A green family who likes foraging, hiking and history (My Moon-Shot)
Sunday 27 September 2015
Tuesday 22 September 2015
Apple Surprise
When we arrived in St Albans it was an Indian Summer and we
had inherited a bramley apple tree which showered us with its abundance. I spent dreamlike weeks in the garden peeling
apples and watching our three tiny children scampering about in the sun.
Eight years later, we moved to another neighbourhood and we
had an apple tree again, but it bore fruit only grudgingly. Then Nigel pruned it and it began to
flourish.
In October, we would sometimes have a dessert called Apple
Surprise. Apple Surprise was any pudding
which actually contained no
apples. That was the surprise.
But this year we have moved again.
As yet our garden is a featureless rectangle. We are focusing on the house so the garden
must wait until next year.
Except for one thing – the apple tree. I came home last week to see a very long
cardboard box on the drive.
Bert the Bramley had arrived and Nigel spent much of
Saturday planting him. He then lavished him with compost and flooded him
lovingly with water.
But it will still be
two or three years until we can eat apple surprise again.
Which is why it was particularly welcome when Chris and
Christine appeared at our door on Sunday with a generous bucket of windfall
apples.
Rest assured Chris & Christine, Bert the Bramley was
watching and one day he will reward your kindness.
Follow me on Twitter @ClareFHobba
Friday 18 September 2015
Surprise
Ellie is surprised! |
As you get older you are harder to surprise, but on the other hand,
more and more people seem eager to try.
Last Friday, Ellie thought she was picking her mother up
from choir practice to go for a birthday meal. But we all jumped out from a darkened hall
shouting “Happy Birthday”.
She was happy and astounded.
A successful surprise.
On Saturday, Chip, whose surprise we could not attend, went
to the same hall to run through a church service. Then everybody yelled “Happy Birthday”.
She was delighted and stunned. A successful surprise.
We couldn't be at Chip’s because I had already
booked yet another surprise. This one was for my family plus old friends David and Carolyn. Would it be
successful?
Photo ID was necessary, so Nigel guessed at the Houses of Parliament; Perran, a day out in Calais(!). Those destinations sounded more interesting than what I
actually had planned. I hoped there
would be no disappointment.
Then we took the tube into the City. Carenza guessed we were going on a tour of ancient
Guild Meeting Halls. Oh dear.
We gazed on the outlines of the Gherkin and the Cheese-grater
and the Walkie Talkie. Did we like them
or not, dwarfing the much older surrounds?
Then suddenly, we were entering the Walkie Talkie. Happy as we took the slick lift to the
thirty-fifth floor. Delighted as we poured out into
the light of the SkyGarden, a lush public park high above London. A successful surprise then.
Follow me on Twitter @ClareFHobba
Wednesday 16 September 2015
Sleepless
One disadvantage of middle age is that I sleep poorly.
I long for the far off days when I woke up to a sore
ear - I slept so deeply that I didn’t
stir, and my ear would suffer from pressure.
I wake nowadays fractious and craving more kip.
My sleep is shallow and restless.
Or so I thought.
Today I have knocked on four of my neighbours’ doors to apologise: my car alarm went off in the
wee small hours.
Piecing together the neighbours’ politely tetchy comments,
it went on for maybe two hours.
I wouldn’t know – I didn’t wake up.
And this is not the first incident: three weeks ago young Kit,
who was staying with us, finished his late shift at the restaurant only to find
he had no house key with him. The
neighbours heard him banging on our front door, but we didn’t.
Nor the doorbell.
Nor our mobiles.
He cleverly used social media to locate a friend who was
still awake and went to sleep at their house.
“Well,” I said to Nigel, “On the bright side, at least this
means I must be getting more sleep than I realised.”
“Yes. And you’ll be
needing it. You’ve got another seven
more neighbours to apologise to. Off you
go.”
Follow me on Twitter @ClareFHobba
Thursday 10 September 2015
Sca Fell by Unicycle
Last Friday, Pascoe was leaving us for Cambridge where
Caroline would pick him up in her car and drive him and Ian and Michael to camp
at Wasdale Head in the Lake District. Camping at Wasdale Head would have been
enough by itself for me, but they were planning to unicycle up Scafell with its
screes and precipitous drops.
I had scheduled in some fretting, but barely found the time
due to starting back to school where I teach Latin.
Confused dreams with Caecilius and Metella unicycling
through Pompeii.
The unicycle ride should have been completed on Saturday, but
belatedly we discovered that our heroes should never have ventured out in a vehicle
with four wheels instead of just one – Caroline’s clutch had gone.
A day later, they were able to set off again, but we at home did not
know that. Jolly big hills blocked the
signal and strangely, internet was not available in the mountains.
So it was a while before we discovered that they had achieved their objective
safely.
I would like to say I had been on tenterhooks, but instead I
had been worrying about how to explain Quintus’s very short skirt to my year
sevens.
Hopefully, he will never, even in my nightmares, attempt to
ride a unicycle in that tunic.
Friday 4 September 2015
At it Again
This time last year, I encouraged Pascoe in his attempt to ascend
Ben Nevis by unicycle. It reminded me of
the TV Ripping Yarn, “Crossing the Andes by Frog”.
And then on the day when it actually happened, I sat and
worried. I had encouraged him. And now his life was in danger.
But it was okay – he and Caroline and Ian survived. Triumphed.
When he said that this year it was Scafell, I worried more. England’s highest mountain is not as tall as
Scotland’s, but it is more extreme. There
are screes, gorges, sheer drops.
I shall spend tomorrow distracting myself.
Probably by packing up a parcel of Pascoe’s possessions to
send back to him. Ten days ago he set
off for camping with us at Greenbelt, then a conference, at which he was giving a talk
about his research. Then off to camp again
in the Lake District.
Funnily enough, by the end of it, his various sets of
clothing and equipment had got the better of him and now need posting.
The one thing he was adamant should always go with him was
his unicycle – wrapped in a massive bag made out of a long skirt he got from a
charity shop – apparently, buses don’t let one travel with a naked unicycle.
May God bless your unicycle, Pascoe, and all who sail in her. him.
it. whatever.
I pray it goes well tomorrow.
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