so it is all their fault!

No News is No News

No news - that's what I've had from home. Which almost certainly means nothing has happened. As my sons grow older, they seem less communicative - I know less about their daily activities.
In my rather autocratic way, I left a list of things that I wanted done, and I'm guessing that none of them have been.

Oh well, guys, stand by for a tongue lashing tomorrow.

Here we go again....

Sunday. A good day to take Chris for his first practice drive in our old Peugeot. First we had to find the L plates. He did OK. We drove up and down a little road on a trading estate which had a roundabout at each end. Then we drove round some adjoining roads with roundabouts and a little more trafic. Then I made him drive home. He seems to have the hang of the basics, but his hands appear stuck to the steering wheel. Oh well, I guess we'll just have to do it again tomorrow.

On Queuing

We Brits are renowned queuers. Yesterday I had two experiences of queues. The first was in the bank to pay in a cheque. When I arrived, there were three tills open each serving a customer, and three of us in the queue. The time taken to serve each person was simply ages. This leads me to think either the staff in the Clapham Branch of the bank are incompetent, or the customers have incredibly complicated financial arrangements, or the two parties have great difficulty communicating. I've used this bank several times, and the staff seem to have no difficulty understanding me, or processing my transactions, so I conclude that people in Clapham have complicated finances. Why this should be, I cannot imagine. Any ideas why people need to spend so long at the bank would be most welcome.

My second experience was in the Clapham main Post Office. Here the queue moved forward regularly and no-one complained when a severely disabled man who fell before he could join the back of the queue was helped to the front and served immediately. It all happened without a murmur. Made one proud to be British, as did the story here about a group who restores a man's car while he was in hospital. Interesting to note that this was the most read story, which shows that people do like good news.

Monday

I don't like Mondays, but today is one and I'm feeling smug. I've fixed the three things in the garden that the head gardener wanted fixed, I've mown the lawn and I've reconciled the Friends of the Music accounts. It is now time for lunch. If the rest of the week is this good, I'll have a great week.

Dispiriting

Once again, I'm in Clapham. On Tuesday evening, Clapham, along with a small surrounding area was hit by a severe hailstorm. There were pictures on the news of streets white with hail. A longer lasting effect of this freakish occurrence is that all the flowers in pots, hanging baskets and window boxes have been smashed to pieces.All the blooms that were here last week have been replaced by stalks, and not all of those are intact. All the hard work and love that went into making the displays has been wiped out in a few minutes.

It just makes my spirits sink.....

Birthday season

The beginning of July is birthday season in our house. Jini's birthday was yesterday, and Chris's is today. Both seemed pleased with the presents they've received, which is a relief for the donors. The Andrew Marr book "A History of Modern Britain" will provide many hours reading for us. I'm just hoping that I can borrow it at some point.

Chris is looking forward to the start of driving lessons on Thursday evening. All too soon, I shall find myself dragooned into sitting with him while he practices what he has been taught. The only thing to look forward to is that it will be another person who can drive us around.

Oh well, we can start saving for the twins birthdays in November.

Two down, I submit (in the sense of two submissions or a fall)....

Number one son arrived home yesterday. The signs of his renewed habitation were the same as those when number two son re-appeared, i.e. large amounts of washing and loads of boxes, bags and other impedimenta all over the house. Oh and a car that looks like a van until all the seats are re-established in positions that mean human bottoms can sit on them again.

Now I love my sons dearly, but they are large. They consume space, food and electricity in disproportionally large quantities. Just when you think you'll finish that tasty morsel you spotted in the fridge yesterday, you go to find it to find that it has already been scoffed. There is noise late at night. They need to get a job to tire them.

We have just spent a splendid afternoon looking round the open gardens in a village called Idlicote. There were some lovely houses and gardens and the people were very friendly. Not sure I'd want to live there, though. It was an awfully long way to the shops.

Contrasts

Home is in a leafy town which is, in effect, a suburb of Birmingham. For two or three days each week, I am helping a church raise money for a building development project. To do this, I spend these days in Clapham, London which is a stark contrast to home. Clapham is a young people's town. It has dozens of bars and restaurants down the length of the High Street, and really comes alive at 9 p.m. when they are full to overflowing with young people. For the sake of clarity, young means under 30, as I'm a real oldie here. The poor and rich live side by side and go about their daily routine to make a living. There are hundreds of cyclists pouring along the main road into central London. Most of them ignore traffic lights, but very few seem to be involved in any accidents. Having a bike really is the easiest way to get around.

