Never nudge a pony

 

Annabel and I grabbed a change of scene and a couple of nights camping in the New Forest.

We camped at a pop-up site – Harry’s Meadow and every excursion took us through the village of Woodgreen.  I would slow the car to a crawl and we would admire the many donkeys which, together with their foals were hanging about in the middle of the mainstreet, occasionally browsing from the grass verge with a studied insouciance as I slalomed round them.

But on the second evening, we went through Woodgreen and saw not one solitary donkey. 

‘That’s odd,’ said Annabel, ‘I wonder where they’ve all gone?’

As we approached the wooded road to the campsite our route was blocked by traffic cones.  Puzzled, I stopped.

A floppy-haired man stepped out of the shadows and explained in an upper-crust accent that the road was blocked by a fallen tree.  We told him we were headed for Harry’s Meadow and he gave us directions, with repeated injunctions not to follow the Satnav as it would take us into an un-surfaced wilderness. 

As we pulled away, Annabel and I both agreed that he had been the dead spit of Hugh Grant.

We followed his circuitous route – ‘Did he say left and then right or right and then left?’  And it was on this narrow road that we made a discovery. 

It was here that the donkeys of Woodgreen spent their evenings.

And the cows.

And the ponies.

And none of them at all was cowed by an approaching car. 

‘Just give that pony a nudge with your car,’ suggested Annabel.

‘No thanks, it’ll be my number plate it kicks.’

But when eventually we got safely back to the tent, we raised a glass to Hugh Grant and his excellent travel directions.

 

 

 

 

Shangri-La

 I used to love climbing mountains, mainly in the Lake District.  I loved the views, the pared back landscape of grass and scree with the occasional stunted thorn bush.  The blue distance and the feeling of open sky above.

However, over twenty years ago we moved to the south east, so the mountains got more distant.  Then our regular B&B shut down.  Then I got back and foot problems and gradually gave up hope I would ever again reach the summit. 

However, I’ve walked lots during Lockdown and was keen to try a mountain again. But, in Herts we are low on hills so I was far from confident about a steep climb.  I also had to buy new boots – not wise just before a tough walk.

Luckily, Nigel had climbed mountains more recently and was game for carrying our daysack (and possibly me, if the need arose).

So we booked a long weekend in a hotel in Borrowdale and agreed to tackle Great Gable (899m).  I stipulated that this time we would not be descending by Aaron’s Slack (a scree of constantly moving rocks). 

I was fine going up – my boots didn’t rub.  My feet and back held out well.  I wasn’t even out of breath.

Coming down, one of my knees really hurt, but even that was more because I’d injured it the day before.

In triumph, we sent the offspring our selfie from the summit.

“Great!” said Carenza, “And you both look so young!”

So maybe that’s where Shangri-La really is – at the top of Great Gable.

Our Phones are Listening to Us

This is going to sound like conspiracy theory, but it isn’t.  These are things which happened to us.

A few weeks ago, Perran and Carenza joined us for a staycation.

“It’s so lovely to have you here,” I gushed.  “I’m having a wonderful time.”

From my pocket, a female voice said, “I’m glad to hear that.”

Later, Nigel was saying, “I must change my ringtone – Perran hates this one.” (‘Popcorn’ – if you’re wondering.)  Next time his phone rang, he didn’t pick it up at once, because he didn’t recognise the ringtone – it had been changed.

Our suspicions first started after we spotted a red squirrel while on holiday and spent a while watching and discussing it.  Afterwards, Nigel’s phone began offering him news items relating to red squirrels.

Another watershed moment was when I was driving to Kew Gardens using Google Maps on my phone.  I was listening to a Radio 4 play the final words of which were ‘It is finished.  I have arrived.’

Google Maps immediately switched itself off.  Which was annoying as I was just approaching a complicated roundabout.

It makes you wonder how much information these talking-and-listening devices have picked up and transmitted and to whom.  Are we effectively bugging ourselves?

My only comfort is imagining somebody in China or Russia scratching their head as they try to understand Nigel’s pun-based jokes.  I’m not sure I understand them myself.

PPE

Earlier in the week, I did some errands.

It was a muggy day, so not ideal, but I was keen to shift the books and clothes I had turned out during Lockdown.  Before I started deciding I had been rash and took them back again.  So I piled them into the boot.

I toured several charity shops.  Some were still closed.  Others were already full to the gunnels with donations.

All the time it was getting hotter and stickier.

I gave up and went to a small supermarket to get a few necessaries.  I scrabbled in my handbag for a mask and put it on.  I even put the blue side on the outside (a bit of etiquette which had previously escaped me).

