There will be a brief intermission whilst I visit the Cornish branch of the family. I don't think I'm clever enough (or have the right equiptment) to keep the journal whilst I'm away, sadly for me. It's a good therapy sometimes!
Back 16th March, creek don't rise.
8 Mar 2010
6 Mar 2010
New temptations
It's a pity the bread has to be in plastic but that's the Health & Safety police. We are not allowed to sell anything that isn't packaged at source. I hope I become immune to the scent of fresh bread rather quickly otherwise - XXS will not be big enough! The loaves have interesting names like 'Shipton Mill White' 'Golspie Brown' 'Trevor Spelt' and Highland Rye. I've been told that Golspie is one of the oldest mills in Scotland and can be glimpsed on the Black Isle, across the Moray Firth as the seagull flies, on a clear day. Shipton Mill is the oldest mill in Britain, has been milling grain since the Domesday Book was written and is near Frampton-on-Severn where some friends live. Not sure about Trevor. They are all made from organic flour natch.
....gone!
The empty bookcases remain (soon to be sold also) but the garage echoes weirdly.
Mixed feelings echo too. I miss the books but am relieved not to have the responsibility for them. I wish their new owner much joy and profit from her new venture: Black Bear Books somewhere near Dumfries.
2 Mar 2010
28 Feb 2010
Out of darkness.
After some organisation of the garage in preparation for the book packers tomorrow, two trips to the recycling yard with cardboard boxes and a visit to M&S for knickers I thought to get a bit of one-to-one with Nature whilst the temperature is reasonable and the snow, at this level, almost gone. I chose a place that used to be deserted at this time of year but now that everyone is so keen on walking that has changed. The World, his wife, dogs, three children and granny, had had the same idea. There was even an ice cream van, marquee and ambulance. I still don't know why. Luckily there is enough acreage for me (not a people person) to lose sight of all this jollity, walk up and down a few sand dunes and have a brief commune with Demeter who will soon be getting her daughter back from mean old Hades. We hope.
slow slow quick quick slow
How very strange time is. This past week has been a good example of what a subjective unquantifiable commodity it is. Sitting in the shop for rather longer hours than I had become used to I saw some hours at the beginning of the day pass quite quickly others toward the end pass so slowly that I shook the little clock to see if it was still awake. Each hour and each day therefore took an age, yet moved too swiftly one into the next... well I won't labour the point and slow this entry down with too many words.
The temperature was -10 at night and not much better first thing. One morning seemed especially nippy when I slunk downstairs to make my coffee. The horrid truth dawned as I felt the radiators - the boiler had ceased to work. I'm scared of gas so did nothing but ring the help-line, for which I pay a healthy sum monthly, to be told there would be no visit until the morrow. My daughter arrived - she's always cold and braver with boilers driven by her desperation to be warm so she re-pressurised it hastily and we had warmth again. There had been a power cut - doesn't often happen in these parts for which I suspect we have to be grateful for the proximity of the RAF and their needs. The boiler faltered a few times throughout the day and when the expert arrived finally he told me - well, I would need a lesson with illustrative white-board and felt tips before I understood what he told me, but something vital has to be replaced.
The shop has done well despite icy pavements and the disgustingly wet blobs of snow falling almost constantly. Maybe it works in our favour now - when people feel out-of-sorts they reach for our stock! It's becoming apparent that although I don't yet know what's in what and where to look for the cure for all souls, I soon will know because the customers will tell me. What is also evident is that the same rules apply in this sort of shop as in the bookshop: Firstly it will never be possible to stock everything people ask for. If we stocked all the different teas that are sworn by we would have one room devoted entirely to teas. Secondly, if a lotion or potion doesn't actually say it does what the sufferer wants it to do then it's no good - witness the throat sweets that we bought in when requested: 'But they don't say they are for coughs and sore throats do they?" Well, no, because they aren't really allowed to make those claims unless they are giant drug companies and anyway, as any doctor will tell you there is nothing useful in any cough or throat 'medicine,' it is just as useful to drink hot chocolate and take a paracetemol.
As before, I bite my tongue. I do almost get into arguments with a certain sort of potential buyer, always male, very know-all about cooking who will insist on telling me how to make sushi (for example.) Now I too have a big, know-all, ego about cooking and I'm wearing my tongue down to the last inch trying not to scream at them.