In SW4, the sound of sirens is almost ever present as the emergency services attempt to muscle their vehicles through the traffic. There are parking wardens everywhere, and owning a car looks to be a real luxury. I do like the buzz of the place, but I also appreciate the relative peace and quiet of home. I'm just lucky to be able to experience both, I guess.

One down, one to go.......

Number two son is home. I know this because we spent most of Saturday driving to Durham to collect him, because the house is full of laundry, and because one cannot move freely on the landing.

On the laundry front, the clean now seems to outnumber the dirty, but only after a long and gallant struggle by the combined forces and talents of Mother and the washing machine. The pile of ironing now grows like a spoil heap at a mine. Let us hope that the forces of Clean can overcome.

Number two son has destroyed his tidy bedroom, and it is now a wreck. He allegedly helped number three son tidy his bedroom yesterday, but other than the bookcase, there seems no great improvement. Pressure will be applied. It is time to get ruthless.

Number one son seems to have vanished from the face of the earth. No update to his blog, No texts or calls, nothing. Obviously having too good a time dirtying all his clothes in time for next weekend when he comes home and the whole process starts again.

As for me, I'm organising a walk tomorrow, and when I went for a look at the route yesterday, I discovered that a critical section is flooded. There is no detour for the flooded bit, so I'm now desperately trying to think of a way to salvage at least a short walk. Just to help this thinking process, today it is forecast to be the wettest day of the year. We shall just have to spend more time in the pub at lunch to compensate.

The Perils of Showing Off

There we were (Rob, myself and Rob's dog Ebony) walking across Clapham Common. Our attention was caught by a man flying a large kite. He seemed to be struggling to control it. We amble over and start talking to his friend. "He has only had this kite since yesterday" we are told. I offer to help. We sort out the kite's rigging, and up it goes. Four seconds later, I am being dragged across Clapham Common on my stomach.

At this point, I notice three things.

1. The Kite is big, and I mean big.
2. My shoulder and elbow hurt like hell.
3. Rob (and the two guys whose kite this is) are doubled up with laughter, Rob so much so that I think he may do himself a mischief.

With my dignity completely shredded and some skin missing from my elbow, I take to flying this kite sitting on the grass. I'm still dragged around on my backside, but at least I can exert a modicum of control over the beast.

All in all, we spend an hour helping the two new kite owners, and I'm pleased that at the end they are managing to fly it most of the time. We shake hands as we leave, promise to meet again next week. and they both grin hugely at the memory of my antics.

The only one who fears for my well being is the dog who fusses round me for the remainder of the walk. Rob keeps smirking and breaking out in giggles as we walk home, and I determine to get my own back by taking a kite to Clapham next week and making him fly it.

It is a peculiar fact that despite growing older and supposedly wiser, some of us have these amazing blindspots when it comes to our own abilities. I know I do.

Don't meet the Funders

Together with a friend from the Methodist Church I am currently trying to help, I went to an event billed as "Meet the Funders". It was supposed to be a forum (rather like a parents evening) where fund raisers for organisations could meet representatives of charitable trusts who have money which can be applied for.

The problem was, several of the funders failed to turn up. So for that matter did about half of the people who had requested places. Not a spectacular success.

Other than this, the week has been one of driving. I'm very fed up with that activity, but one more trip is necessary to collect the ingrate who happens to be no. 2 son.

More soon.

Trains (and mobile phones)

As I spend some 2-3 days each week in London, I am bowling up and down on the Chiltern Railway between Solihull and London Marylebone a fair bit. The trains on this route are reasonably new and the journey is just what a train ride should be. It is comfortable (I can almost always get the seat I want), quick, and passably relaxing. The only variable is my fellow passengers. I usually sit in the "Quiet Coach" where passengers are requested not to use a mobile phone. It is amazing how many people are so wrapped up in their own little world that they don't see these. As a result I usually let them finish one conversation before inviting them to move to another carriage. Last week there was the most graceless man who shouted at people even before they had started to use their phone. Please don't let me become like that.