Office work, it's a dirty job but someone's got to do it and today that someone was me.
I managed to knock on the head a dozen or so 'pending' tasks that, in truth, were pending for far too long and I've still got another days worth to do. That said it was a productive day in which I covered everything from my Pension to ,quite literally, my two back teeth! (Honest, my new Dentist needed X-rays from my previous one to check them out).
I've finally obtained a web address for the Old Bakery web-site but I'm not releasing it just yet as there is nothing on it yet however rest assured that as soon as we are ready you'll be the first to know, followed very closely by Alison's and my Facebook pages. My Dad has been working hard on this site and I am yet to supply him with the remaining content as I still need to finish the renovations then photograph some of them for the site. We are getting there, just a little slower than I hoped which is the norm for such things, they never seem to actually be quicker do they?
The blessing, with regards to my paperwork, is that we have set the office up in a great spot overlooking the garden. Rather than having to stand on tippi-toe to look out of a tiny window at the odd big black Crow staring back at me from the expanse of a 20,000sqft grey supermarket roof I now look onto the green lawn and purple crocuses whilst Gold Finches, Long Tailed Tits and Doves feed just 3 metres away. It makes it so much more enjoyable to do those mundane tasks. That said it also looks out over the plot where my kids saw the Kestrel swoop down and savage a Blackbird and I'm still sick about that.............. That is, sick that I missed it!
872
Monday 28 February 2011
Friday 25 February 2011
THE DAY WE RECEIVED THE GOOD NEWS
8:30 in the morning I get up to find that I am now 51.
8:40 in the morning and two guys turn up to repair the nasty collapsing wall of our annex.
A little later Claire and I take a walk down to the village cemetary to check out possible family connections.
Way up in the sky two Euro-fighters are playing with their planes flipping them as if they were just paper darts.
So the scene is set for one of those unforgetable "Do you remember where you were when....." points in time.
We were researching the different graves to see if we could identify any ones with the Barnsdale name on them, as they were distant relatives that lived in our village in the 1800's or any of the previous owners of our house.
We were doing this to try to keep Claire's mind off the fact that she had to wait until next Tuesday to find out if she has passed her Degree. We were disturbed by Claires's mobile phone pinging in a text which is unusual in the village as we cannot normally get a signal. It alerted her to the fact that her exam results and course final pass / fail results had been published on the net. Well she urgently tried to get enough signal to get the website up on to her phone, it was really painfully sluggish and she had to stand in this cemetary with her hand in the air willing the signal on.
Finally the initial page uploaded then she had to do the same with the actual results page. There was another painful delay whilst she stood in this graveyard in desperate need to know if she had passed. Then it fully loaded....
and there it was, a pass, hooray! A 2:2 Degree with honors and Claire started to dance and hop right there which was perhaps, from an onlookers point of view a little odd, because it looked like she was dancing on someone's grave. It didn't help that we then hugged tight and now it gave the impression that after dancing on someone's grave she was unconsolably weeping over the same person. However there were no tears being shed just the normal expected rush of emotions as three and a half years worth of hard work culminate in this one moment of release.
After phoning her Mum we prepared to go back home and then very slowly almost totally on cue the two jet fighters dropped to just a few thousand feet and flew straight towards us, over our heads and away, a perfect 'fly by' for a perfect result. Claire was concerned that she was taking my 'thunder' from my birthday celebrations, but no, not at all, the truth is that it gave me the best birthday present of the day.
Claire will be the first to admit that she is dyslexic and was told by at least one teacher that she would never get to university if she couldn't spell Parliment. Well teacher, she still can't spell it but she still worked really hard DESPITE YOU and has not only been to University but has come out with a 2:2, so screw you!
The trouble is there are too many teachers that can only teach. Teaching in isolation does nothing, what a Student needs is inspiration and sadly there are far too few teachers who inspire which makes me wonder how much time is dedicated to this massively important skill at Teacher Training School.
You see I completely understand the challenge as I too am appaulling at spelling and I use the fantastic spell check system that comes as standard with most PCs but today I have ignored all the spell check prompts to show you how poor I am without it. You tell me how many of the miss spelt words meant that you didn't understand what I saying. I am dreadful at spelling but I can beat most of my family at scrabble, because I have the vocabulary but not neccessarilly the correct spelling. It is this handicap that Claire has struggled with too, getting marked down for spelling despite totally understanding the subject. She is a natural at empathy and very personable so she will make a fantastic Speech therapist, now all she has to do is try to get a job in this very tough climate. Good luck Claire, we love you.
Now back to me :)
We went to one of our favourite pub restaurants for both Claire's congratulatory meal and my Birthday meal. It is called The Pigs as it concentrates on Local Pork dishes and in conversation with Stephen I was reminded of my early days working with Butchers. Pigs supplied them with many of their pranks and if you are a vegitarian then I suggest you look away NOW.
You see in those days Butchers were the big guys in the shop, the Dons if you will and they generated an aura of fear to all those that entered their cutting rooms. They were the Lions waiting in their lair for the weak gazell cashier who inadvertantly wandered into their field thus becoming 'fair game'.
Mean trick #1
When cutting up the pigs they would cut off the ears keeping the bit of scalp in-between so the ears remained joined then if the butchers saw a cashier coming towards their room with a 'returned' product they would quickly all place the ears on their heads like hats. The cashier would walk into a room full of butchers all seemingly having grown piggy ears, naturally much grunting then followed and cashier left as quickly as possible.
Mean trick #2
A new butcher was also fair game and actually went through many initiations. I can remember that they always liked to get the apprentice to deal with the cists. Every now and again a pig would have, just like a human, a cist growing inside, sometimes green and sometimes yellow they vary in size from a pea to a small sprout. The guys, for they were always guys, explained to the new man that he needed training and so let him cut the cist out, except they told him that he needed to cut into it first. HE NEVER NEEDED TO CUT IN TO IT FIRST! As a matter of fact that was the last thing he should do as it would invariably burst shooting an eye-full of green or yellow gloop up towards the face. Disgusting.
Mean trick #3
Again if a poor cashier was coming up for a customer order they would purposely leave the item between two decapitated pigs heads which were positioned to look at her with their dead beady slit eyes as she approached.
Mean trick #4
(My favourite) This again would involve some prep-work and was probably the meanest of all. Firstly they would cut out a pigs eye, in its entirety and cleaned it up so it was clearly an eye ball. Then leaving it on the end of their block they would wait untill a cashier wandered away from the pack and entered their den. Then the butcher would discretely pick up the eye ball and start to fein a sneeze brewing, ah, ah, ah, then an almighty choooooooooo! In the very same nod of the head he would throw the eye ball down right in front of the cashier where it would stick (as it had a gloopy membrane) staring up at the girl, A really skilled protagonist could get the eye ball to stick to a wall! The Butcher would then follow this up with a wailing of pain screaming "my eye, my eye!" whilst firmly holding both hands over one of his eyes.
Reactions varied to this but most of the time there was a stunned shocked look on the victims face and just sometimes they got their 'reward' with the cashier running out of the room in hysterics.
Things are a lot more measured now and Supermarkets don't take in the carcasses and whilst it was really a form of bullying it was very funny. So to all those that know me hopefully you might understand why I am such a constant trickster and general pain as I was trained by the best!
Finally, as I said earlier, I have left all my spellings unchecked to demonstrate to you my and Claire's battle with Dyslexia even the bloody word itself is a challenge, I mean why choose such a hard word to spell for us poor blighters! So I have copied all the words that spell check has scolded me for and laid them out below, you may have seen more but these are very typical of the issues that we have. Yes, of course we try to learn them and over the years I have greatly improved but even having learned them just a week or so later the memory is confused and unsure again. So please those that judge a person because they cannot spell please take a look at the bigger picture, not how they spell but what it is they are actually saying then both you and the individual concerned can move on and add weave to the thick fabric that our separate threads create.
cemetary unforgetable honors unconsolably Parliment appaulling neccessarilly gazell inadvertantly capitated untill fein blighters
858
8:40 in the morning and two guys turn up to repair the nasty collapsing wall of our annex.
A little later Claire and I take a walk down to the village cemetary to check out possible family connections.
Way up in the sky two Euro-fighters are playing with their planes flipping them as if they were just paper darts.
So the scene is set for one of those unforgetable "Do you remember where you were when....." points in time.
We were researching the different graves to see if we could identify any ones with the Barnsdale name on them, as they were distant relatives that lived in our village in the 1800's or any of the previous owners of our house.
We were doing this to try to keep Claire's mind off the fact that she had to wait until next Tuesday to find out if she has passed her Degree. We were disturbed by Claires's mobile phone pinging in a text which is unusual in the village as we cannot normally get a signal. It alerted her to the fact that her exam results and course final pass / fail results had been published on the net. Well she urgently tried to get enough signal to get the website up on to her phone, it was really painfully sluggish and she had to stand in this cemetary with her hand in the air willing the signal on.