As I followed the one-way route around Budgens I noticed not only that I was the only customer in a mask, but that other people were looking at me strangely.  I felt indignant – from next Friday EVERYBODY would have to wear masks.  It was ridiculous of them to stare.

As I returned to the car with my shopping, I caught sight of myself in the window.  Bang in the middle of my forehead was a lemon sherbert sweet wrapper.  It must have come out of my bag along with the mask and I’d been ‘wearing’ it all the way round Budgens.

I drove home.  My boot was still full of clothes and books, but at least I was laughing.

Big Wedding Anniversary

This Summer we were going to have a party.  Monday was our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary and we thought we should celebrate with friends and family. 

In March, I was reproaching myself for being late in sending out our ‘save the date’s.

However, Covid quickly turned my tardiness into an advantage.  An anniversary party was one thing I did not have to rearrange.

It also changed my perspective.  What we had planned were large loud festivities.  What happened was very different.

Pascoe came to stay and the twins visited on Sunday (travelling by Zipp Car and socially-distanced from us).  The children gave us champagne & flowers.  I cooked a partially successful vegan quiche (‘Don’t worry – I’m sure it will taste delicious.’) which we ate in the garden.  Then we went for a long tramp around Heartwood and Nomansland where swathes of cornflowers glowed blue against the yellow lady’s bedstraw. We came back for summer pudding made from homegrown fruit (good except for the vintage saucer which had glued itself to the base of the pudding).

And after all the separation from one another, it was a hugely happy occasion to be together as a family once more.  And more than exciting enough.

Card by Carenza - Coral Anniversary

Sleeping Beauty

I have suffered during Lockdown from thinking I am ahead but discovering I am not.

Mostly it is a matter of time passing – Lockdown means the absence of the usual festivals and public holidays which punctuate the year.  Time slips through my fingers like water.  I always know which day of the week it is, owing to my work, but the months elude me.  How can it be that we are half way through the year?

When I interrogate my thinking, I can see that at some level I believe that time has stood still during Lockdown, as if in March I had pricked my finger on a spindle. 

It does not help that from the start of Lockdown and ever since, it has been Summer outside.

My plan in April was to complete my tax return at the soonest possible opportunity – it’s easier then to make sense of receipts and records and means it’s not hanging over me.

So I just did my tax return today.  Felt pleased with myself.  Then realised 3 months had somehow passed since I first resolved to complete it.  But on the upside, I’m still ahead of my usual performance.

Perhaps I should start thinking about Christmas now.  By the time I get round to doing something about it, the timing should be about right.

The pic above is a field of flax I walked through with Carol and Caroline - it should have made me realise it was high summer!

As Others See Us

Over the last three months, my phone has blossomed with photos of wildflowers, rippled with corn fields and been dappled with shady woods.

Now that Lockdown is easing, we have begun to meet friends for socially distanced walks.  Afterwards we have swapped photos and it has been very welcome to see people reappearing in my photo folder.  It is as if a very beautiful garden of Eden is gradually being populated.  

I have also found myself delighted to see Nigel and I popping up again.  As somebody else’s photo arrives via WhatsApp I have an urge to cry out ‘Look! It’s me!’

In the past, a photo of oneself could be a trophy – ‘Look – Here are Nigel and I visiting the Eiffel Tower’. 

But right at the moment, these pictures of us are proof of something more valuable – we have begun to see friends and family again.

The poet, Robert Burns said:

"O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us!"

(‘If only some Power would give us the gift to see ourselves as others see us!’)

I’m pretty sure he did not foresee the mobile phone camera, and he probably wasn’t talking about physical appearance either.  But even so, it’s the phrase that went through my head when Carenza sent us some pics at the weekend.

It is good to be back in my own photo folder again.

Substitute Holiday

During lockdown there have been emergencies and bereavements and immeasurable problems.

So it would seem churlish to grumble about missed holidays. And actually most people haven't been.

However, for many there has been the hushed sound of the passing away of a vision of oneself in bright summer clothes on a mountain or a beach or in a stylish foreign city.

It makes me realise that for me, nurturing the prospect of a break is as important as actually having the holiday.

This week was supposed to be spent with all our children in a holiday rental on the stunning Northumbrian coast. I could almost taste the salt air.

So although we didn't take the holiday, it had at least performed its role for several months this year as being something I was looking forward to.

In the end Nigel and I took the time off anyway and on Thursday we and the twins shared an outing to Chartwell, Churchill's former home.  The house was of course not open, but the grounds were. 

