And it's not easy working with him!

Three weeks into my gardening leave and now renamed as allotment leave, my mind is beginning to adjust to the different challenges of being a co-owner of a business and working alongside Mike. But all will be well, for this week Claire will return for a month and he will be out-numbered!

Aside from the sudden medical crisis referred to in Mike's last blog (at no point did I believe he had anything stuck in his ear), it has been another full on week of cooking, cleaning, weeding and converting fruit into saleable items.

Little progress has been made from the point of view of finding alternative employment and I've decided to concentrate on helping Mike for the next two months, then taking a short break before concentrating on the next stage of my career. Although some people think it is all over; this week I had my first letter addressed 'Dear Pensioner' ...aaagh!

But to keep my mind active, I've started my own blog. Pause here to allow you to groan when you find out that it is on all matters 'development'. Well, what else did you expect?

You'll find it here: www.gladstonedevelopment.blogspot.co.uk I've been busy with four posts already, the most recent of which makes comparisons between the corporate world and our fledgling cottage industry.

Hard at work on a Sunday morning (we work 7 days a week!)

The first varieties of the season....

Another auction find... for displaying the finished items (once it has been stripped and repainted, one of this week's jobs)

It's not easy being Me.

I awoke with a start. There was something wrong, something wasn't quite right. I looked at the alarm clock and it was still an hour before we had planned to get up. Alison was still happily asleep, but that wasn't going to last for very much longer.

What, I struggled to surmise, is bothering me as my different senses slowly re-awakened one by one. Then I gradually became aware of an odd sensation in my infamous right ear and with it an overwhelming sense of deafness. It felt like I had something well and truly stuffed down into the lug-hole.

I gave it a bit of a tug and tried to feel inside the ear with my fat oversized finger tips but that was just futile and still I remained deaf in that ear. It was becoming clear that something was well and truly stuck in my ear and I have to say that I didn't like it one little bit. What could possibly get stuck into an ear whilst I was asleep? I thought to myself and as I lay there fiddlin' and fussin' with my ear (to no avail) and as I thought, my eye sight came to rest upon the small earpieces of the head phones that I sometimes listen to the radio with as I drop off so as not to disturb Alison. ONE OF THE BLACK PADS WAS MISSING and with a cruel twist of irony I now felt compelled to disturb Alison's sleep.

"Alison are you awake?"

"Alison are you awake?!

"Alison wake up"

"ALISON WAKE UP.....   MY HEADPHONE SPEAKERS STUCK IN MY EAR!!!!"

With this loving welcome to a new dawn and how did you sleep my darling greeting Alison stirred (not fast enough in my opinion).

In her still dozy state she struggled to come to terms with my situation.... "You've got a what stuck in your where?" she sleepily tried to clarify.

"I think that the black pad from the earpiece has come off and gone deep into my ear hole, and I NEED to get it out.....  NOW!" At this point Alison started to show the sort of interest that I felt my perdicament respected and she took a peek into the ear. "It's just a dark hole" she muttered, "THAT is because the pad is BLACK" I exclaimed. "We need to get it out before it goes further in." I demanded.

I had read once about a boy that had become deaf in one ear for many, many years he lived with this curse until one day as an adult a bus ticket fell out and he was cured. Well I didn't want to become that person...

Alison trying to be the voice of reason asked if I was sure that the earpiece hadn't just fallen off and was it lying around somewhere. "Where? Look..... It's nowhere, and my ear feels stuffed and totally deaf!" I had already realised what has happened by now in that the soft foam was forced into my ear as I lay on it and then somewhat like an umbrella in Tom & Jerry the thing popped open wedging itself well and truly and muffling all sounds at the same time. Oh God, I thought, not another bloody trip to the hospital!

One of us came up with the idea of tweezers and so we put on our dressing gowns and headed downstairs to use the bright directionable light. Alison fetched the tweezers and then we had to have a sort of shuffle with me Alison the sofa and the Ikea lamp in order that we could get the position just right in that she could look directly into the dark depths of my ear. So there we were in our dressing gowns looking for all the world that we were playing some weird (and perhaps a tad kinky) three dimensional game of sofa Twister. Just then one of the guests came down the stairs.....

Not really! But how funny would that have been and wouldn't that have made for an interesting Trip Advisor comment!