Finally the initial page uploaded then she had to do the same with the actual results page. There was another painful delay whilst she stood in this graveyard in desperate need to know if she had passed. Then it fully loaded....
and there it was, a pass, hooray! A 2:2 Degree with honors and Claire started to dance and hop right there which was perhaps, from an onlookers point of view a little odd, because it looked like she was dancing on someone's grave. It didn't help that we then hugged tight and now it gave the impression that after dancing on someone's grave she was unconsolably weeping over the same person. However there were no tears being shed just the normal expected rush of emotions as three and a half years worth of hard work culminate in this one moment of release.
After phoning her Mum we prepared to go back home and then very slowly almost totally on cue the two jet fighters dropped to just a few thousand feet and flew straight towards us, over our heads and away, a perfect 'fly by' for a perfect result. Claire was concerned that she was taking my 'thunder' from my birthday celebrations, but no, not at all, the truth is that it gave me the best birthday present of the day.
Claire will be the first to admit that she is dyslexic and was told by at least one teacher that she would never get to university if she couldn't spell Parliment. Well teacher, she still can't spell it but she still worked really hard DESPITE YOU and has not only been to University but has come out with a 2:2, so screw you!
The trouble is there are too many teachers that can only teach. Teaching in isolation does nothing, what a Student needs is inspiration and sadly there are far too few teachers who inspire which makes me wonder how much time is dedicated to this massively important skill at Teacher Training School.
You see I completely understand the challenge as I too am appaulling at spelling and I use the fantastic spell check system that comes as standard with most PCs but today I have ignored all the spell check prompts to show you how poor I am without it. You tell me how many of the miss spelt words meant that you didn't understand what I saying. I am dreadful at spelling but I can beat most of my family at scrabble, because I have the vocabulary but not neccessarilly the correct spelling. It is this handicap that Claire has struggled with too, getting marked down for spelling despite totally understanding the subject. She is a natural at empathy and very personable so she will make a fantastic Speech therapist, now all she has to do is try to get a job in this very tough climate. Good luck Claire, we love you.
Now back to me :)
We went to one of our favourite pub restaurants for both Claire's congratulatory meal and my Birthday meal. It is called The Pigs as it concentrates on Local Pork dishes and in conversation with Stephen I was reminded of my early days working with Butchers. Pigs supplied them with many of their pranks and if you are a vegitarian then I suggest you look away NOW.
You see in those days Butchers were the big guys in the shop, the Dons if you will and they generated an aura of fear to all those that entered their cutting rooms. They were the Lions waiting in their lair for the weak gazell cashier who inadvertantly wandered into their field thus becoming 'fair game'.
Mean trick #1
When cutting up the pigs they would cut off the ears keeping the bit of scalp in-between so the ears remained joined then if the butchers saw a cashier coming towards their room with a 'returned' product they would quickly all place the ears on their heads like hats. The cashier would walk into a room full of butchers all seemingly having grown piggy ears, naturally much grunting then followed and cashier left as quickly as possible.
Mean trick #2
A new butcher was also fair game and actually went through many initiations. I can remember that they always liked to get the apprentice to deal with the cists. Every now and again a pig would have, just like a human, a cist growing inside, sometimes green and sometimes yellow they vary in size from a pea to a small sprout. The guys, for they were always guys, explained to the new man that he needed training and so let him cut the cist out, except they told him that he needed to cut into it first. HE NEVER NEEDED TO CUT IN TO IT FIRST! As a matter of fact that was the last thing he should do as it would invariably burst shooting an eye-full of green or yellow gloop up towards the face. Disgusting.
Mean trick #3
Again if a poor cashier was coming up for a customer order they would purposely leave the item between two decapitated pigs heads which were positioned to look at her with their dead beady slit eyes as she approached.
Mean trick #4
(My favourite) This again would involve some prep-work and was probably the meanest of all. Firstly they would cut out a pigs eye, in its entirety and cleaned it up so it was clearly an eye ball. Then leaving it on the end of their block they would wait untill a cashier wandered away from the pack and entered their den. Then the butcher would discretely pick up the eye ball and start to fein a sneeze brewing, ah, ah, ah, then an almighty choooooooooo! In the very same nod of the head he would throw the eye ball down right in front of the cashier where it would stick (as it had a gloopy membrane) staring up at the girl, A really skilled protagonist could get the eye ball to stick to a wall! The Butcher would then follow this up with a wailing of pain screaming "my eye, my eye!" whilst firmly holding both hands over one of his eyes.
Reactions varied to this but most of the time there was a stunned shocked look on the victims face and just sometimes they got their 'reward' with the cashier running out of the room in hysterics.
Things are a lot more measured now and Supermarkets don't take in the carcasses and whilst it was really a form of bullying it was very funny. So to all those that know me hopefully you might understand why I am such a constant trickster and general pain as I was trained by the best!
Finally, as I said earlier, I have left all my spellings unchecked to demonstrate to you my and Claire's battle with Dyslexia even the bloody word itself is a challenge, I mean why choose such a hard word to spell for us poor blighters! So I have copied all the words that spell check has scolded me for and laid them out below, you may have seen more but these are very typical of the issues that we have. Yes, of course we try to learn them and over the years I have greatly improved but even having learned them just a week or so later the memory is confused and unsure again. So please those that judge a person because they cannot spell please take a look at the bigger picture, not how they spell but what it is they are actually saying then both you and the individual concerned can move on and add weave to the thick fabric that our separate threads create.
DYSLEXICS UNTIE!
(Sorry Dyslexics Unite!)
858
Thursday 24 February 2011
THE DAY THAT I STICK TO THE SUBJECT (REALLY!)
Nothing too off the wall today, just a summary of where we are at. I think I owe you that as looking back at my blogs I see that on occasions I may have wandered from the core subject.
We are getting a little behind schedule at the moment as we still have not started the en-suites which do require a lot of decoration and new furniture installed. We do have the go-ahead from the planning office to run with two B&B rooms but the building regulation people have asked for plans regarding them before giving their go-ahead.
We will have the main bedroom ready within the next few weeks but are still negotiating and organising the plumbers with regards to updating the very old bathroom. It does not help that the bathroom is in the eaves of the roof and installing a shower is a little complicated but we aim to get this room completed as soon as possible so we can start taking in guests.
The second bedroom requires two stud walls to be removed and another small room created within it for the en-suite before the plumbers can even start on it and then I would need to decorate it. All of this is awaiting the Building Regulation teams scrutinising and so is on hold until this has been given passed.
As we will effectively lose our Family bathroom we are also requesting permission from them to create a new bathroom in a small bedroom near ours and so we are also awaiting this to be granted.
All of the above has meant that I have been drawing up plans and working on the request to the Building regulation office over the last few days and having submitted this all we can do is wait for their response. It will take about 3 weeks for any of the plumbers to start work when we do get permission.
We aim to make the annex a holiday cottage and whilst the Building Regulation guys have no problem with this the Planning Office have stepped up to the mark and need an official application for us to do so. When and if we do get permission to start that project then we will have to decorate it in a very substantial way and this all makes it a much longer job.
So the red tape and logistics are slowing us down but we are not daunted by it all and I for one am very much up for the challenge. We have already achieved quite a lot and we really need to get these bathrooms started so the business can kick off.
So if you could all cross your fingers for us (having first put down any hot drinks) then we would really appreciate it. Until the next time...........
849
We are getting a little behind schedule at the moment as we still have not started the en-suites which do require a lot of decoration and new furniture installed. We do have the go-ahead from the planning office to run with two B&B rooms but the building regulation people have asked for plans regarding them before giving their go-ahead.
We will have the main bedroom ready within the next few weeks but are still negotiating and organising the plumbers with regards to updating the very old bathroom. It does not help that the bathroom is in the eaves of the roof and installing a shower is a little complicated but we aim to get this room completed as soon as possible so we can start taking in guests.
The second bedroom requires two stud walls to be removed and another small room created within it for the en-suite before the plumbers can even start on it and then I would need to decorate it. All of this is awaiting the Building Regulation teams scrutinising and so is on hold until this has been given passed.
As we will effectively lose our Family bathroom we are also requesting permission from them to create a new bathroom in a small bedroom near ours and so we are also awaiting this to be granted.
All of the above has meant that I have been drawing up plans and working on the request to the Building regulation office over the last few days and having submitted this all we can do is wait for their response. It will take about 3 weeks for any of the plumbers to start work when we do get permission.
We aim to make the annex a holiday cottage and whilst the Building Regulation guys have no problem with this the Planning Office have stepped up to the mark and need an official application for us to do so. When and if we do get permission to start that project then we will have to decorate it in a very substantial way and this all makes it a much longer job.
So the red tape and logistics are slowing us down but we are not daunted by it all and I for one am very much up for the challenge. We have already achieved quite a lot and we really need to get these bathrooms started so the business can kick off.
So if you could all cross your fingers for us (having first put down any hot drinks) then we would really appreciate it. Until the next time...........
849
Tuesday 22 February 2011
THE DAY OF THE RUDE AWAKENING
BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...................