And after the very quiet life we have been leading recently that was excitement enough.

Shopping

The shops are open.

I haven’t been yet.

I need some summer clothes and I really like to examine the fabric and fit of an item before I buy it.

However, as with every other phase of the release of Lockdown, I am slow to take up my new privileges. 

Part of this is for the very practical reason that Nigel is an asthma sufferer so I’m keen to avoid Covid on his behalf.

However, I seem generally a little reluctant. 

I think it is because, while I remain at home, I can half believe that the town centre is operating just as normal, with people drifting along the market stalls, making casual purchases and finally settling to a coffee at a cafe table. 

Once I get there, I shall be confronted with the reality of queues, face masks, hand sanitiser, social distancing and worse – the failure of social distancing. 

However, I know that if we don't go in and support our local businesses, they may not be there in future when we want them.

So I’m sure I shall be tempted into the shops very soon, but just for the moment, in my mind, I am still picturing St Albans town centre as a far-off magical place where everything remains perfect even in spite of Corona Virus.

Photo by Emily Fletke on Unsplash

Twins

Our family has one car between five of us.  Nigel and I share one and our children, settled in the hearts of London and Edinburgh, find it more effective to use feet, bikes and buses.

Our low number of petrol-guzzlers is a source of green pride to us.  But recently it has delayed us getting to see our children.  We last saw Perran and Carenza at the start of February, and Pascoe in March.  

Unlike our offspring in their city flats, we have a garden which would be perfect for an outdoor, socially-distanced rendez-vous.  However, the children can only get here via public transport, which is still best avoided if you don’t need to use it to get to work.

However, we finally hit on a plan.  It wasn’t perfect and it didn’t include Pascoe, far away in Edinburgh. 

We drove.  Perran & Carenza took an Uber.

We met in Epping Forest, which was in itself overwhelmingly beautiful – massive old trees canopying acres of dappled woodland.  I kept expecting Errol Flynn or Kevin Costner to jump out from behind a tree dressed in Lincoln green. 

We spent several hours strolling and picnicking.

Apart from missing Pascoe, it was heaven.

Maybe one day we will even be able to hug.

Firsts

We’ve been a bit slow with our post-lockdown firsts.  I blame it on the fact that we’re having the kitchen ‘done’ – it’s taking up a lot of bandwidth.

However, I can proudly report that our first (and only) garden-centre purchase was two massive tubs of chicken poo – on special offer.  I had hoped for something perhaps more glamorous, but Nigel seemed pleased as punch.

Our first guest for a socially isolated chat in the garden was Jennie.  She helped us to remember how to stop gardening and enjoy the sunshine.

Our first socially isolated country walk with a friend was with Steve – which is fitting since he was also the last friend we walked with before lockdown.  After work, as the low sun struck the landscape, we strode for miles across fields and through trees and had a picnic under a towering ash which was the roost of an owl.  The most magical moment was as we came through a field gate and startled five skylarks who all rose up singing into the blue sky.

The effect of such a long seclusion is that these simple occasions, once so commonplace, are now singular and jewel-like because we have learnt to treasure them.  A privilege.

Making it Complicated

We were pretty comfortable. I’d stocked up the store cupboard before panic buying struck the nation.  We’d gone out and bought supplies for DIY and craft projects.  We’d sorted out home-working via Zoom easily.

And then we made a mistake.

As new Lockdown guidance made it possible, the kitchen design company got in touch.  We had arranged with them to have our kitchen done at the start of April.  However, everything had been postponed.  

But now we could go ahead (with careful social distancing precautions, of course).

What better time to renew the kitchen?  We can’t have friends round for dinner and we’re not going anywhere.

At least, I thought it was a good time.

But today our formerly pleasant kitchen is a hollowed-out waste.

I am cooking on a camping stove on the patio.

Worst of all, the fridge is now in the room where Nigel works.  Every time I creep in for a surreptitious snack, he flicks his laptop open and says, “I’ll just add it to the spreadsheet!”

And I’m not sure he’s joking.

Woe is me.

The Lost Meadow

We’d been walking across the local golf course in order to access some of our favourite stretches of countryside.  

We had thought we were being very daring and trespassing until we discovered the golf club had kindly opened up pedestrian access during Lockdown.

For several weeks we took only certain routes which joined up with the public footpaths we were aiming for.

Then last weekend, for no particular reason, we abandoned our plans and swerved off down a path we had never followed before.  

We discovered a massive tract of verdant golf course.  We had not even known it was there.  The blue sky above emerald grass, close-mown over rounded hummocks, was almost too good to be true.  It reminded me of Tellytubby Land.