Alison gingerly placed the tweezers in my ear. I squealed like a child and immediately had second thoughts having read (after my last ear issue) that you should NEVER stick anything inside your ears and that you should always seek medical advice. Alison swore that she could not see anything in the ear and I reiterated my point that IT IS VERY VERY BLACK. But to prove my point I agreed to go back to the bedroom to try to find the black pad and so off we trecked back up stairs again leaving behind a quite bemused and bewildered cat who had been sitting on the other sofa quietly watching the whole scene unfold.

I don't know if it was the change in altitude as we ascended the stairs or just the standing on my head on the sofa but something caused a pop in the ear and all of a sudden the world was back in stereo again. Leading the way up the stairs I discreetly manipulated my ear and everything went muffled again, then with another rub.. back to stereo. I felt in the ear and that all too unpleasant ear wax attached itself to my finger, ahhhh, I thought, I need to manage myself out of this now.

When we got to the bedroom and probably because I now believed that the pad was not in my ear I quickly found the thing sitting on the bedside table. I could tell that Alison was not impressed with me as she had both lost her lay-in and had to partake in quite literally a bedroom farce there was, I confess, a slight 'awkwardness' and now we rarely talk of the 'Eargate' incident.






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Sorry out at the allotment back soon....

To forget how to dig the earth and to tend the soil is to forget ourselves. – Ghandi. Yer right, if you say so!

The danger in asking for advice is that the advice you receive is totally contrary to that which you passionately want it to be. It is even more of a fools errand in that the actual human condition is to want to give advice to all and sundry whether it has been solicited or not. So when you actual make a point of asking for it, well then boy-oh-boy are you going to get it!.....

For sometime now we  (I) have had our (my)  name down for an allotment within the village. I thought I would get put on 'the list'  as we moved in last year so that when one eventually became available in 2022 the house renovations would be completed, the business running like clock-work and I'd be ready to take on the challenge. But life isn't like that is it?    Do you know my English teacher said I couldn't start a sentence with the word 'but', just proved that old duffer wrong right there. He also told me there ain't no such word as "ain't" and I think he'd die of apoplexy if he realised how I thrive in the misuse of double negatives! And yet my life goes on unhindered...
Oops, I shouldn't have started with "And" either, Bugger or "Oops" actually, ohhh not sure about "bugger" now!

Anyhow, as I was saying.... But life isn't like that is it? We are heavily booked throughout the summer, we are about to start designing the new second B&B room and an extra bathroom too including arranging to get quotes for the works, my large garden is in full growth needing constant care and attention and the books need cooking for the Accountant, then wham. My allotted time (tee-hee) came up and an offer of a half size allotment is made.

Well that is great you'd think wouldn't you, but not as great as you might think for there are two things you should know about this half allotment. Firstly even half an allotment is some 1,800sqft or very nearly a field full! And (there I go again) secondly the allotment that I (we) are taking over is sadly not the one pictured above, no he is my neighbouring plot. No mine (ours) is pictured below....

Yep totally filled waist high in weeds.

The sharper eyes will notice the shed at the far end of the plot but can you see the second, smaller shed in the foreground? Under the poppies there is evidence of a previous potato crop.

Here we see the thriving Raspberries....



So I ummed and ahred about taking it on, weighing in the massive £10 a year rental cost and the time and thought to myself this would be sheer madness. Then I did it. I made that one simple mistake and having taken my dear friends to have a look, I asked for their advice, "So should I take It?"

To a man (and a girl) they looked at me as If I was deranged to even contemplate NOT taking it on and enthused about the said plot of scrub land encouraging me (us) whole heartily with how we will be able to turn it around with no problem at all. Well Alison fell first. Not literally, although the pot holes are both frequent and deep. No I quickly saw the signs as she slowly but surely succumbed to their tantalizing descriptions of how this plot of crap would soon be held up as a paragon of virtue in the allotment world. Her eyes glazed over as the blooming roses started to 'tint' her vision and soon she was gone snatched from the last bastion of her reasoned mind, like a Scientologist she had been 'converted' and I was left to fight the battle of the Triffids alone just like Howard Keel.

They had all but got her organising the direct debit to Allotments monthly and so it was little wonder that finally they got to me too and in a moment of unsound mind I too agreed to take this prairie on.