........ was the blaring sound to which I was shocked into a state of semi awareness and awakened by the other morning. The sort of sound that penetrates the deepest of dreams instantly dispersing them from the darkness of the slumbered mind and immediately returning the soul back to the reality of life.
BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...................
The Fire Alarm shrieked into life at 5am and knowing that we had both guests and family in the house Alison and I jumped into action (the best you can with your eyes still shut) and headed to the landing where we met two of our friends, who are staying with us, I called out to my son in the room next door and he answered with a grunt and then we went searching the house for the cause of the alarm. There are five fire alarms in our maze of rooms and three of them were alarming but there was no sign of a fire. Having double checked I then started to try to disable the alarms as they were not going to stop of their own accord. Again, for peace of mind I re-checked the house, we had no item that could create carbon monoxide and the fridges all seemed fine so all we could do was head back to bed, to try to continue with the remaining nights sleep feeling cheated in the knowledge that we will never re-gain the sleep lost. As I passed my sons door, who had not appeared yet, I shouted out reassurance that all was OK and that we were not about to become toast and I was simply answered with a grunt of confirmation. He later explained that this nonchalance arose from his first year in Halls at University where the 'accidental' fire alarms out numbered the actual fire drills, I hope that this blasé approach disappears soon.
On a school geographical field work trip many years ago I was walking well ahead of the main group along a country lane when I saw just yards away from me a Little Owl, for those that are unaware that is actually the name of a small grey owl. It looked at me and I went for my little Instamatic Kodak camera, which my Mum had got by collecting tokens on weetabix boxes, but I realised that I had left it back in the dormitories. My class mates were slowly plodding nearer and nearer and I knew that our special moment in time would soon be gone. I stood frozen to the spot and the Owl motionless other than the swivelling of its head between me and the approaching hoard of gabbling youths. Then with a twist and a turn it was gone in a flash of grey, neither of us to meet ever again. I was gutted that I did not have my camera and as a result I tend to take a camera with me wherever I go not only to capture the wildlife encounters but also the landscapes that I feel that special, almost spiritual, but always uniquely special 'moment in time'.
One of my favourite birds is the Barn Owl and a few years ago I was lucky enough to have been given a present from my wife of a photo shoot in the British Wildlife centre in Surrey where I managed to do some close up photography of one.
The Holy grail though is to capture a Barn Owl out in the wild, I have not got the most powerful of camera lenses so I do rely very much on the element of surprise to be lucky enough to capture any wild creature.
It was a little far away and so I had to use the computer to enlarge it....
........ was the blaring sound to which I was shocked into a state of semi awareness and awakened by the other morning. The sort of sound that penetrates the deepest of dreams instantly dispersing them from the darkness of the slumbered mind and immediately returning the soul back to the reality of life.
BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...................
The Fire Alarm shrieked into life at 5am and knowing that we had both guests and family in the house Alison and I jumped into action (the best you can with your eyes still shut) and headed to the landing where we met two of our friends, who are staying with us, I called out to my son in the room next door and he answered with a grunt and then we went searching the house for the cause of the alarm. There are five fire alarms in our maze of rooms and three of them were alarming but there was no sign of a fire. Having double checked I then started to try to disable the alarms as they were not going to stop of their own accord. Again, for peace of mind I re-checked the house, we had no item that could create carbon monoxide and the fridges all seemed fine so all we could do was head back to bed, to try to continue with the remaining nights sleep feeling cheated in the knowledge that we will never re-gain the sleep lost. As I passed my sons door, who had not appeared yet, I shouted out reassurance that all was OK and that we were not about to become toast and I was simply answered with a grunt of confirmation. He later explained that this nonchalance arose from his first year in Halls at University where the 'accidental' fire alarms out numbered the actual fire drills, I hope that this blasé approach disappears soon.
The Holy grail though is to capture a Barn Owl out in the wild, I have not got the most powerful of camera lenses so I do rely very much on the element of surprise to be lucky enough to capture any wild creature.
The village has got Barn Owls all around it and this week I have had 5 days that I have seen a Barn Owl two of which were only feet above and in front of the car but this was whilst I was driving so no chance of a photo.
My friends were up here visiting us this weekend and so we went out to the brilliant coast where thousands of birds rest on their migration routes before flying on to their final destinations. On our way there my friend spotted this Barn Owl standing on a fence post just like the Little Owl all those years ago. They pulled the car over and I managed to take this photo. It is not an award winning shot but it represents that 'moment' in time that to me makes life so rewarding. The next day we were up at the Cley marshes and I managed to see another bird that I had never seen before but always dreamed of doing so, the Avocet, which is probably best known as the symbol for the RSPB and we managed to get close enough for a few photographs of this to 
It was a little far away and so I had to use the computer to enlarge it....
So tomorrow I shall get back to the job in hand but for now I can add a few more of those 'moments' to my collections of memories because when all is said and done that will be all that I have and frankly I will be relying on the photographs in print and perhaps a handful still etched in my mind.
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.
Bookends, Simon & Garfunkel
827
Saturday 19 February 2011
THE DAY THE CAT DID NOT SIT ON THE MAT
We believe that she shinned up our apple tree onto a shed, on to next doors workshop and was gone. This little madam does not do house calls normally preferring to snuggle down in the warmth of her chair (with cushion) next to the radiator in the kitchen or laying sprawled out in front of the glowing fire. Other favourites are her rucksack that she likes to sleep on and occasionally wake up and then give the bag a jolly good scratching or spreading herself across the narrow kitchen floor so you have to make an exaggerated step over her to get to the other end of the kitchen. In general she prefers the indoors only venturing out to watch the birds in any one of her several 'bird hides'.
So when Scribble disappeared it was a true concern for us because although it was only an hour we know that once over the wall she really struggles to find a way back into our garden. So Stephen and I started the hunt for the blessed ball of fur at about 2pm. This mainly consisted of us going out and about calling her name. Tammy would be a good cat name to call or maybe Blacky or Snowy, all good names that any one overhearing the call would say to themselves ahh they have probably lost their Dog or Cat, but no Claire being fairly young at the time of being given the responsibility of naming her cat chose............ Scribble!
"Scribble, here Scribble, come on girl", then a little louder as there is no response.... "Scribble, dinner, here girl, come on Scribble", and finally as desperation starts to ebb in we find ourselves shouting more than calling "SCRIBBLE, SCRIBBLE, HERE SCRIBBLE, COME ON GIRL, COME ON, SCRIBBLE HERE GIRL"
Now if I was a neighbour I'd imagine that they would sit in their houses saying to each other, "why is that guy shouting out the word scribble randomly? He's probably a bit simple in the head poor dear".
So obviously nothing, not a meow, absolutely nothing. Now I feel I know this cat and I was sure that she was not very close by and that she would not be home safe and sound that night so we started to spread out our search to a wider field, including the wider fields. We really pulled the stops out as 3pm became 4pm and slowly but inevitably the dusk inched in and 5pm became 6pm ad still no sign of her. I visited the Farm nearby where the farmer opened up his barns and let me have a good look around, "SCRIBBLE" I called, the Farmer gave me a look, "It's her name". I clarified.
"Why is she called that", he inquired.
Well in truth, I thought, I don't know why she is called Scribble. I don't think I ever got a satisfactory answer to the question when I originally asked her why she wanted to call it Scribble, you'd think that I might have pursued the question but probably for an easy life I think that I just accepted it. In hindsight it was decided upon by my daughter in what seemed like an instant,
"What are you going to call you cat then Claire?"
Pause for though,
"Scribble" she finally replied. I think it was a bit like those names you have to come up with for Pub quizzes. You knew well in advance that you were going to the quiz and who was going to be in your group but you completely forget that you need a name until the guy with the pen is waiting by the flip chart hassling you for the teams name.
"Can I have your teams name please" and all of a sudden you have the weight of the whole world on your shoulders as you try to come up with the most clever name.
"Gin'll Fix It", someone suggests, "The Old Gits" a lacklustre imagination puts forward, then the team start blurting one after another out like popcorn popping in the pan....
"The famous five" (because they are the only group with five as all the the others have six people and no one knows where Ed has got to), "The no hoper's", "The lost souls", "Away with the fairies", The weakest link", then it'll twist a bit as they realise they can make it more difficult for the person announcing the score updates...
"The losers", "Ken Dodd's dad's dog's dead" or "Wait a minute I need a wee" or "The Woozy Bankers" or "Llareggub" which we have used being the name of the Welsh village in Dylan Thomas's Undermilk Wood but ruder when spelt backwards and to be really mean "llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwrndrobwillantysillogogogoch train spotting society".
This normally really gets the team in fits of giggles until they realise that they have to give their team name in now and they shout out in a panic "The Bend it like Beckhams" and in an instant all their potential kudos has dissolved away and they are doomed to 5th place. Well I think that is why Claire blurted out "Scribble" as her new cats name there was just nothing else there to supersede that thought.
So in answer to the Farmer I just said "My daughter came up with it" and we left it there.
