August at home

August is the teachers' holiday month. It's the opportunity to visit family and friends in other locations. Most years, our feet don't touch the ground in August.

But this year we walked St Cuthbert's way at the end of July and I squeezed in a visit to my ancient dad in Cornwall, then I got grounded. 

A steroid injection into my creaky hip meant I had to take it easy and avoid exercise. 

And what a pleasure it has been. 

I ticked off little domestic tasks from taking up a pair of trousers and mending a bracelet, to making chutney and jam.

There were also treats like Chip's barbecue-cum-solar-eclipse, and like having Rosie round and catching up with Carol and Carole.

And then we were able to be fully present for two major life events: the funeral of our lovely friend, Nick, and the much anticipated wedding of wonderful Steve and Elaine, at both of which Nigel gave a speech and for each of which there was time to prepare and debrief properly. 

Only thing we really missed was our summer visit to Pascoe in Edinburgh, but we'll catch him later.

Maybe I'll need an injection in my hip next August too.

Hit over the head with a rubber hammer

Following his emergency operation, Pascoe is making a steady recovery – I speak to him on the phone and am reassured.

He said ‘I can’t wait for the training montage to start.’  I imagine a clip from the ‘Rocky’ movies.

I, on the other hand, have felt like I’d been hit over the head with a rubber hammer. 

There was one week where Carenza had given up a week’s holiday in France to nurse Pascoe in Edinburgh and I was off-duty in St Albans.  I was so grateful for her selflessness, but it also felt very wrong not being there.

I distracted myself with some undemanding household tasks.  I took up some winter trousers, but when I looked at them afterwards was puzzled by my approach – are asymmetric trousers in fashion this Autumn?  What had I been thinking?

The only thing which went well was making forty jars of various chutneys.  I have been doing this for nearly four decades, so auto-pilot kicked in.  Okay, so my mild apple chutney is much hotter than my hot apple chutney this year, but apart from that, all is well.

So when I think of that week when I was good for nothing, at least I was good for chutney.

A Profound Learning Experience

I left Buckingham Palace in my fascinator and court shoes, took the tube to Euston and caught a train to the Peak District. 

I loved the stateliness of the Garden Party, but I would enjoy hiking in the Peak District even more.  Walking in the hills would encourage contemplation and help me to answer some of the Questions that Life Poses.

Carol, Caroline and Diane were there waiting for me as night fell on Buxton Station.  They told me my fascinator looked “Lovely!”  I preened coyly.

Unfortunately, when I removed my court shoes that night, I discovered that I had sustained a Garden Party Injury – a large, raw blister.  It limited the scope of our walks.  The others were very patient.  Although at breakfast the next day they did suggest that I might like to stop wearing my fascinator now.

However, in spite of our walks being curtailed, I DID discover the answer to one of the Questions that Life Poses.   Carol was kindly putting us up in her house so I was not surprised to see an unopened pot of my jam in her larder. 
I was surprised however to see that it was Mirabelle jam.  I have not made Mirabelle jam since July 2014.

I had thought that I had begun to see the rolling eyes of panic when I handed friends their annual selection of jams and chutneys at Christmas, but when questioned directly, they always pronounced them “delicious”. 

So I had two choices.  The first was to re-think my entire food-manufacture and gift-giving policy; the second, to carry on regardless. 

I think there is a photo somewhere of me eating toast heaped with three-year-old jam, my fascinator crammed firmly on my head.