Some poor folk are not made for this planet. They can't tolerate anything with wheat, gluten, sugar, dairy, etc. etc. and should definately book themselves on the first flight to Venus. Me too of course. Kind people gave Chloë flowers at her opening do, those beautiful lillies that last ages, and they have been assaulting my breathing apparatus all week.
Other newsworthy items for the journal:
a) G'son has been naughty at school and lost three 'Flight Points.' He was humiliated and upset at himself but personally I am rather heartened - it's NORMAL naughtiness! He also went to spend the day with a friend yesterday. Another advance. The neurologist had nothing useful to say naturally.
b) I had some rather snappy highlights put in my hair, a bit blonde and a bit coppery, and a nice spikey cut. No-one has noticed except daughter who had to because she knew I was going to the hairdresser and another woman of my own age, which I think bears out the theory that the older we get the more invisible we get. I should go in for emphatic hats like Chillsider.
The temperature was -10 at night and not much better first thing. One morning seemed especially nippy when I slunk downstairs to make my coffee. The horrid truth dawned as I felt the radiators - the boiler had ceased to work. I'm scared of gas so did nothing but ring the help-line, for which I pay a healthy sum monthly, to be told there would be no visit until the morrow. My daughter arrived - she's always cold and braver with boilers driven by her desperation to be warm so she re-pressurised it hastily and we had warmth again. There had been a power cut - doesn't often happen in these parts for which I suspect we have to be grateful for the proximity of the RAF and their needs. The boiler faltered a few times throughout the day and when the expert arrived finally he told me - well, I would need a lesson with illustrative white-board and felt tips before I understood what he told me, but something vital has to be replaced.
The shop has done well despite icy pavements and the disgustingly wet blobs of snow falling almost constantly. Maybe it works in our favour now - when people feel out-of-sorts they reach for our stock! It's becoming apparent that although I don't yet know what's in what and where to look for the cure for all souls, I soon will know because the customers will tell me. What is also evident is that the same rules apply in this sort of shop as in the bookshop: Firstly it will never be possible to stock everything people ask for. If we stocked all the different teas that are sworn by we would have one room devoted entirely to teas. Secondly, if a lotion or potion doesn't actually say it does what the sufferer wants it to do then it's no good - witness the throat sweets that we bought in when requested: 'But they don't say they are for coughs and sore throats do they?" Well, no, because they aren't really allowed to make those claims unless they are giant drug companies and anyway, as any doctor will tell you there is nothing useful in any cough or throat 'medicine,' it is just as useful to drink hot chocolate and take a paracetemol.
As before, I bite my tongue. I do almost get into arguments with a certain sort of potential buyer, always male, very know-all about cooking who will insist on telling me how to make sushi (for example.) Now I too have a big, know-all, ego about cooking and I'm wearing my tongue down to the last inch trying not to scream at them.
Some poor folk are not made for this planet. They can't tolerate anything with wheat, gluten, sugar, dairy, etc. etc. and should definately book themselves on the first flight to Venus. Me too of course. Kind people gave Chloë flowers at her opening do, those beautiful lillies that last ages, and they have been assaulting my breathing apparatus all week.
Other newsworthy items for the journal:
a) G'son has been naughty at school and lost three 'Flight Points.' He was humiliated and upset at himself but personally I am rather heartened - it's NORMAL naughtiness! He also went to spend the day with a friend yesterday. Another advance. The neurologist had nothing useful to say naturally.
b) I had some rather snappy highlights put in my hair, a bit blonde and a bit coppery, and a nice spikey cut. No-one has noticed except daughter who had to because she knew I was going to the hairdresser and another woman of my own age, which I think bears out the theory that the older we get the more invisible we get. I should go in for emphatic hats like Chillsider.
23 Feb 2010
Whilst others go on gorgeous cross-country walks, find fat catkins and sew fine seams my life is dominated by the massy figure of A-till-a the Hun and enough cardboard boxes to build a life-sized model of the Pyramid of Giza.
When I did emerge briefly at the weekend I noticed that there are a few shy snowdrops peeking out through the real snow still lying stubbornly in the back garden.
At the end of my Reginald Hill horde (supposed to be saved for my journey south) I was glad to be loaned 'The Crystal skull' by Manda Scott. I expected something badly written, sketchy characters, overly dramatic and cavalier with the facts like the 'Da Vinci Code' so wasn't much looking forward to it but it's a much more carefully written book, better paced with some quite elegant style, four dimensional characterisation and atmosphere. Don't know about the facts but I'm enjoying it anyway.
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