We carried on walking about the village calling her name late into the evening, but not a sausage. Eventually having lost the best part of my working day we had to concede that we were meowing up the wrong tree and gave up.
The next morning she had not returned and so I and Alison went on another walk around the village humiliating ourselves by shouting out Scribbles name, nothing. At this point Alison had to work and I had to collect Claire from University so we could only hope that her cat returned soon as Claire would be devastated otherwise. Alison was to phone me if the cat turned up. Well we drove across to Peterborough where I was to meet Claire then started home hoping to receive a good news call, still nothing. We stopped for lunch and I broke the bad news to Claire over an all you can eat Pizza Hut meal deal (the best sort). Obviously this put a bit of a damper on the homecoming and things were a little glum for the remainder of the journey.
We got home at about 3-4pm and Scribble had now been 'lost' for well over 24hours, she had never been away so long and things were looking black now. Claire sneaked out of the house to make some attempts to find her and whilst I knew this would make her feel that at least she tried I knew that she was now clutching at straws. However I felt I was ready to be humiliated again and followed her out to the street to start shouting that now quite embarrassing name. I went out of the back gate to see where Claire had got to, only to find her walking back towards the house with a little black and white Scribble clutched firmly in her arms. Well I was amazed. "Where did you find her?" I asked, "I just called her name and saw a cat run across the road, so I went around the corner and there she was" After all those hours looking and sounding like an idiot Claire returns home calls once or twice and the little bitch comes running to her like a flaming homing pigeon!
Later on in doors we conducted a test. Stephen and I called Scribble to beckon her over to us and an ear merely twitched in our direction.Then Claire hid in the next room and she called the cat, quick as a flash she run to her, well no wonder we never got her as clearly we were on a hiding to nothing from the start. WOMEN!
784
Tuesday 15 February 2011
THE DAY IN WHICH I MOWED THE LAWN AND FOUND THAT I HAD HAD A CLOSE SHAVE.
Yesterday I cut my hair and today I cut the lawn. Several years ago I got sick of sweating under my mop of hair and started to get the barbers to cut it a lot shorter. Sadly I was the only person that liked this new style, but as I was the one that was suffering from sweat-head then frankly my dear I didn't give a damn. So several hair cuts later it dawned on me that I was paying a barber to shave my head with a gadget that I could buy at Argos. So I bought it from Argos and have been happily shaving my bonce ever since and so far the saving has been in the hundreds of pounds. I know most of my family think it makes me look like a thug but that is not a bad thing if other thugs think I look hard too. Over the last few months I trialled letting it grow and whilst my family preferred it (not Alison though who it appears had got used to the 'new' look) I hated it so yesterday I Cut it back again, sorry Mum.
Today the lawn got the cold steel treatment. Whilst the grass was not really deep it was badly cut by my hover-mower in November and it looked a mess. My parents and brother gave me a mower as a present and so I took the new mower out on to the lawn to see what it could do. It did great and now the unsightly tufts have all evened out, however the lawn is riddled with moss and I need to treat it to bring it up to its best.
I then returned and as I walked through the living room Stephen stopped me and asked to look at my head. Well I assumed I had bits of grass caught in my hair and simply wiped my head off. He still insisted that I show him my head, particularly the back of it so I conceded to his request. "Noooooooo", he said dramatically, whipping himself up out of his comfy sofa and onto his feet as if a red hot poker had just shot up from the cushions below. "No way, what have you done?!".
Now the last time anyone had acted in this way and uttered the self same words must have been back in the late 70's. I can remember it really clearly, I was in a Store in Leamington Spa (working) where I was discussing something with a colleague. I had been building a display which involved the use of a knife to cut the boxes appropriately. In the 80's the 'Safety knife' was invented, this had a retractable blade so you couldn't cut yourself, idiot proof, unfortunately the 80's hadn't happened yet and there was I (the definition of 'an idiot') standing there with my knife (blade most definitely not retractable) firmly in my hand. What I didn't comprehend was that the said hand was up in front of my jaw as I spoke. then the person talking to me said.... "No way, what have you done?!". Closely followed by "get the knife away from your lip", but it was too late as I had unwittingly been placing the knife's blade against my lower lip and as I pulled it away there was a gush of rich red blood pouring down my chin as my lips parted like the red (very red) sea. Lips, it seems, have quite a tension on them and this lip split in two with both sides enthusiastically going their separate ways. It was not a pleasant feeling and I have to confess to feeling quite faint. I'm not bad with blood normally but I am a lot better if it is someone else's. About 10 years ago in the Brighton store a young child was running around like a child that was not under the control of it's parent, oh yes that's right, he wasn't under the control of his parent, 'cause his mum was too busy nattering to a friend. Anyway the managers office opened immediately out on to the main shop floor where all the great unwashed did their shopping and just as I opened the door this lad run into the walking stick of a poor elderly and very frail lady. Well she went down with a thud, her head hitting the floor hard, I rushed over to her but like my lip the skin on the skull is very taught and it split open and blood started to seep out at a constant rate of supply. I stuck both my hands under the head to lift her and also to try to stem the blood flow. A colleague brought some tissue paper to me and whilst I held this an ambulance was called and the in-store first aider too. This person was our Personnel Manager and had recently passed her St Johns first aid course so even though calls for a 'doctor in the building' came to nothing I felt she would be by my side at any moment. I sat on the floor next to the managers office with this poor lady bleeding through all the compression that I could give her, the blood, as it always does, seemed twice the amount than it probably really was. It trickled through my fingers and spread on to the floor. Then in the distance I saw her, at last my first aider was on her way. As she approached I felt there was something not quite right about her, the nearer she got to us the paler she seemed to become. With each and every step towards the scene of the accident her skin tone's hue became more faint and a definite ill pallor befell her. She was, to give her fair due, coming with some haste, she got nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and paler and paler and as she came along side me she mumbled "I'm sorry I can't handle blood!" and swiftly disappeared into the managers office not to be seen again until I was finally relieved by the paramedics. My first aider sat in the managers office feeling every inch nauseous at the thought of all that blood. Now I feel obliged to do what all those fly on the wall documentaries do and put the following words on the screen titles...The old lady made a full recovery from her injuries - honestly.
So, yes, Stephen jumps up and says "No way, what have you done?!" then, rather uncharitably I thought, started to laugh and laugh. "You're bald!" he interjected, "you oaf you've shaved a whole chunk of your hair off" and continued to laugh very much at my expense.
Well I do recall that whilst cutting my hair yesterday that the long hair was putting up a good fight and in the course of the Infractions the plastic devise that sets the cut depth jumped off the machine and where I thought I had 'pulled up' just in time the evidence now suggested otherwise! Ooops. So now I have a pleasant little 'air-strip where you could land a microlight quite comfortably on the back of me head. I might have to wear a hat out for a few weeks until things recover a little! Stephen kindly took a photo of the disaster to show me then promptly sent a copy to his sister so she too could share the joke, we are a very supportive family.
759
Today the lawn got the cold steel treatment. Whilst the grass was not really deep it was badly cut by my hover-mower in November and it looked a mess. My parents and brother gave me a mower as a present and so I took the new mower out on to the lawn to see what it could do. It did great and now the unsightly tufts have all evened out, however the lawn is riddled with moss and I need to treat it to bring it up to its best.
I then returned and as I walked through the living room Stephen stopped me and asked to look at my head. Well I assumed I had bits of grass caught in my hair and simply wiped my head off. He still insisted that I show him my head, particularly the back of it so I conceded to his request. "Noooooooo", he said dramatically, whipping himself up out of his comfy sofa and onto his feet as if a red hot poker had just shot up from the cushions below. "No way, what have you done?!".
Now the last time anyone had acted in this way and uttered the self same words must have been back in the late 70's. I can remember it really clearly, I was in a Store in Leamington Spa (working) where I was discussing something with a colleague. I had been building a display which involved the use of a knife to cut the boxes appropriately. In the 80's the 'Safety knife' was invented, this had a retractable blade so you couldn't cut yourself, idiot proof, unfortunately the 80's hadn't happened yet and there was I (the definition of 'an idiot') standing there with my knife (blade most definitely not retractable) firmly in my hand. What I didn't comprehend was that the said hand was up in front of my jaw as I spoke. then the person talking to me said.... "No way, what have you done?!". Closely followed by "get the knife away from your lip", but it was too late as I had unwittingly been placing the knife's blade against my lower lip and as I pulled it away there was a gush of rich red blood pouring down my chin as my lips parted like the red (very red) sea. Lips, it seems, have quite a tension on them and this lip split in two with both sides enthusiastically going their separate ways. It was not a pleasant feeling and I have to confess to feeling quite faint. I'm not bad with blood normally but I am a lot better if it is someone else's. About 10 years ago in the Brighton store a young child was running around like a child that was not under the control of it's parent, oh yes that's right, he wasn't under the control of his parent, 'cause his mum was too busy nattering to a friend. Anyway the managers office opened immediately out on to the main shop floor where all the great unwashed did their shopping and just as I opened the door this lad run into the walking stick of a poor elderly and very frail lady. Well she went down with a thud, her head hitting the floor hard, I rushed over to her but like my lip the skin on the skull is very taught and it split open and blood started to seep out at a constant rate of supply. I stuck both my hands under the head to lift her and also to try to stem the blood flow. A colleague brought some tissue paper to me and whilst I held this an ambulance was called and the in-store first aider too. This person was our Personnel Manager and had recently passed her St Johns first aid course so even though calls for a 'doctor in the building' came to nothing I felt she would be by my side at any moment. I sat on the floor next to the managers office with this poor lady bleeding through all the compression that I could give her, the blood, as it always does, seemed twice the amount than it probably really was. It trickled through my fingers and spread on to the floor. Then in the distance I saw her, at last my first aider was on her way. As she approached I felt there was something not quite right about her, the nearer she got to us the paler she seemed to become. With each and every step towards the scene of the accident her skin tone's hue became more faint and a definite ill pallor befell her. She was, to give her fair due, coming with some haste, she got nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and paler and paler and as she came along side me she mumbled "I'm sorry I can't handle blood!" and swiftly disappeared into the managers office not to be seen again until I was finally relieved by the paramedics. My first aider sat in the managers office feeling every inch nauseous at the thought of all that blood. Now I feel obliged to do what all those fly on the wall documentaries do and put the following words on the screen titles...The old lady made a full recovery from her injuries - honestly.
