Donald Ducking It

I was on a Zoom call with Nigel and the children last Sunday.  Each of us was present as head and shoulders.  Pascoe asked,

“Anybody Donald Ducking it?”

That sounded rude.  “What on earth do you mean?”

“Think about Donald Duck, Mum.  What does he wear?”

“A sailor hat and a sailor top….and not much else.”

“Precisely – he doesn’t have any trousers. Now we’re all working by videoconference, nobody knows what you’re wearing under the desk.”

He was right – I’d put on a respectable shirt but beneath the table lurked ripped gardening trousers.

Since then, I have taken full advantage of this partial view.

On Monday, I went to work in the unflattering purple jeggings that I was a fool to buy, even if they were a knock-down bargain.

Today I am sporting the slim-fit black jeans with a silver snake-skin pattern which Carenza persuaded me to buy in a fit of overconfidence that she had on my behalf.

And guess what -  none of the pupils or coworkers I’ve met with on videoconferencing has said a thing.

So for tomorrow, I have got out my red sparkly leggings – seems a waste only to wear them on Christmas Day.

Nettle Soup

We are keen not to go to the shops until we absolutely must as that seems the most likely place to catch Corona Virus at the moment.

Foraging has been our hobby for many years and it is now coming into its own.

Yesterday I boiled up a load of young nettle leaves with some three-cornered leek that Nigel had weeded out of the garden, whizzed it up with lemon juice , olive oil and seasoning, added a can of lentils and made enough soup for three days.

Its colour is very green indeed, and of course it is green in other ways too.

I’ve also noticed bittercress growing as a weed in our garden (like mini watercress) and hedge mustard sprouting at the wayside – leaves to look forward to in a salad.

(Pics below)

Tip 1 Pick well back in the hedgerow so no dog has been there.

Tip 2 ALWAYS remove the garnish before eating the nettle soup!

Bittercress and three-cornered leek

Hedge mustard

Stir crazy

During the week, Nigel and I were both really busy rejigging our jobs to work from home. 

Boredom was not even a remote threat.

However, at the weekend, Nigel has been getting through his tasks in the house and garden at a rate of knots, and finding more unusual things to do.

I discovered him in the kitchen sifting through an entire sack of dove food* for coarse husks which might jam the mechanical feeder.

“Who asked you to do that?  It wasn’t somebody called Rumpelstiltskin was it?”

Surprisingly quickly, he had processed the entire sack and was stalking the garden. Presently, he put his head round the back door and asked,

“Can I have a drop of sunflower oil please?”

“Sure,” I said as I went to fetch it, “What do you need it for?”

“Oh – it’s for my butt – I want to put some in to stop the insects.”

I nearly dropped the bottle.

Seeing my face, he realised what he had said.

“I mean the water butt – a drop of oil on the surface of the water means gnat larvae can’t breathe and die out.”

“Ah.  OK.”

…I wonder what he will get up to next.

*If you’re wondering what the difference is between dove food and pigeon food, it is that the person who sold it to us crossed out the word ‘pigeon’ on the label and sharpied ‘dove’.

  

Home Sweet Home

A few weeks ago Nigel, Pascoe and I were on a long-planned jolly to Lille when France suddenly shut down.  It felt like being inside a trap and hearing the mechanism clicking into place.

Everything was lovely on Friday, including the weather so we went to stroll in the grounds of the Vauban Citadel.  We would visit the massive art museum on Saturday.  But on Saturday, it (along with all museums) was declared shut. 

We began to feel uneasy. We would come home early.  But Eurostar had picked that weekend to renew its computerised ticketing system.  We could not change our tickets, not online, not on the phone, not even in person. 

We would just have to make the best of it. 

We lounged in cafes having a truly relaxed lunch and dinner.

But on Sunday, everything that wasn’t a food shop or pharmacy shut.  The fun really was over.

Our train was not until three - a whole day to kill.

We hiked to the legendary market at Wazemmes and marveled at the beautiful fruit and veg piled high.  However, we could not relax as there were so many people it felt like the Covid 19 version of Russian Roulette.