Here and there, parents with tiny children were having a gentle toddle, or rolling balls.  Walking beside the ‘Rough’, we caught sight of a great-spotted woodpecker, a tom-tit’s nest, the first comma butterfly of the year.  It was idyllic. 

I’m glad now that we ventured out there because the following day, golf courses were declared open once more and our trespasses have come to an end.

I shall always think with longing of this Lost Meadow.

But not enough to consider taking up golf!

Make your own milk!

I’m a great one for avoiding faff. 

But logic made me change my mind this week.

After approximately six weeks of trudging to the Co-op mainly in order to score some milk, I finally remembered that some of my acquaintances had mentioned making their own milk.

Before you recoil in horror, I mean oat milk.

Oat milk is way greener than dairy milk in terms of carbon footprint.  Even greener than soya milk. 

I had mentally filed it under ‘faff’, but right now, it looks like less faff than social distancing at the Co-op.

This, coupled with the fact that we now have about 2 kilos of porridge oats which Nigel has rejected as being ‘Not the kind I like’, means that the time has come to make oat milk.

The first recipe I looked at described the problem of milk turning out slimy.  This was a bit off-putting, especially as my first batch really was slimy and sank like a stone in my tea.  

However, I tried again with a different recipe and this time it still sank like a stone, but at least it wasn’t slimy.

Nigel’s not keen, but I’m going to keep going.  I like a challenge.  And if I succeed, even after Lockdown ends (someday), it means we’ll have fewer of those hard-to-recycle tetrapaks.

Has Lockdown caused a Time Warp?

It’s been two weeks since I blogged.

When was the last time I allowed so much time to elapse?

I guess it is an effect of Lockdown.

A number of friends have said that they are losing track of time.  Nigel and I are both still working and have scheduled meetings so that helps to keep a grip but even so…

The main clock for me has been the dandelion clock. 

At the start of Lockdown my phone filled up with pictures of each spring flower as it blossomed – celandines, violets, purple ground ivy, red dead nettle, bluebells.

Blackthorns and cherries blossomed luxuriantly.

However, the clock has run on, and there are now some different photos, of flowers run to seed.

Like the dandelion clock.

It has made me feel a little melancholy that this perfect spring of gin-clear skies and abundant blossom is past its peak.

Yet without the seeds, there would be no new flowers.

Just so, the Lockdown period of simple, black-and-white rules, which has in some way been comforting, is likely at the end of next week to give way to a world where there are more grey zones and one must use judgement.

But without that, how can life move on?

Your Place or Mine?

For us during this lockdown, videoconferencing has become a magic carpet.  It is as easy to have a natter with friends who live at a distance as it is people who live just round the corner.

Some of our friends have lived miles from us for many years and we are used to putting aside weekends to see them.  But recently, several other friends have moved away from the south east and are now a day trip away, or even a whole weekend.  And there are only so many weekends in the year.

However, we can now see them for an hour or so on any evening.  If they’re not already busy videoconferencing somebody else, that is!

Similarly, because Pascoe lives in Edinburgh, it is rare to have all our offspring in one room together.  But now we are achieving this once a week.

All this was available before, but it was not socially accepted to meet a bunch of friends as if it was a work conference call.  It is one of the things from Lockdown that I hope we keep. 

Now when we make a social arrangement, we ask “Skype or Zoom?”

Nigel figures it’s become the new “Your place or mine?”

Easter bunny - a new generation

Generally at our house the Easter bunny lays a trail of little pastel-coloured  eggs around the garden for younger members of the family to find. 

Since the offspring have got older and wiser, the eggs now have to be fair trade and vegan (Oxfam supplies – if you’re wondering) and the pretty foil is now carefully recycled rather than being turned into a butterfly wing collage.

However, this year, the Easter bunny was locked down miles away from younger family members.  

The bunny posted a few eggs she had obtained before lockdown.

Pascoe ingeniously provided his own hunt by standing in his sitting room, throwing the eggs over his shoulder, then going to look for them.

However, the Bunny was worried about Carenza who particularly values this tradition (and indeed the chocloate it brings).

However, she needn’t have worried.  The family has a new Easter Bunny who stepped up to the mark, obtained Easter eggs and hid them around the flat for his sister.

He even wore a set of pink ears while doing so – surely beyond the call of duty.

Our usual Easter bunny is certainly going to have to up her game next year.

Celebrating Easter alone together

Our vicar often says, “The Church isn’t the building – it’s the people”.

So the thought of spending Good Friday and Easter Sunday without being able to grieve and rejoice alongside other members of our church family, made Nigel and I feel subdued.