So, yes, Stephen jumps up and says "No way, what have you done?!" then, rather uncharitably I thought, started to laugh and laugh. "You're bald!" he interjected, "you oaf you've shaved a whole chunk of your hair off" and continued to laugh very much at my expense.
Well I do recall that whilst cutting my hair yesterday that the long hair was putting up a good fight and in the course of the Infractions the plastic devise that sets the cut depth jumped off the machine and where I thought I had 'pulled up' just in time the evidence now suggested otherwise! Ooops. So now I have a pleasant little 'air-strip where you could land a microlight quite comfortably on the back of me head. I might have to wear a hat out for a few weeks until things recover a little! Stephen kindly took a photo of the disaster to show me then promptly sent a copy to his sister so she too could share the joke, we are a very supportive family.
759
Saturday 12 February 2011
THE DAYS OF PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES
Planes
So we found this place eliminating all such threats, admittedly we have since discovered a small airstrip on the edge of the village but have never seen anything take off or land and less than 2 miles away there is a disused airport that I missed, honestly the place is riddled with the things. Well the thing is I think we get the best of both worlds now as I love watching the odd Tornado or Euro-fighter Typhoon come blasting across the sky. Sometimes they go really slowly, so slow that you wonder how they stay up there, so slow that despite my children's protestations I have to act on the urge to wave to them. I don't know why the kids are embarrassed, they are unlikely to ever meet the pilots and anyway when I was young my grandparents used to take me to Kings Cross to see the Steam trains and we always waved to them. The other day we had two American F-15 Jets flying in tight circles just north of the village. The circles were as tight as they could fly and it looked like they were playing cat & mouse, the G force must have been extraordinary, they continued for about 10 cycles then shot off into the distance. Who needs air shows?
Trains
As Amsterdam has canals so Norfolk has private railway lines. We are surrounded by 5 private railways including steam locomotives, diesel and electric. Four of these lines plan to link up and make one large circle that would go right around the north central area and also connecting to the Main line too. See the attached link:
http://www.norfolk-orbital-railway.co.uk/
Mr Beeching destroyed the railway infrastructure and local preservation societies have been struggling to rebuild them piece·meal ever since. So if they can pull this off then it will be one in the eye for the dead guy!
Automobiles
There are more bicycles in Amsterdam than there are cars in Norfolk. According to Wikipedia there are about 700,000 bicycles in the city. Each year, about 100,000 of them are stolen and 25,000 end up in the canals.
Well truth be told I have absolutely no idea how many cars there are in Norfolk but I just had to make the title of today's blog a bit cooler as it really should have been THE DAYS OF PLANES, TRAINS AND CHURCHES. You see that as I travel around the area I have been interested in the amount of ruined churches, they too seem to be everywhere. I can think of at least 6 such ruins that I have seen and, once again, we have our very own ruin in the village. If it was not for the rather spooky tentacles of Ivy roots climbing the tall church tower looking like some kind of Salvador Dalà designed organ pipes the tower itself would have fallen down too.
FACT: There are more Churches in Norfolk than in the whole of the rest of Great Britian, some 800 of which are medieval! Well I guess that there is an argument that proportionally there would also be a lot more ruined churches here. However my gut instinct (the same one that makes me wave to jet fighter pilots) tells me that the Norfolk builders in days of old were, well, were a bit crap.
I mean for the most part they were only bungalows, tall bungalows but just one storey buildings none the less. No floors to worry about, no lavatories (the congregation should have had a wizz before going to church), no kitchens and no bedrooms, I mean it was the easiest thing to design in the world. So it has to have been the builders which is a little frustrating really because if you ask the Monty Python team you will find out that one of the MANY things that the Romans did for us was give us the best specification for both concrete and mortar. They just had to make the sticky stuff into a box shape and stick a bit of wood on top with a tower on the end and if possible point it towards Jerusalem to boot. How hard can it be?
They must have been a bit like the 'cable guy' today, paid by how many they could knock up, if they did a church a bit quick they could get a couple of chapels done before tea. There is a village not too far away called Reepham that had 3 churches at one time. Once again one of them adds to the tally of quite literally 'God forsaken churches' but the other two are still standing (see left) and there is just about a yard (meter) between the two buildings. If both churches had Harvest festival at the same time there would have been a hell of a cacophony of clashing harmonies and imagine the who-har if one church is having a wedding whilst the other a funeral. Even worse the two get confused and they start singing "here comes the Bride all white and died" as the realisation dawns on them that they have the stiff and not the bride at all!
If you were Scottish you could arrange you wedding the same time and day as another couple in the other church and then not have to pay the choir or organist just accept the hymns that next door are having and simply join in. You could even save on the Bell ringers, just run out quickly when you hear them start for the other couple. It would probably be pushing it to try to squeeze into view in the back of their photo shoot, but hay, in for a penny in for a pound!
So my words of wisdom to you are DON'T BUY A CONVERTED CHURCH because it appears to be NFN that churches around here and perhaps along with Christianity were not given a very long shelf life and now many are past their use by date!
731
731
Thursday 10 February 2011
THE DAYS WERE LONG BUT THE REWARD LASTS EVEN LONGER
Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential.
Winston Churchill.
And so, after many weeks with a lot of interrupted days and lots of challenges, the first big hurdle has been jumped and the Kitchen is done. The nuclear bunker removed and a new shiny practical kitchen has replaced it.
I am not the strongest at the moment nor the most intelligent but I will always give my best effort to anything I do.
The following photographs are your reward for bothering to follow this blog at all and are my memory as time fades the pictures in my mind to mere, vague, outlines of the transition from the old to the new. Both I and Alison are really chuffed with the result and judging from the way she lolls around in the middle of the floor (not Alison), the cat likes it too.
I hope that our handy work will last for a decade or so and that working in this kitchen will not feel like a chore but will be a joy as it will be my main place of work.
I have nothing else to add and I hope that the photographs will say the rest......
706
Tuesday 8 February 2011
THE DAY WE WERE CAPTIVATED BY STORIES OF TIMES PAST
A house of this age is, by its very nature, a living museum. Every extension was put there for a specific reason and even the garden has evolved from the way the plot was worked. There is a substantial hook hanging from the ceiling right above where I now cook and in front of the back door. This is something I have seen in old shops that I have worked in before and is the hook that a carcass of meat would be left to 'hang' from until it was ready to be butchered. Now that carcass would be right in the way if we used it for the same purpose today but the back door was not in the same place previously and the meat would have been hanging in a cool dark area of the house when it was put there. Similarly there is a Well just outside the back door. It has a metal cover now but again it is not in the best position now. However in looking at the old maps we can see that the well would originally have been right in the centre of a small courtyard, a typical position. In short the inconsistencies and incongruities that these structural phenomena throw up actually tell a story of the house itself.
As the bricks and mortar write their stories into history they are supported and enhanced by the stories that the recorded documentation unveils. Generally speaking this is the story of the people and the lives of those that lived in the houses and the story of The Late Mrs.Mary Jary is a great example.
Mary married a Mr Muskett in 1812 at the age of 20 and lived in a fine country estate house at Intwood just south west of Norwich. She would have lived a fine life with the full assortment of maids, stable hands, gardeners and butlers, this was the real thing and Mary should have been fairly content with her lot. However Mary had started to get to know her next door neighbour and apple carts were about to get upset. For next door was the estate of Richard Hanbury Gurney (known as Dick) whom owned the Keswick estate. All that separated these two grand houses was several fields. Now the events that followed caused a bill for divorce to be heard in the House of Lords and it is from this transcript that some quotes are taken to assist this story.