Even departure was challenging – Pascoe was booked on a later train but with the rapidity of the lockdown, I worried the border might suddenly close. 

Luckily, many people more cautious than us had cancelled their trips and there was a spare seat on our train for Pascoe.

The whole experience made me realise that if I were to be locked down or ill I would much rather be in my own home, surrounded by my own stuff, and supported by kind neighbours.

Home Sweet Home. 

An important social event

After all our social events went online it was nice to have a real one last night.

The eight o clock call to go out on doorsteps and cheer for the NHS and health workers was the biggest thing to happen in my street since John and Margaret’s Christmas drinks party.

I unearthed my last four party poppers from a little-known drawer in the Welsh dresser which had not been opened since the days long-ago days of teen parties.  (Another turning-out task, I noted.)

Our cul-de-sac is a quiet one, not given to hullaballoo.  But we managed a reedy, self-conscious cheer.

And four party popper bangs which, in retrospect, may not have been a good idea.  It probably sounded as if Nigel and I had barricaded ourselves in with guns and were defending our well-stocked freezer against raiders.

We had a yelled conversation with John and Margaret opposite as the icy breeze swirled around us.

And although we said very little, really, it made us realise how lovely it is to catch up with neighbours, the people we rub along with each day and whom we miss when we don’t see.

The Queen of Video-conferencing

At the start of last week, I had only ever attended a handful of video conferences, and had certainly never set up a meeting.

By the end of this week, I will have taught Latin to over seventy children and adults via several Zoom sessions I set up.

Communicating with twenty-five teens on a single video call is…interesting, but I’m getting better at it.

I always thought that classroom teaching was not a job I could do from home, but these strange times have proved me wrong.  I feel lucky to have had the previous two terms to establish a rapport with my pupils before we embarked on this new adventure together.

And it’s not just the teachers who are learning new skills – the children are having to learn to work independently without the structure of a classroom and teacher for much of the day.

For those who find their inner discipline, this life skill will be the most valuable learning experience of all; for those who don’t it will mean several weeks of lost education & worried parents.

As for me, my neighbours probably think I’ve gone bonkers through isolation.  My desk is in front of the window and anybody passing by will be able to spot me quite alone, apparently talking animatedly to myself for hours on end.

Getting hold of fresh produce

We are trying to avoid the shops at the moment – it seems the most likely place to pick up Corona Virus.  However, it means we need to be imaginative about getting fresh produce.

I got the old pack of dried mung beans out of the back of the larder and am keeping some of them damp in a tray.  By the end of the week, they will have grown enough for me to use them as delicious bean sprouts.  

Soon I’ll plant some marrowfat peas (also from a pack in the larder) in a big dish outside and will quickly get pea sprouts - very fashionable in London restaurants.

Meantime, on my once-a-day excursion for exercise I am beginning to spot things I can forage – young nettle tops can be made into soup or eaten like spinach, while ramsons (wild garlic leaves) are nearly big enough to pick and cook with pasta or add flavour to stews or salads.

And in our little veg plot, I asked Nigel not to uproot last year’s chard and kale yet.  They may be a bit leggy, but they are still giving some green leaves.

Even if we didn't have the threat of Corona Virus, growing and foraging food still beats standing in a queue in Morrisons.

How will the countryside manage without us?

The spring weather has been so heart-meltingly beautiful lately.

Our reward for grounding the polluting aeroplanes has been cobalt skies and tiny twists of white cloud.  Just like the clear weather when the planes stopped because a volcano erupted in Iceland a few years back.

And combined with that, there has been the time to enjoy the sights of spring.

Over the last week I have stood with Nigel and Pascoe and watched:

 a coot diving to the bottom of a moat, then rising swiftly upwards as if in an elevator,

male moorhens battling over territory like an aquatic display of cock fighting,

a little grebe hunting for food by zipping along underwater.

“What is this world if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare?”

In the warm weather this week, I’ve had my first sightings of the fabulously colourful brimstone, peacock and tortoiseshell butterflies.

Not to mention the naughty bee fly with its intriguing life cycle.

Violets and wood anemones are blossoming and bluebell leaves are pushing through, readying themselves to blossom in a month’s time.