In the end, our vicar and curate rose to the challenge and services were available not only on Facebook, but also YouTube, AND Zoom.

I felt like emailing to complain that there was no Skype or Teams version available.  But when you are not face to face, people sometimes don’t realise you are joking.

It was a comfort to wave to our lovely friends on Zoom.  But my favourite moment was when, with the Good Friday service just about to begin, a black square appeared on the grid, labelled “Unknown Host”.

I muted our mic and nudged Nigel.  “The Holy Ghost really is present with us today.”

Back to my roots.

I guess that a lot of us are using this period of isolation to experiment with our...ahem...grooming routine.

Probably if we were to match selfies taken right now against those from a month back, it would be evident that the nation is on average much hairier today.

For myself, I have been hijacked by spring cleaning and have waxed the wooden floors, but not my legs. 

Legs are redundant anyway, since Zoom took over our world.

At least one member of my family appears to be trying out a beard when I spot him on WhatsApp.

For myself, I wondered whether this might be a convenient period to transition to grey hair. 

However, half an inch in, I got cold feet and dyed it again.

It seems I feel as young as my hair dye and not yet as old as my roots.

 

You can take foraging too far

At the weekend, we were walking by the River Ver, hoping to spot the turquoise gleam of a kingfisher.

As always, we carried with us a couple of old plastic bread bags and some rubber gloves, in case we want to pick nettles.  We had collected a little hedge mustard and were considering the young hawthorn leaves (in the past called ‘bread and cheese’ because they are edible and do not need to be cooked).

Just then I was surprised by a sudden sound of rushing water and noticed a manhole cover in the grass. 

“I suppose that must be a drain under there.  Yes.  Look. I can see bits of toilet paper from when it flooded over winter.”

“Step right away from the drain,” said Nigel, “I know toilet paper’s in shortage, but you can take foraging just too far.”

How did things go this far?

Today I allowed myself to get caught up in a train of events which led to hardcore housework.

I must watch myself and not let it happen again.

It started with a project which has been shelved for far too long – I’m making a winter coverlet for our bed. 

Even given my shortcomings as a needlewoman, the new coverlet will look smarter than the child’s sleeping bag (from IKEA in the 1990s) which we currently lay over our bed on cold nights.

During a lockdown is the perfect time to complete such a task.

I had to find a big bit of floor to lay it out.  Only the sitting room would do.  And only after we removed the chairs.

But then I could see how dirty the wood floor was. 

I swept it, but that wasn’t enough.

So I mopped it, but then it looked rather dull and matt. 

So then I got out the floor polish – its first outing in around four years - and sprayed the floor with it.

And now I’m waiting for it to dry so I can buff it up.

And the coverlet?

I’m no further forward.

Lit up by rainbows

I've been taking a lunchtime constitutional each day, as permitted by The Rules.  Often, I make a circuit round our streets.

Painted rainbows have been appearing in windows and they have made it a joy.

The Rainbow is not a single focused campaign but a general movement stimulated by sharing on social media.  It is spreading, dare I say it...virally.

The message is one of hope and reassurance - like any storm, this will come to an end.

Recently, I've seen a variant - children have been chalking colourful rainbows on pavements and walls.

It lifted my heart.

But one family had to go and take it just too far. 

There on the pavement in front of me was a sequence of chalked instructions:
"Tip-toes....walk the tightrope....five star jumps....six hops"

Dammit, they had created a pavement exercise routine.

Feeling threatened, I returned home at once.

The thrill of the food cupboard

It’s now two weeks since I last went to the shops or had a delivery.

By now I am working my way through little-known corners of the larder.

 

I thought I had everything neatly arranged in boxes.

How great was my happiness to discover that things had been flipped out and lodged behind the boxes.  The jewel in the crown of my discoveries was…a pack of dried pasta. 

Okay, so it was wholewheat, but nothing is perfect.

I’ve stopped tidying the larder just now – hoping to find some more surprises tomorrow.

Mustn’t overexcite myself.

Lockdown for Burglars

Recently Nigel left his keys in the front door.  On the outside.

I helpfully pointed his lapse out to him, but he made the point that actually a burglar would be hard put to it to find a moment when we were both out.

Think about it.

For a house robber, their way of life has pretty much dried up.

Nigel said, “I notice Rishi Sunak didn’t announce any financial relief for burglars who can’t get into people’s homes at the moment.”

“No, I guess they’ll just have to show a bit of initiative and live up to the challenge of these trying times.”

And judging by the number of Phishing texts/emails recently, seems like quite a few have.