It would appear that by 1817 the five year itch had hit young Mary and she started to meet Dick more than she ought. Let me tell you a little about Dick. He was a Banker, actually it was his families bank and recently Michael Portillo visited the old building in Norwich on his Great train journeys series. He was a Quaker and an MP for which it was said that he spent £80,000 on his election campaign. Mary started to make her weekly Pony Chaise trips to Norwich detour a mile or two where she met Dick. The Nursery Maid was with her and gave evidence in the divorce suit explaining that they met on the way to Norwich, him arriving on his horse. Mary then disembarked from her Pony Chaise and Dick dismounted from his horse whence they both walked the several miles to Norwich together. The counsel then asked in the Divorce court...
"How far did they use to walk together?"
The Maid replied,
"'Till they nearly reached Norwich; then she got into the Pony Chaise again, and he mounted his Horse again."
"Then they parted?"
"Yes."
The Maid then answered more questions about Mary and Dick meeting up which they did on several walks in what she called the plantations between the two estates. This was investigated further and it came to light that they separated themselves from the Maid and went deeper into the plantations. However the Maid could not resist and she followed them once giving the following evidence to the questions posed...
"They separated themselves from me."
"Where did they go to?"
"Into a Straw Hut."
"When they were in that Straw Hut, could you see them?"
"No."
"Was there a Seat in that Straw Hut?"
"Yes."
"A long Seat?"
"Yes."
"How long were they in that Straw Hut, out of your Sight?"
"About Half an Hour."
"When they came back again, did you observe any thing respecting your Mistress; how did her Countenance look?"
"She looked warm." (Now no smirking at the back there!)
"Did you observe any thing respecting her Bonnet?"
"Yes, it was bent down in front."
"Did you tell her of it?"
"Yes."
"What did she do?"
"She straightened it directly."
"When they came out of the Straw Hut-you have told me about her Dress-did you observe any thing about Mr. Gurney's Dress?"
"Yes, there was a little Dirt on the Back of his Coat."
Well I think that told a picture, remember that this is the House of Lords, so I am sure that they not only understood the suggestions here but half of them had probably been there and done that!
In the October Mr Muskett found out about the secret meetings and there was much gnashing of teeth with the end result that Mary was packed off to her fathers (a sort of send the faulty goods back to where you got them) and she never returned to their house again. Dick however also did not see her for four years but then started to meet her again and send secret letters via her Fathers groom and after a while a certain letter was delivered that caused some anguish, the court case continues....
"Did she appear in a distressed State?"
"Yes, she appeared uncomfortable."
"Did you deliver the Letter to Mr. Gurney?"
"Yes."
"Did he give you any Message?"
"He gave me a Letter."
"Did he state to you at that Time any thing respecting her ; what he should do?"
"Yes ; he asked me how she did, and I told him that she appeared very uncomfortable ; and he said he knew all about it, for she was with Child by him, and it was his Wish that he should take her away."
"How soon after that did she leave her Father's House?"
"About Seven or Eight Days ; or something of that."
"Did she go with the Knowledge of the Family, or privately?"
"She went away without any Knowledge of the Family."
"Did she go away in the Night, without the Family knowing when she went?"
"Yes."
Mr Gurney's mothers Coachman went to the Jary estate and surreptitiously collected Mary on the stroke of midnight taking her down to London stopping for fresh horses at Long Stratton. They then lived as man and wife in the Hanover Hotel, Hanover Square (as witnessed by the Hotel Proprietress and Mr Gurneys servant).
"Did you attend upon your Master?"
"Yes."
"Had they only One Bed?"
"There was only One Bed in the Apartments; there were Three Rooms, but only One Bed-room."
"Did they occupy that Bed-room?"
"Yes."
Mr Muskett had already successfully sued for Action for Criminal Conversation against Mr. Gurney proving that the child, also called Mary Jary was not his and won £2,000 compensation. It was Mr Gurney that pushing to get this divorce through the Lords, which he finally achieved allowing him to marry Mary and they moved to a new estate that he had bought at Thickthorn Hall just under 5 miles from the Muskett household.
It is believed that they lived happily everafter, BUT.....
Mary Jary the daughter clearly had learnt a lot from her mother and history was doomed to repeat itself.
This child, born from an adulterous love affair, married a cousin from the same family name a John GURNEY in 1846 when she was just 17 years old. Nine years later they had a baby boy which they named Richard Hanbury Joseph Gurney after her adulterous father and then in 1860 she got the 14 year itch (an itchy family this) and despite being filthy rich her love and lust got the better of her and she ran off with the footman!
This time the scandal was even bigger, it was the talk of the Town, London Town and there was even a broad sheet ballad called The Blooming Lady and the Lucky Footman! The chorus went :
She has five hundred thousand pounds
One of the richest in the land,
And she from her husband bolted,
With her fancy servant man.
This Lady was running out on one of the richest bankers in Britain for a groom and no one could understand why. Well on the face of it I too thought this but Claire who has done most of the research on this story has found a remarkable letter written by this Mary Jary in defence of her decision.
The letter is very, very long and the link is below, so give yourself half an hour or so to read it but do read it as I have not read such an eloquent and intelligent letter written with such passion, logic and heart. I could not possibly paraphrase the letter nor summarise it as it has to be read in its entirety to gain a full understanding of her reasoning's. All I will say is that this Lady was 100 years ahead of her time and that there are still dogmas and social etiquettes that are very pertinent even today in which many people feel they have been trapped. Also it is worth noting the complete respect that this Lady had for her Mother and Father (Dick and Mary) both of which appeared to have ended up devoted to her.
The Link;
http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=9oYrAAAAMAAJ&printsec=frontcover&dq=mary+jary+norfolk+gurney&hl=en&ei=c-ZRTZbmFs61hAeawNTkCA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=8&ved=0CEsQ6AEwBw#v=onepage&q&f=false
or search for ; Mrs Gurney's apology
So I come back to John Pegg the Miller and the purchase of the Old Bakery from Mrs Mary Jary's estate on her death in 1849. Well sometimes you investigate and dig out these great stories only to find that they come to nothing. It is true that at the time these sagas were unravelling there was a Mary Jary living across the road from our building with, strangely enough, her daughter also called Mary Jary. It is true that she owned the Old Bakery and quite a lot of property around this village but most of the dates suggest that these two ladies were not the same as the two mentioned above. An unusual name yes but so often close families simply repeated old names.
OK so this tale of scandal and love may have no connection to our own story and journey but as they say, "Never let the facts get in the way of a good story."
692
Monday 7 February 2011
THE DAY THAT WE OPENED A TIME CAPSULE AND MADE A BED
Myself and Claire have an interest in history and love to watch things like "Who Do You Think You Are" and "Time Team" so you can imagine how interesting we find it living in a house where distant cousins of ours lived next door 156 years ago. We have found out quite a lot about the man that owned our property (The Old Bakery) at the time that they lived next door. The Bakery was owned by John Pegg who was the Miller and the 'footprint' of the property was about three times larger than it is now encompassing a Windmill, Granary, Stables, Pightle (which we understand is a NFN word for a croft) and several cottages. It appears that being a Miller paid very well. He actually started milling from a windmill that he owned right across the road from here and when he had problems with that one he bought this property and built a Windmill here which at the time was a revolutionary windmill in that only the very top of the mill moved around allowing the brick structure to be a lot taller like the Dutch ones.
We also have two documents which appear to be very, very early deeds of the property going back to 1746. They are old and frail documents but can just still be read. However we had no other documents other than a few as a result of our recent purchase and info on the last two occupiers. Well you cannot imagine the glee that we felt when the Solicitors forwarded all the 'redundant' records that they had concerning this property. A big fat envelope arrived crammed full of old Deeds etc. So today Myself, Claire, Alison and not forgetting Scribble, the cat, gathered in the Dining room for a ceremonial examination and reading of this treasure trove.
We went through many documents with Alison scanning through them mumbling key words, pausing, then summarising them as a notary might. You see myself and Claire are not blessed with the ability to read fast and whilst sitting on the edge of our seats in anticipation at what Alison may reveal at any moment we prefer the more visual aids to learning history, the Discovery Channel or, as today, the maps and the internet interaction. In short, a hands on approach, we are not embarrassed by this as Churchill himself was of the same mind, "I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught". I'll drink to that Winston!
So there we are picking up little snippets of info about the Bakery and bit by bit delving deeper and deeper into the history of the place as we get further into the pile. Eventually we find the first document with a William Pegg's signature on it and quickly establish that he is the son of John, then a few more documents later reveal John Pegg's signature on a document that is 160 years old. Brilliant. There is only one more document in this package which is the PARTICULARS AND CONDITIONS OF SALE auction catalogue for the sale of The Bakery premises (which John Pegg bought) in 1849 from the estate of THE LATE MRS. MARY JARY.
On the face of it an interesting document, it showed a pencilled Lot IV underlined at the top of the brochure, probably by John Pegg himself so he knew what he was bidding for. The back of the document has the post sale agreed bid and signatures binding the deal. It shows that he bought it for £480 and made a deposit on that day, Monday 21st of May 1849, of £98. This is the stuff Claire and I love, the touchy, feely stuff where you can even smell how old it is.
