Wednesday, July 24, 2024

Last time, tea and no trouble.

1. To applause and a bit of music, Year 6 come out of school for the last time.

2. Bringing a cup of tea and a biscuit up to my desk.

3. The way my troubles melt away as games night begins. My character's troubles -- not so much. We've drawn the attention of an eldritch horror; and to get the Romani to advise us on dealing with said eldritch horror, we had to give them our client's farm. I had to roleplay right up to eleven to get us through that awkward phone call.

Tuesday, July 23, 2024

Self-heal, swans and willows.

1. Where the grass has worn away, purple self-heal flowers have filled the space.

2. We spend a while watching swans and their six grey cygnets upending themselves in the lake.

3. Through the fine rain, the silver/green flicker of willow leaves.

Friday, July 19, 2024

On the way, squash and plausible.

1. Remembering that a supermarket order is coming, with all the ice lollies.

2. On a hot day, a long drink of orange and ginger squash from one of Nana's summer-coloured tumblers. 

3. Sitting quietly towards the back of the hall (near the open doors) and thinking that my child (playing one of Darwin's chums) has the most plausible Victorian costume. 

Thursday, July 18, 2024

Indian, jasmine and tomato shoots.

1. The curries we have excavated from the freezer for our supper are particularly good -- a railway lamb, a supermarket chicken tikka and an unidentified one made with roasted aubergine and sweet potato. Nick thinks he made it; but did he follow a recipe, and do we still have it?

2. The jasmine by the back door is in full flower, a little beaten by the rain, but still doing its best to make the world smell and look better. 

3. Pinching out tomato shoots -- there's always one that I don't spot, though. One year, I let them grow in a sprawling mess. It didn't end well, with broken stems and impenetrable foliage. So I'm always careful to do my tomato admin every few days.

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

School rock bands, emergency biscuits and exercises.

1. Probably the highlight for me (sorry, Bettany, yours was great, too) was our neighbour's youngest belting out Final Countdown. She has a tiny little girl voice that somehow fills the entire hall. But I enjoyed the school's happy, welcoming reaction to the song Bettany's band performed -- George Ezra's Green Green Grass

2. Fortunately, there is a packet of French salted butter biscuits in the back of the cupboard.

3. The exercises the physio left me with have become rather easy. Luckily, she also left me with some ideas for making them more interesting.

Tuesday, July 16, 2024

Gravel, last piece and roll with it.

1. The recent heavy rain has scoured the sandy dust from the path. The crunch of gravel underfoot.

2. There is a bit of a scrap over the last piece of tenderstem broccoli, which is almost as welcome as asparagus, though cheaper and easier to obtain.

3. The BBC Sounds app turns up a documentary about Oasis, which is exactly what I want to hear about this evening.

Monday, July 15, 2024

Liverworts, last dance and before the result.

1. On the sandstone pavement where we are waiting, liverwort (marchantiophyta) has put up tiny palmtrees. I discover now that these are archegonial heads, holding the female reproductive organs.

2. Bettany's dance teacher has a rose for every single performer. This is the end of our time with the wonderful Do4Kids dance school, and it hits me in the finale -- 'Hey Baby', which Bettany has been dancing since she was in Early Years. The traditional Loony Toons theme that closes every class nearly (but not quite) floors me. I would like it very much if we could stay safe in primary school forever and ever (but Bettany would 100% strangle me for wishing that). 

3. The cheering from the pubs and houses with open windows is so loud that I can feel it.

Last time, tea and no trouble.

1. To applause and a bit of music, Year 6 come out of school for the last time. 2. Bringing a cup of tea and a biscuit up to my desk. 3. The...