It is a few days later now and our dear friends have all left and gone back to Sussex and Alison and I have started on this God-forsaken plot. As we battled through the waves of weeds and swathes of grasses we took a little time out to think of the enthusiastic gardeners only too pleased to offer their helpful advice insisting that an allotment is such a must have, "you'd be mad to not take this", "you'll have it sorted in no time, just whack a load of potatoes in"...

It was at this point, severely wounded by stinging nettles, backs aching, all the B&B chores not completed and eight in the evening but still not had supper that it occurred to us that not one of these "friends"  were actually running an allotment themselves.....
                                                              we'd been well and truly suckered!




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Alison and I have not entered a Mothercare store together in some 22 years and it felt very, very odd.

After the April rains (not showers) and despite the June winds and downpours we have been really busy over the last few weeks in both the B&B and the Cottage although bookings are thin on the ground for the rest of June at present.
We are, however, not despondent as we have recently signed up with an additional Self-catering holiday cottage agency and hope that this may lead to more bookings. There is a smaller and less well equipped cottage right opposite our house which seems to be continuously booked and I know that the same Company handles their bookings.
We are further boosted by the great feedback that our Cottage guests have given us at the end of their stay and some have even gone out of their way to repeat this on Trip Advisor.

The school holidays have meant that we get bookings from young families and so we have started looking at buying things like stair gates, cots and high chairs. It has been a long time since we had to buy such things and my goodness aren't they expensive? We have bought 4 stair gates and none of them fit the narrow stairs and so now I've ordered an even narrower gate which hopefully should fit in. (We are returning and getting our money back on the others). But the price of the high chairs and cots are crazy. Alison and I went to Mothercare at the weekend, now that was an odd feeling I can tell you. We probably have not entered a Mothercare store together in some 22 years and it felt very, very odd. I had forgotten just how much crap you 'could' buy for your baby and clearly how expensive it all can be. The cheapest high chair was about £40 which seemed fair enough to a tight old man like me, but to pay £350 for one (John Lewis) is just bonkers. It is called a "bloom Fresco Loft Contemporary Leatherette Baby Chair, Ivory White, Black Snakeskin Effect" for crying out loud the baby is just going to dribble, cover his face in the food and then puke it back up over your Ivory White, Black Snakeskin Effect! I may not remember much but I do remember there was a lot of dribbling and puking. £350! Madness. Just buy a £2.99 paddling pool from Morrisons, stick the baby in the centre and leave a pile of food for it to slubber it's way through. This is what my son thought of it all when he was just a babe... 

Then there is the cot. The cheapest is £100. Well that seemed a lot until Alison pointed out that it does NOT include the padded sides, blanket, pillow or even the mattress! I think if I was a young dad today I'd make my own just like Frank Spencer's crib, or...... I'd clean all the food and puke from the paddling pool stick a bit of foam (from the market) in the middle of the pool and wack a £3.00 car rug (from Halfords) over the sprogg and be done with it!    Alison says that it is probably for the "best that you don't think about adopting a baby".  Hmmmppp.


I seem to have a mountain of work to do, so much so that I have created a massive TO DO list again to try to understand the scale of work and to be able to prioritise the tasks. 101 points on the list and that is with one of the points, for example, being "work through the garden list" which consists of over 80 tasks in itself! Don't get me wrong I am not overwhelmed just fully employed. Another one of the 101 items is to plan, write a specification for a builder, electrician, plumber and myself, then organise quotes to carry out works which will result in a 2nd B&B en-suite bedroom, access to the loft and most importantly a bathroom for ourselves. This is a sacrifice that we have had to make for the last 18 months in order to provide an en-suite for the main B&B room. Please do not misunderstand me, WE DO BATHE! But around the B&B and holiday cottage bookings which, luckily, have been nicely spaced out.. This is going to be a big task and so if we can get all the trades to agree we intend to shut down the B&B operation throughout October to get the job done. This is the third and final phase of the big tasks in our grand plan to renovate The Old Bakery however there are then several smaller scale phases that will happen as and when we can afford to do them.



Now to the garden.....

Well the garden always looks its best in the spring and this year is no exception despite the howling gales. The exciting news (for those of you that have been following the life and times of Percy, our pheasant) is tht Percy has found himself a partner.... AND IT'S A GIRLIE! Who knew?