So it’s going to be tough if we stop being allowed out to exercise.

But just like with the planes stopping, there’s always an upside: perhaps the wildlife will be glad to have a break from us disruptive humans!

A Mother's Day Service

At church, Mother’s day is called Mothering Sunday and is said to be the day when people would traditionally revisit their mother church – the one where they were baptised.

But I have always held this to be an evil rumour put about by clergymen who have forgotten to buy their mothers a card.

Mother’s Day is about ME.

Obviously.

So although I’m a regular churchgoer at St Luke’s, I usually eschew Mothering Sunday Services and force my benighted children to accompany me on a day trip into the countryside.

However, due to current guidelines, I couldn’t gather my offspring this year.  We phoned Nigel’s Mum in Northumberland, mine in Cornwall.  My kids Skyped and Zoomed in.

However, the thing that really made it feel like Mother’s Day was, paradoxically, church.

The church Mother’s Day service was not held this year owing to Covid 19.  In the Vicar’s garden paraded a legion of brightly-coloured pots of polyanthus. They had been purchased to hand out on Mother’s Day, but were now unclaimed.

A few of us who could not think up an excuse quickly enough were delegated to place these on the doorsteps of the women who should have received them.

Initially, the freezing East wind and the fact that my recipients were dotted all over town made me curse.  But then I got into it. 

I began to feel a bit like the Easter Bunny come early.

And in the end, one of the nicest things about my Mother’s Day was the thought of those other mothers opening their doors to an unexpected splash of colourful flowers.

Social Distance

It’s a deep need in us, to see each other.

Carol was back after six weeks away in Australia, braving fires, floods and, it transpired, a deadly snake which found its way into her shopping bag.

Caroline and I really wanted to see her, but we are told that just meeting together could be almost as much of a danger as those threats Carol had already survived.

In the end, we drove in separate cars to Heartwood, our local forest, parked, air-hugged one another and walked several miles, mostly at two meters’ distance to one another. 

The sky was blazing blue, white blossom studded the hedgerows and a brisk East wind zipped past.  It was a great day to be out and Carol had lots of new tales to tell.

Everybody else seemed to have had the same idea and were out with kids and dogs and friends.  I’ve never seen so many people there at one time. 

I twice forgot to push kissing gates with my elbow, and used my bare hand, but otherwise we did well. 

However, I was glad there were not too many of us as it was hard to stay apart and still chat.

So just now when I spoke to Pascoe on the phone, I was intrigued when he said he was about to climb a nearby hill and watch the sunset with four friends.

“Gosh, how are you going to stay in a group and observe social distancing with so many of you?”

“We’ve thought about it,” he replied, “And we’re going for a quincunx formation.”

After all, they are scientists.

quincunx

Eggs without panic

I had given up on finding some eggs to buy. 

But as a vegetarian, they do mean a lot to me.

Since I was passing, I decided to get a couple of items in a Tesco’s Local.

I nearly didn't go in as last time I had received poor service:-

A dopey teenage boy had been serving. I had handed over my single purchase – a swede. He stared at it in puzzlement.  I suspected he did not know what a swede was. 

“It hasn’t got a barcode.  Can you go and get one with a barcode.”

I trudged back to the far end and returned with another swede, but then gave him a look over my glasses and pointedly used the self-service till.

Today, as I went to pay for my tub of low-fat spread, there he was again.  My heart sank.

Just as I reached the front of the queue, another assistant called to him,

“What are all these eggs doing behind the till?”

“When people have been trying to buy too many, I’ve been taking them off them, like you said.”

“Yes, but you’re then supposed to re-shelve them.  People have been asking for eggs!”

Now was my chance.

“In that case, can I have some eggs please?”

“You can have up to three packs.”

“No thanks.  Just one.”

A unexpected bounty!

Just goes to show that dopiness is a two-edged sword.

Are haircuts still allowed?

Wheeling my bike along the local shopping street I saw my friend Rob and we snatched a catch-up.

We attempted to observe a ‘social distance’.  This worked between the two of us, but because we were spread out across the pavement other pedestrians simply piled into us.