The problem with things like this is that now we wanted to know who is Mary Jary and where did she come from? So, you've guessed it, boot up the computer, wake up Mr Google and start a new search. You see we just can't help ourselves, we just got to know! Well....... what an interesting story that one has batted back to us.
It turns out that little Mrs Mary Jary died at 57 years of age and had been a source of scandal many years before. The more myself and Claire delved, the better the scandal and it soon started to have the makings of a Jane Austen novel, bigger and better than Pride and Prejudice any day, well perhaps. It got so interesting and involved that it is just too late in the evening to complete this blog now, so my friends tune in tomorrow for the full story of the Late Mrs Jary and the legacy of her dynasty.
The rest of the day was spent putting gripper rods onto the main guest bedroom floor in preparation for the carpet man, trying to remove a built in sink (which put up a gallant fight which would impress Excalibur itself) and last of all (but ABSOLUTELY NOT LEAST of all) the taking upstairs and making of the Super-king Brass Bedstead. The cast iron was heavy and a pain to drag up the narrow stairs and corridor to the bedroom, but the mattress well she was our nemesis. This dead weight was anything but dead. Stephen and I had to take a mattress that is 6' x 6' up a stairwell where at points the thing acted like a stubborn old mule refusing to budge. If it were a mule and I had a carrot I wouldn't like to tell where I may have stuffed it! We shoved, we pulled, we heaved, we hoed, we even tied a little banging of heads and inch by slow painful inch we cajoled this oversized beast to the door of the bedroom. At which point we then had to 'persuade' the 6' tall wedge of springs and cloth to breath in and duck down as the bedroom door is just 5' something. Mattress don't bend. Sure they are springy and all that, but they are not keen in bowing or bending and once again myself and Stephen found ourselves puffing and panting, squeezing and wheezing, until the thing Popped into the room with the enthusiasm of one of those snakes in a can that fire out at you when you unwittingly take the lid off. I have to say this is some bed and whilst you may need a step ladder to get up on to it you really do need to come and stay with us just for the comfort of the bed, talking of which I'm off to my bed now, so sleep tight and don't forget to check out the tales tomorrow of Mary Jary who, from all accounts was quite contrary!
681
We also have two documents which appear to be very, very early deeds of the property going back to 1746. They are old and frail documents but can just still be read. However we had no other documents other than a few as a result of our recent purchase and info on the last two occupiers. Well you cannot imagine the glee that we felt when the Solicitors forwarded all the 'redundant' records that they had concerning this property. A big fat envelope arrived crammed full of old Deeds etc. So today Myself, Claire, Alison and not forgetting Scribble, the cat, gathered in the Dining room for a ceremonial examination and reading of this treasure trove.
We went through many documents with Alison scanning through them mumbling key words, pausing, then summarising them as a notary might. You see myself and Claire are not blessed with the ability to read fast and whilst sitting on the edge of our seats in anticipation at what Alison may reveal at any moment we prefer the more visual aids to learning history, the Discovery Channel or, as today, the maps and the internet interaction. In short, a hands on approach, we are not embarrassed by this as Churchill himself was of the same mind, "I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught". I'll drink to that Winston!
So there we are picking up little snippets of info about the Bakery and bit by bit delving deeper and deeper into the history of the place as we get further into the pile. Eventually we find the first document with a William Pegg's signature on it and quickly establish that he is the son of John, then a few more documents later reveal John Pegg's signature on a document that is 160 years old. Brilliant. There is only one more document in this package which is the PARTICULARS AND CONDITIONS OF SALE auction catalogue for the sale of The Bakery premises (which John Pegg bought) in 1849 from the estate of THE LATE MRS. MARY JARY.
The problem with things like this is that now we wanted to know who is Mary Jary and where did she come from? So, you've guessed it, boot up the computer, wake up Mr Google and start a new search. You see we just can't help ourselves, we just got to know! Well....... what an interesting story that one has batted back to us.
It turns out that little Mrs Mary Jary died at 57 years of age and had been a source of scandal many years before. The more myself and Claire delved, the better the scandal and it soon started to have the makings of a Jane Austen novel, bigger and better than Pride and Prejudice any day, well perhaps. It got so interesting and involved that it is just too late in the evening to complete this blog now, so my friends tune in tomorrow for the full story of the Late Mrs Jary and the legacy of her dynasty.
The rest of the day was spent putting gripper rods onto the main guest bedroom floor in preparation for the carpet man, trying to remove a built in sink (which put up a gallant fight which would impress Excalibur itself) and last of all (but ABSOLUTELY NOT LEAST of all) the taking upstairs and making of the Super-king Brass Bedstead. The cast iron was heavy and a pain to drag up the narrow stairs and corridor to the bedroom, but the mattress well she was our nemesis. This dead weight was anything but dead. Stephen and I had to take a mattress that is 6' x 6' up a stairwell where at points the thing acted like a stubborn old mule refusing to budge. If it were a mule and I had a carrot I wouldn't like to tell where I may have stuffed it! We shoved, we pulled, we heaved, we hoed, we even tied a little banging of heads and inch by slow painful inch we cajoled this oversized beast to the door of the bedroom. At which point we then had to 'persuade' the 6' tall wedge of springs and cloth to breath in and duck down as the bedroom door is just 5' something. Mattress don't bend. Sure they are springy and all that, but they are not keen in bowing or bending and once again myself and Stephen found ourselves puffing and panting, squeezing and wheezing, until the thing Popped into the room with the enthusiasm of one of those snakes in a can that fire out at you when you unwittingly take the lid off. I have to say this is some bed and whilst you may need a step ladder to get up on to it you really do need to come and stay with us just for the comfort of the bed, talking of which I'm off to my bed now, so sleep tight and don't forget to check out the tales tomorrow of Mary Jary who, from all accounts was quite contrary!
681
Thursday 3 February 2011
THE DAY THE RED TAPE REARS IT'S UGLY HEAD
My Grandmother, whom I loved dearly, once told me with regards to how I should live my life that I should "Always paddle my own canoe". Meaning that I should set the destination and make my own way there, through my own sweat and toil. Well I got into the canoe ok but the current has been strong pulling me along for many a year. So now I have started to take control of the direction that my canoe is travelling but I'm approaching a red tape slalom in fast running water as I start to meet the 'officials' with whom I have to do business.
A few days back we met up with THE ACCOUNTANT. Now I know that I am no rocket scientist (well not quite as bad as the guys in this Larson cartoon) but this accountancy thing is involved to say the least. I should have known that it was going to be complicated when the guys first comment after the pleasantries was "The secret is to keep things simple". From that moment on all I heard was blah, blah, blah, blah, off-set, blah, blah, itemised, blah, blah, blah, Excell, blah, blah, tax return, blah, blah, blah........ I sat there trying my damnedest to look for all the world as if I understood a word he was on about. My exterior was, I hope, one of a calm, still pond but there were pebbles of accountancy terms skimming across my pond like brain as if there was no tomorrow. We sat there for near on two hours of this bombardment of facts and requirements. In all fairness to the guy if I could tell nothing else I could tell that he knew his stuff. Alison however was on the money (as you might expect from a competent banker). She clearly 'got it', in fact she seemed to get it all, thank God and even managed to take notes too! After the vast majority of this barrage of facts started to diminish I thought of a question and signalled that this was the case. The room hushed as Alison and the Accountant waited in silence for this deep, challenging, complex, insightful question. Chairs were manoeuvred to ensure that I was given the full authority of the meeting......
"Well, (I was doing OK so far) I was just wondering, (both pairs of eyes giving me their undivided attention) if Scribble my cat is Tax deductible as a mouser?" I don't think that the accountant thought this was likely to have been my first question and he appeared a little taken aback at first. Alison seemed to shrink back into her seat, squirming a little and appeared to distance herself from me a tad. After a few seconds of silence, which I like to think was the accountant reflecting and formulating the answer he replied something to the effect that if I already owned the cat then it would be argued that she was really a family pet. Ha, I thought. "OK, well she is lousy at catching mice now, so what if I train her to be a mouser eh?" Although I suppose on reflection that was never going to be easy, firstly what a vision it conjures up of me chasing mice (which by the way we don't have at all) and saying there you go old girl that is how you catch a mouse! Secondly getting a paw print on a training card is probably not really legally binding. So Alison took over the questions, which was really the most appropriate way to move forward and we finally left his office in the darkness of the evening. I thought I had better regain control of my manliness and elected to make a ground breaking decision....... "Lets go get some Fish & Chips" and so we did.