For the first time, about a week ago, he was strutting his stuff on the pavement at the front of the house, right under our windows. Now this represented a major change in his behaviour, we'd never seen him at the front of the house before and he seemed to be limping with an air of cockiness, like he was saying "who's the daddy then!"
Only a few minutes later and he was in our back garden with a bird, I mean a chick, a dame.... a hen pheasant. Oh yes my boys scored.... back 'o' the net!  I immediately knew it was serious when he was clearly introducing her to his beloved mirror as if he was introducing his best mate. "Come on darling, come and meet my reflection, he's my mate, he's great he is. We get on brilliantly, he's just like me and whenever we are together whatever I do he does exactly the same, you'll love him.... HELLO! LOOK, HE'S GOT A GIRL FRIEND TOO AND SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU! How weird is that then?"

So after 9 months of visiting our garden, through the heavy snows, the shooting season and the whole of the Leveson enquiry Percy finally spent another hour in our garden with Patricia then they just disappeared no doubt to start a family and a whole new life for themselves, leaving me to feel proud and yet a little hollow inside, I'll miss old Percy.


During those awful gales and floods of rain our Blue Tits were due to fledge but because the weather was so bad we do not know if they actually did so or not. The nest box is ominously quiet and we are hoping that they left the nest ok. I will have to check in a months time and I am hoping not to find a grim scene within.


On a far brighter note we have a rather special pair of birds building a nest in our grape vine. On Sunday, whilst having our breakfast out on the patio, you know as one does, I spotted an unusual bird which I first thought was a Whitethroat. Alison noticed that there was two of them and that they seemed to be building a nest in the vine. A closer look and a double check in the bird book quickly told us that they were a pair of Spotted Flycatchers!

They have been doing all the right things (they must have read my bird book) including continuously using a specific branch to leap off and catch flies from, making a nest in a creeper and the nest being made in a shallow cup form from moss. They are lovely to watch as they launch themselves from the twig when they see a passing fly and snapping it up in a blink of an eyelid.

I am however in a bit of a quandary as I would love them to stay and have their chicks but on the other hand I would hate for them to lay their eggs only to be scared away when I mow the lawn or when I have to prune the grape vine or indeed to be scared off by guests enjoying the garden. So for the moment I have put off mowing the lawn and will enjoy their presence for just another couple of days but then it will be business as usual and if they stay well that'll be brilliant but if they go, well that would be sad but sensible.
Meanwhile here are some photos, firstly a Blue Tit with a spider for its chicks then a poor paparazzi photo of Percy and Patricia saying their fond good byes followed by the amazing Spotted Flycatchers...

Patricia (Percy's new girl friend)

Percy, Patricia and the mirror...

Spotted Flycatcher with nesting material

The pair on 'their' twig.

Launching itself off the bird table to catch a fly.

Spotted Flycatchers together in their nest.

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Congratulations on your Diamond Jubilee Queeny.

Silently he slithered along in his own mucus like a creature from a lost time with no care as to which direction he went or indeed to the final destination. It was as if he had had one too many sips of a potent firewater thus it appeared with impaired vision and balance  that he staggered across the carpet from the kitchen door then onwards and over the mat that sat in front of the hearth. By the break of dawn there was no sign of him at all, our strange and mysterious nocturnal visitor had gone. Where he had gone was impossible to say for sure but there were clues if only we could untangle them, for his calling card was a simple a network of ribbon like silvery, slightly sticky, mucus trails.
In short we've got SLUGS!

Yep, however late at night I stay up there is absolutely no slug action (for the want of a better expression) but in the few  hours that I lay in my bed they seem to get onto 'slug facebook' and organise a slug rave on and around my living room fireplace. I have never had shiny slime trails running across my living room carpet before and I am able to elucidate that they add nothing to the look of the place. I mean you never see slug trails in those elegant 'Country Homes' photo shoots do you. Excuse me Lady whatsyername could you just shift your tiara to the right a little to hide the snail trail!

I wouldn't mind but the cat is around all night and does nothing  to eliminate the pesky things. Perhaps I should leave a little garlic down for her to wash them down with. I have tried following the trails but they seem to have no definite exit route or, for that matter entrances to the room either. I have considered pellets but as the cat must not eat them you can bet your bottom dollar that she'll knock 'em back in a second!