In between “Excuse me”s and “Sorry”s I announced,

“I’m just going to get my hair cut.”

“Is that still allowed?!?”

“I hope so. I made an appointment two months ago, and I’ve received a confirmation.”

“Well, if they turn out to be shut, don’t worry there’s another one just round the corner.”

This was an intriguing insight into a male view of hairdressers – rather like buses, if you miss one just catch the next one.

Mosaic Hair Studio was open.  But my lovely hairdresser slipped in the door just at the same moment I did, looking hassled.

During the course of my cut, she explained that she had not been panic buying so her cupboard was now pretty much bare.  She’d been at the supermarket trying to get some food. Any food.

She had tried yesterday evening too.  And last night.

“What am I supposed to do? Sit at home and eat newspaper?”

As she finished her saga, she took the last snip and ran her hands through my hair to pull it into shape.

“You know, after all that, I think that’s the best cut you’ve ever given me!”

“Maybe I cut better when I’m slightly stressed.”

So I’m glad my haircut was still allowed.

And I hope she got some groceries!

Bringing out the best and the worst

People have been ringing each other and asking, “Are you okay?”

We have been setting up local mutual support circles for errands and shopping.

WhatsApp, Facebook and Instagram are being employed to boost morale and find the funny side - Many a chat group is devoting itself to the mystery of why everybody thinks they need SO much loo paper.

Some of us have been prompted to acquire new skills and use technologies such as video conferencing for the first time.

In lieu of a social life, we’re getting round to domestic projects that have been on hold for too long – in my case, potting my succulents (plants) and finally making Carenza a skirt out of the dress she wore as a bridesmaid when she was nine.

So maybe this crisis is making me a better human being.

But if anybody touches my dried pasta, I shall club them to death with my super-sized bottle of hand sanitiser.

Not a horder

Why when I'm not a horder do I end up with so much stuff?

The fact is, it's not things that I can't let go of it's the cloud of memories that float, anchored to them with strands of finest gossamer.

And sometimes it's even worse than memories. Sometimes it's a whole life-stage.

That was how Pascoe and I came to be standing looking sad in the loft on either side of a cardboard box. The contents of the box were plain white crockery and a secondhand wok so our sorrow seemed disproportionate.

Except...
This was stuff Pascoe had found at University, abandoned beside the bins on the day when overseas students flew home.  It had seen him and his brother and sister, and even some of their friends, through university and a little beyond. 

However, now they were all earning and developing their own taste there was no longer a use for this well-worn, utilitarian equipment.

We would take it out of the loft and give it away.

No wonder we were sad. Pascoe and his brother and sister were no longer riotous students but responsible adults.

End of an era.

"Come on," I said finally, "We'll take it to Oxfam. Perhaps another fresher will buy it and it'll go off to have fun at a new university.

...But of course, it will never have as much fun as it did with you, Pascoe."

Facing up to the Plague

Mary and I had arranged to meet up in Ashwell, about half way between our two homes.  We ambled around the charming Hertfordshire village with its half-timbering and pargetting.

We discussed our own work-life balance and the news of our two parallel families.

But we could not avoid talking about the flooding and fires caused by climate change and the threat of the corona virus.  

And sadly, we could not laugh either of them off.

We drifted, as we knew we would, into the church where, in the bell tower at the west end is some extraordinary graffiti. 

Each time we visit, we like to check and make sure that after hundreds of years, it is still there.

High on the wall, is the very old, deeply incised writing.

Pestile (n) cia
M.C.T.(er)x penta
miseranda ferox violenta
(discessit pestis) superset plebs pessima testis in fine qevent(us) (erat) valid(us)
(...h)oc anno maurus in orbe tonat MCCCLXI

A board underneath tells us that it says:

There was a plague
1350
a pitiable, fierce violent plague departed;

a wretched populace survives to witness and in the end
a mighty wind, Maurus, thunders in this year in the world, 1361

The inhabitants of Ashwell must have suffered great losses and lived through times that seemed to them hellish.

“Well,” said Mary, “A plague and a great storm!  It just goes to show there’s nothing new under the sun.”

http://www.stmarysashwell.org.uk/church/graffiti/decode.htm