Then today I entered the Big pool, the one in which the all powerful Civil Servants roam, the dangerous deep water of the Building Regs and Planning permission offices. Now these guys have real teeth and can bite potentially hurting my business including the power to take a limb off! I started by phoning the Building regulations guy who, I will admit, was very helpful in his direction but at this stage all he could really say is get the rough plans to him with before and after drawings and then he will get back to me but firstly I needed to talk to Tracy, the duty Planning Officer. Now once again I have to say that Tracy too was very helpful in explaining the in's and out's of what I had to do, however both Officers require certain applications and information before I can really set up the house as I require. The good bit of news is that Tracy has no need for Planning Permission application to run two bedrooms as B and B accommodation and once the first bedroom and bathroom is decorated / refurbished then I can open for business. Just gotta call the Environmental Health Officer now, oh and the Building Regs guy may need to get the Fire Dept to check me out too.
So, I have got hold of my little canoe, shoved it into the deep water and am now doing my utmost to paddle it upstream, very much against the current.......
656
"Well, (I was doing OK so far) I was just wondering, (both pairs of eyes giving me their undivided attention) if Scribble my cat is Tax deductible as a mouser?" I don't think that the accountant thought this was likely to have been my first question and he appeared a little taken aback at first. Alison seemed to shrink back into her seat, squirming a little and appeared to distance herself from me a tad. After a few seconds of silence, which I like to think was the accountant reflecting and formulating the answer he replied something to the effect that if I already owned the cat then it would be argued that she was really a family pet. Ha, I thought. "OK, well she is lousy at catching mice now, so what if I train her to be a mouser eh?" Although I suppose on reflection that was never going to be easy, firstly what a vision it conjures up of me chasing mice (which by the way we don't have at all) and saying there you go old girl that is how you catch a mouse! Secondly getting a paw print on a training card is probably not really legally binding. So Alison took over the questions, which was really the most appropriate way to move forward and we finally left his office in the darkness of the evening. I thought I had better regain control of my manliness and elected to make a ground breaking decision....... "Lets go get some Fish & Chips" and so we did.
Then today I entered the Big pool, the one in which the all powerful Civil Servants roam, the dangerous deep water of the Building Regs and Planning permission offices. Now these guys have real teeth and can bite potentially hurting my business including the power to take a limb off! I started by phoning the Building regulations guy who, I will admit, was very helpful in his direction but at this stage all he could really say is get the rough plans to him with before and after drawings and then he will get back to me but firstly I needed to talk to Tracy, the duty Planning Officer. Now once again I have to say that Tracy too was very helpful in explaining the in's and out's of what I had to do, however both Officers require certain applications and information before I can really set up the house as I require. The good bit of news is that Tracy has no need for Planning Permission application to run two bedrooms as B and B accommodation and once the first bedroom and bathroom is decorated / refurbished then I can open for business. Just gotta call the Environmental Health Officer now, oh and the Building Regs guy may need to get the Fire Dept to check me out too.
So, I have got hold of my little canoe, shoved it into the deep water and am now doing my utmost to paddle it upstream, very much against the current.......
656
Wednesday 2 February 2011
THE DAY OF THE BIRDS......
Since the dive bombing Kestrel incident in the back garden http://theoldbakery.blogspot.com/2010/12/day-we-found-lawn-and-i-continue-to.html we have had no really interesting visiting birds. We do regularly see a Barn Owl on the roads immediately out side the village and have had it fly alongside the car at car height for a good few hundred yards, which was really cool.
I made a point of putting out thistle seeds as this is the favourite food of the Gold Finch and as a result we have had several small flocks of them visit the feeder. We have also had some small flocks of Long Tailed Tits which are really nice cute little birds that flick from branch to branch so quickly that you would think that the branch was red hot and they could only tolerate it for a second or two. They come and mainly feed on the balls of fat that I have hanging on a tree. The rest of the time it is the usual Blue Tits, Great Tits, Coal Tits, Robins, Chaffinches, Green Finches, Siskins, Black Birds, Pigeons, Collared Doves and a happy go lucky Wren. Both myself and the cat love to watch them, though both with very different agendas!
In the snow the birds were never away from the feeders but now food is a little easier to obtain there are not the same quantities but there is always something having a nosh out there, unless the cat is on a walkabout then it is ominously still. So I am looking forward to hopefully getting other birds as the months go by and who knows even a visitor from Africa or the Med.
A few weeks back I determined that I would look in the main house's attic. I had put the visit off as the loft hatch had been halved in size by a stud wall when a room had been added and it was going to be a squeeze. So I finally got the ladder out, removed the three screws holding the hatch in place and also removing the screw that seemed to hold nothing in place I dropped the hatch away.
I LOVE ATTICS. I love that moment when you first open the attic to a property you have purchased. There is that possibility of discovering a long lost piece of art, a Gainsborough perhaps or an Andy Warhol or maybe some relic of times gone by Like an old sewing machine or even better a trunk full of some ones life's nik naks. I lifted that hatch slowly, warily and with reverence I could almost taste the anticipation, in fact it wasn't the anticipation I was tasting at all but a mouth full of dust and crap that fell from inside the loft hatch, blaaaaaaagh.
And as I removed the hatch and prepared to peek into this 250 year time capsule I was reminded of the opening of tutankhamun's tomb. "What can you see?" asked the people behind archaeologist Howard Carter as he peered through a newly dug hole into the tomb chamber of the boy king Tutankhamun. "Wonderful things!" gasped Carter. And it was true. Well it was true for him but for me it was 480sqft of loft insulation and 5 nests, huff!
The space only allowed my head and shoulders to squeeze through, my manly 'man boobs' preventing any further exploration (I wonder if Howard Carter had that problem). I managed to get my right hand through with a torch and it joined my head in protruding out of the attic floor. From the attic I would have looked like a bodiless head with a singular hand growing out of the side of it which by some sort of miracle managed to hold a torch! If it had been a shared attic and by a strange co-incidence some poor blighter had chosen the exact same time to climb into his attic he would have been scared witless. I shone the torch around and apart from a fine grain substance clearly used as loft insulation (knowing my luck ground asbestos from the 60's) there were just 5 birds nests dotted along the north side next to gaps through which some day light seeped in. I have no Idea what bird occupies these nests and I am sure that I shall find out in spring but judging by the biggest, which is made almost entirely from straw (probably from the farm next door) it is either a nest that has been built up over many years or I can expect a Pelican to appear. It is about 2ft in diameter and 6 to 8 inches high. Mmmmmmm, Pelican eggs.
Now that would be a Bed and Breakfast with a difference!
637
I made a point of putting out thistle seeds as this is the favourite food of the Gold Finch and as a result we have had several small flocks of them visit the feeder. We have also had some small flocks of Long Tailed Tits which are really nice cute little birds that flick from branch to branch so quickly that you would think that the branch was red hot and they could only tolerate it for a second or two. They come and mainly feed on the balls of fat that I have hanging on a tree. The rest of the time it is the usual Blue Tits, Great Tits, Coal Tits, Robins, Chaffinches, Green Finches, Siskins, Black Birds, Pigeons, Collared Doves and a happy go lucky Wren. Both myself and the cat love to watch them, though both with very different agendas!
A few weeks back I determined that I would look in the main house's attic. I had put the visit off as the loft hatch had been halved in size by a stud wall when a room had been added and it was going to be a squeeze. So I finally got the ladder out, removed the three screws holding the hatch in place and also removing the screw that seemed to hold nothing in place I dropped the hatch away.
I LOVE ATTICS. I love that moment when you first open the attic to a property you have purchased. There is that possibility of discovering a long lost piece of art, a Gainsborough perhaps or an Andy Warhol or maybe some relic of times gone by Like an old sewing machine or even better a trunk full of some ones life's nik naks. I lifted that hatch slowly, warily and with reverence I could almost taste the anticipation, in fact it wasn't the anticipation I was tasting at all but a mouth full of dust and crap that fell from inside the loft hatch, blaaaaaaagh.And as I removed the hatch and prepared to peek into this 250 year time capsule I was reminded of the opening of tutankhamun's tomb. "What can you see?" asked the people behind archaeologist Howard Carter as he peered through a newly dug hole into the tomb chamber of the boy king Tutankhamun. "Wonderful things!" gasped Carter. And it was true. Well it was true for him but for me it was 480sqft of loft insulation and 5 nests, huff!
The space only allowed my head and shoulders to squeeze through, my manly 'man boobs' preventing any further exploration (I wonder if Howard Carter had that problem). I managed to get my right hand through with a torch and it joined my head in protruding out of the attic floor. From the attic I would have looked like a bodiless head with a singular hand growing out of the side of it which by some sort of miracle managed to hold a torch! If it had been a shared attic and by a strange co-incidence some poor blighter had chosen the exact same time to climb into his attic he would have been scared witless. I shone the torch around and apart from a fine grain substance clearly used as loft insulation (knowing my luck ground asbestos from the 60's) there were just 5 birds nests dotted along the north side next to gaps through which some day light seeped in. I have no Idea what bird occupies these nests and I am sure that I shall find out in spring but judging by the biggest, which is made almost entirely from straw (probably from the farm next door) it is either a nest that has been built up over many years or I can expect a Pelican to appear. It is about 2ft in diameter and 6 to 8 inches high. Mmmmmmm, Pelican eggs.
Now that would be a Bed and Breakfast with a difference!
637
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