There she'll be slowly poisoning herself as a slug slips nonchalantly along even more slowly right under her tummy!

The Old Bakery in her full Jubilee plumage!

Although canoeing tends to draw a younger demographic, it is still a lifelong sport that anyone can get into. It's a sport anyone can enjoy, because it's not about strength, it's about technique. -- Katherine Carr

It seems to be a common reaction; I mention to people that I was given a canoe for my birthday and they laugh. "What?" they say "You? - in a canoe?" "Are you serious?" And when I assure them it is true they just smile and chuckle to themselves. It's not like I don't have a track record in trying sporting activities. Being lapped in a 2 lap fun run or tearing a muscle when kicking a football are proof that I'll have a go (nobody said anything about being any good!).

Nevertheless Mike and I were secretly relieved that it rained throughout the last Bank Holiday weekend which meant we were unable to undertake our maiden canoe voyage, as it would have been accompanied by various family members all waiting for us to take an untimely dip in the sea . (Although nothing will beat the cold of the sea on 1 January 1983). Finally the sun shone on a day when we were both free and the tide was within viewing distance of the beach and it was time to hit the water.

We travelled north to the beautiful village of Blakeney to head out from the village towards the sea. There is a 4 mile long spit of land (where hundreds of seals live) that forms almost a lagoon so we felt that we'd be protected there and in little danger of being swept out to sea. A helpful passing walker held onto the canoe as first I got in and then Mike and off we went. (It would have been a bit of a challenge without someone holding it steady). My brother is able to testify that the trickiest bit of canoeing is getting in.

After a few minutes I realised that although we'd both be canoeing or kayaking before on holidays in America and France, we had never paddled together. We'd had always been in separate canoes with one of the children each. On those occasions both of us as the adult in the boat had been in charge and had controlled the direction and co-ordinated the paddling in unison.

The wet shorts from my poor paddling technique were matched by the water down my back, courtesy of Mike's poor paddling. Fortunately it was one of the hottest days of the year so it felt quite refreshing. I fear that on normal summer days that I won't be quite as happy.

We headed out to the lagoon, moving aside to let the yachts and small motor boats past and occasionally turning around to savour the view. Out in the main channel we headed towards the edge of the spit but quickly realised that with the tide turning and a strong wind it would be sensible not to overdo things. As we  headed back we caught sight of a tern diving into the water, catching a small fish and flying back to feed her chick nesting on the edge of the marshes.

Although we had secured our keys and money in a dry sack we didn't risk a camera so sadly I can't bring you pictures of our maiden voyage. Our technique can't have been too bad because neither of us felt any aches or pains the day after; either that or we weren't putting in enough effort.

Agreeing on who should be the lead paddler may be one sort of marital tension in the coming weeks but a much bigger rift is looming; one that is likely to last for almost 13 years.

Yesterday I agreed with my boss that I will take an additional payment in lieu of working out my full notice and so will leave the bank on 31 July. I'm allowed on gardening leave in a few weeks, nicely timed for the start of Wimbledon fortnight. Shortly after that discussion an email arrived from the pension department advising me of my options. It is so tempting to refuse on principle to become a pensioner at the age of 50 but to do so would be financial madness so I will have to bite the bullet and accept the offer. That would be fine if it it could happen quietly and discreetly but being married to Mike we all know that is the last thing that will happen. It would appear that despite being the youngest (by some distance!) of all of our old rotaract friends, I will be the first to be drawing a pension. Since Mike is unable to draw any of his pensions until he is 65 I have years and years to listen to him telling me he is living with a pensioner (and I have heard so many variations on this theme already).

For the record, let me make it clear that although I concede that in a technical sense  I will be a pensioner from 1 August, in every other sense there is  - that won't be the case. I am not retiring. I am already job hunting and intend to follow the advice of a motivational speaker Denis Waitley who said “Chase your passion, not your pension.”

Watch this space for more details on where that passion will lead. In the meantime it is just 13 working days to go before I'll be sent out into the garden to weed and water, pick fruit and make jam.......unless of course I get too much stick from him indoors in which case I'll just have to say I'm too old for all of this....don't you know that I'm a pensioner and I'll get the sun-lounger out!